As Harper removed the lid, Isadore leaned over her shoulder, bubbling with excitement to introduce them to the contents.
“Finn,” Harper breathed as she lifted the first stack, typewritten and bound neatly with rubber bands.
Isadore loved hearing the wonder in her voice. Olivia would be so happy to have someone still eager to read her work.
Harper handed the manuscript reverently to Finn, then removed another stack.
“There are about thirty manuscripts stored around the house,” Isadore said proudly. “All novels except one. She wrote a book of poetry in her later years.”
Harper stared at the mound. “She never stopped writing.”
“I don’t think Olivia went a day without putting something on paper.” Isadore smiled. “My favorite poem is the one about a frightened moonflower that doesn’t yet know her worth.”
Harper hugged a manuscript to her chest. “It’s like she wrote her own ending.”
“I suppose she did. It’s all for her estate now,” Isadore said. “People need to read them.”
Finn looked stunned. “You’ll let us publish these?”
“I’d do just about anything for Olivia, but frankly, I’m eighty-six now and since she’s settled in with her daughter and Graham in another realm, probably click-clacking away on a heavenly typewriter, I want the world here to have her stories.”
“And your story,” Harper said. “You should write about Simon and the moonflowers and—”
Isadore shook her head. “No one is going to want to read about me.”
“They’d read about it, but even more, I think they’d want to watch it,” Finn said slowly, turning to the woman next to him. “It seems your story has finally found you.”
Hope flickered inside Isadore. “You’re a storyteller?”
“She’s a screenwriter,” Finn replied.
“I’m not—”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Isadore reached for her hand again and clung to it. “We have a story to tell.”
41:Harper
SEPTEMBER 2007
Red carpet unfurled from the pagoda tower entrance of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, vintage searchlights sweeping the sky. Sissie Sloan had worked her magic first on the film and then on securing this iconic venue, right in the heart of Hollywood, for their premiere.
“It’s just like the magazines,” Isadore whispered as their limousine pulled to the curb, her slender frame engulfed in a stunning red gown with a starburst of sequins and long satin gloves like she’d stepped off a page ofScreenland. She’d protested the limo for about half a second, until Peter, in his dapper tuxedo and gelled hair, informed her that protesting was nonsense.
Harper reached for her hand. “Breathe.”
They all took a collective breath, Finn included.
As the marquee flashedMoonflower Lakefor the crowd barricaded outside, Harper smiled at the glow on Isadore’s face. Not only was it her story, she’d cameoed the role of Mrs. Vane. “This is your moment.”
Isadore straightened her cocktail hat. “It’sourmoment.”
Their moment, indeed. And their movie. From script to screen in a year.
Once Sissie approved the concept and assigned Harper a research assistant, the screenplay practically wrote itself. Isadore cooperated completely with Brett Sutton as attorney to advise both the Delve and Lamb families.
But this wasn’t just a film premiere. It was a memorial to preserve what had been lost and a celebration of all that had begun to heal.
As Harper worked on the script, she grappled with the fact that the man who’d destroyed his life and tried to harm so many others was her grandfather. But she didn’t have to process alone. She and Isadore spoke often. And Finn.
