And now Whit was looking at her like that, like she was something special, and she was desperate for him to look absolutely anywhere else.
“So I think we should make an outline—do you outline?”
“I outline,” he said, and she nodded, and then that’s what they did. They talked about possibilities for the ending of this finalinstallment, what it would need, what people were expecting, what they were not expecting but might appreciate, what could be surprising but still satisfying. They talked about the beginning, and then the middle, and... some more on the middle... still talking about the middle...
“Maybe we should take a break on the middle,” Merritt said, and Whit agreed immediately.
“It’s almost time for me to pick up Annie from our nanny share, anyway.”
Merritt’s primary feeling at these words was relief. She felt like she’d been running a marathon where the mile markers had labels likehave impressive ideasandproject confidenceandbe normal. But there was the barest wisp of regret, too. She scolded herself. What had she imagined? That after a hard day’s work they would pop open a bottle of champagne to celebrate?
“But here, hold on a second.” Whit disappeared again into his sad what-the-cops-would-find-on-a-welfare-check study and returned with a piece of paper.
“My brother-in-law is a lawyer, and he drew this up for us.”
He slid the paper across the table and then collected their empty tea mugs, politely busying himself in the kitchen while she looked it over.
“If anything seems off or unfair or one-sided, just let me know,” he was saying, but she wasn’t really listening. “And of course feel free to have your own lawyer review it.”
The deal was this: she would be an uncredited ghostwriter, which she was not to publicize. Fine. But the money. Half of the advance was to be paid out to her in installments while they wrote, with the second half paid out in full on the completion of the manuscript, plus 10percent of the estate’s royalties on the book.
She sat in silence for so long that Whit started wiping down the counters with a spray bottle and towel.
“Does it look okay?” he said eventually, with some of the same sheepishness he’d shown in the bistro.
Merritt was staring at the largest sum of money that she had ever been offered in any context.
“I’ll let you know.”
Whit smiled from behind the counter. “Great, look it over and bring it back next time with any notes.”
She agreed, trying not to look like she was rapidly ticking off items on a list of things she would do with the money. Pay off student loans, fix the rattly sound in her car, quit her job at the bookstore (once the manuscript was finished). Be an adult.
She packed her things, hardly noticing their weight in her various bags, and Whit led her out.
“Thank you,” he said, from the front door, looking out at her on the gravel path. “Really can’t believe how much we did today. I could never have... just, thank you.”
“We’ve hardly started,” she said, almost harshly, because he was getting earnest, and that was puncturing her daydream of a Scrooge McDuck money swimming pool.
“Exactly,” Whit said with a shrug. “Imagine where I’d be without you.”
Merritt touched her neck.
“Okay then,” she said. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Well, Tuesdays I have writing group.”
Merritt waited, a sharp hope piercing her chest at the thought that he might invite her. Then he looked apologetic.
“So Wednesday?” he said.
Merritt smiled widely, maniacally. “Yes! Wednesday. See you then.”
Back in her car, Merritt stared at the old gray stone house where her life was going to change. It was encircled by a farm fence and shadowed on three sides by a wooded hill, on the other side of which was the sea.
“No,” she said aloud to herself.
She had been here before.
