“Can you?”
“Yes, of course. Does that mean...”
“Itonlymeans,” Shreya interrupted, patting the manuscript as she spoke, “that I will read this with an open mind and get back to you and Whit.”
Merritt’s hands flew to her cheeks, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
“Oh my God.” Merritt was hardly able to hear her own voice.
“Fuck yeah,” Édouard hissed, delightfully out of character.
“I know,” Shreya said. She picked up the manuscript and walked back toward the door. “Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I think you two should probably leave before Alan calls security.”
“Yes, of course,” Merritt said, standing up instantly. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
Shreya began to walk away, but then she paused and looked back at Merritt.
“Or rather,” she said, holding up the manuscript slightly, “thank yourself.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Just... can you just stay there?” Whit said into the phone, breaking into a jog as he ran in the direction of the 96th Street station. “Just stay there. I’m coming.”
“Whit,” Merritt said on the other end of the line, “I have things to tell you.”
“And so do I,” he said, crossing Riverside Drive, “and I can’t say them over the phone. I have to say them to your face. I’ll be there in, I don’t know, four hours? Five? Just stay there, okay? Don’t run away again.”
Merritt paused. Whit waited.
“Okay,” she said at last.
“Okay,” Whit said.
Merritt tried to nap as she waited for Whit. The meeting had ended at 10a.m., and afterward, she and Édouard had gone to meet Evie at the law offices to share the news. After changing out of her borrowed clothes, Merritt allowed Evie to order and pay for a celebratory Lyft to the airport, where she picked up her now-dead phone from customer service. Four hours later she was back in Boston, and one slow Whelk Harbor Shuttle ride after that, she’d made it back to her mother’s home.
Now she was pacing her room, stopping herself, over and over again, from grabbing her phone and shooting off texts. She wanted to tell Willa it had more or less worked; she wanted to tellWhit what had happened, before he could say what he had to say. She was bursting with pride in herself, and part of her was eager to prove to Whit that he’d been wrong and she’d been right.
But then, after washing and folding all of her trip clothes, and while rearranging and then un-rearranging the furniture in her bedroom, she began to wonder how Whit would take her news. She had gotten Shreya to agree to read the manuscript, but it was the manuscript they’d made together. What if he was still hung up on Helen’s journals? She couldn’t blame him. And then what?
“Goodness, youarea mess, aren’t you?”
Merritt looked up from reorganizing her mother’s ancient, untouched CD catalog, which usually filled the built-in cabinets beneath the TV in the living room. Kathleen was staring at her while holding two bags of Chinese takeout.
Merritt waited for a follow-up and got in return, “What’s up with you?”
No good fibs sprang to mind.
“I’m waiting for Whit.”
Kathleen gave one reflective nod.
“What’d you get?” Merritt asked.
“Egg rolls, crab Rangoon, wonton soup, and sesame chicken. Why are you organizing my CDs?”
“Just...” Merritt struggled again for a believable lie. “Bored.”
