Miguel shudders. “I take back what I said about you living in my basement.Thatis my worst nightmare. Literally.”
“See? You’re not selling the bookstore. You can’t.”
“You’re not half as clever as you think you are.”
“Debatable.” Dane drains the last of his coffee, then walks off with his mug. “Hey,” he calls from the kitchen. “You going to call Fiona and make things right, or what?”
“Or what,” he mutters. When Dane returns, he adds, “I regret having mentioned that to you.”
“You willingly volunteered those deets for a reason, chief. It’s not good to keep it all bottled up inside. And like I said, I’m not going to tell anyone that Fiona’s the real Oz. The moreI think about it, the more I get why she waited to say anything. She’s in a tricky situation. Who knows how her agent and publisher will react if they find out she’s been writing the books all along? And you know some of JMB’s fans are completely bonkers. I’m sure it stings, but she had good reasons.”
Miguel glances toward the window. “Maybe she did. Maybe I should have been kinder to her. But the fact remains that I still feel like a fool. I wasted time with Fiona when I should have been finding a real solution to keep the bookstore open and paying more attention to Harold’s health. I’ve failed Amelia, nearly murdered her beloved pet, and squandered our dream. It’s over, Dane. Everything good is over.”
Dane puts his mug on the mantel and strides over to where Miguel’s seated. He puts his hands on his shoulders and squats in front of him. To my surprise, Miguel doesn’t move or tell him to scram.
“I know it feels like that, chief, and that sucks,” Dane says quietly. “But it just so happens that you’re still here. Yeah, your literary idol isn’t who you thought they were—but don’t you think you were into Fiona because that beautiful brain of hers wrote the very same book that made you feel seen? Heck, it doesn’t even matter whether you decide to keep the bookstore open. Just stop telling yourself you don’t want love and everything good is over. Because I knew Amelia, and although I never told you this before, I read most of her books.”
“Youdid?”
“Focus, my dude—that’s not where I’m going with this.” Dane presses his forehead against Miguel’s. “What I’m trying to say is, the story you’re telling these days? As your friend and hers, I need you to hear me when I say: It’s not the one Amelia would’ve written for you.”
Thirty-Seven
The silence startles me awake.
Normally, the air’s abuzz; it’s subtle, but the sound’s always there if you listen for it. But now an eerie quiet has fallen over the house. The fridge isn’t humming, the electrical outlets aren’t vibrating, and the cool air has stopped whooshing from the vents. The lights are off, too. Unless those pills from the vet havereallythrown me for a loop, I’m pretty sure it’s only been a few hours since Dane left. What happened between then and now?
I hear Miguel in the kitchen and, with some effort, rise to go see what’s happening.
“Hello?” He’s sitting at the table, staring at the phone. “Kathy, are you there? Did you hear what I said about—” He presses some buttons, lifts it to his ear again, and then sets it on the counter. “That’s odd. Did something trip a breaker?”
He tells me to stay put while he wanders around the house, flipping switches and messing with the metal box on the wall in the basement. “Anything?” he calls, but then he seems to remember that I am a dog and cannot tell him that no,nothing has turned back on. He looks utterly perplexed when he trudges back up the stairs.
He steps outside onto the deck. Raina’s on her back porch, too. She’s sipping a glass of wine, and for once, she doesn’t seem apprehensive about seeing Miguel. “Hi there,” she calls.
“Hi,” he says hesitantly. “Is your power out?”
“It is. Just having the last sip of chardonnay before it gets warm,” she says, raising her glass.
“I’m sure we’ll be back up and running soon.”
She shakes her head. “Most of the state’s out, and most of the Northeast. Part of Canada, too. They’re saying it’s a major blackout.”
His eyes widen. “How’d you know that?”
“I just got done with my shift at the hospital—I was finishing up when the news came through, and fortunately, we have a generator. It’s some kind of utility failure. If I were you, I’d probably eat anything especially tasty in your fridge, because we’re going to be in the dark for a while.”
“Oh, jeez—I hope not.”
Raina shrugs. “Kind of nice to have some downtime, be mostly unreachable for a bit. And it’s not as hot as it’s been, thank goodness.” She pauses, examines him for a moment. “Hey, you doing all right? I know you’ve been through a lot, and I’m really sorry I haven’t said anything. I guess better late than never. Or at least I hope it is.”
He squints in the late afternoon sun. “It’s okay. And yeah, I’m hanging in there. Thanks for asking.”
“Good. You have my number, right? If you need anything? I mean, it won’t work now, but when the power’s on, you can call anytime. Or just come knock.”
He blinks. “Thanks, Raina.”
“Course,” she says, then finishes the rest of her wine.
