Page 76 of Promise Me Never

Poppy smiled. “She is that. Okay, let’s get this finished so we can get out of here.” She turned on the computer.

“It’s password protected,” Savannah said.

“I have a feeling I know what the password is.” Poppy put her hands on the keyboard and typed. The screen populated with all of Bennett’s icons.

Savannah had to know. “What was it?”

Poppy gave her a sheepish look. “Poppyseed. His nickname for me.”

Savannah’s breath caught. He had still been carrying a torch for her sister. Despite everything she knew about him now, it still hurt. Get over it, she chastised herself. “Go to a browser and pull up ChatGPT.”

Poppy typed some more. “Nothing in his history. He must have erased it after I confronted him. I’d love to make what he did public.”

Savannah shook her head. “I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. He paid the ultimate price anyway. He’s gone. A stain on his reputation would affect both of us as well. I think we’ve been through enough, don’t you?”

“I guess you’re right. He was a master at playing a part. I really believed that he loved me. But he was willing to kill me in order to protect his reputation. I may not be able to prove he was a plagiarist, but I can sure as hell prove he was a killer. I’m going to the press with my story.”

“I don’t blame you,” Savannah said. She was looking over Poppy’s shoulder.

Her brow furrowed as she saw a folder labeled Next Book. “Can I sit there a minute?”

Poppy vacated the seat and Savannah plopped down. She clicked the folder and a Word document opened. As Savannah scanned the screen, her disbelief turned into outrage. “That son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“His next book was going to be my book! The one he told me to shelve because it was too clichéd!”

“Are you serious?”

Savannah kept reading, then looked up at her sister. “He changed the names but it’s the same story about a woman vigilante. How the hell did he think he was going to explain this to me when it came out?”

They locked eyes. “Maybe he didn’t plan for you to still be around,” Poppy said.

| Seventy-Eight |

Poppy

Savannah arrives soon. I invited her to the opening of my new exhibit. We’re still working on our relationship. There’s a lot of history to unravel, and having some space between us is healthy. I’ve spent a few weekends in New York: emotional, draining, but healing, and we’re finding our way back to each other. It’s still unfathomable to me that Bennett tried to kill me. I would like to believe that what he did, he did in a moment of panic. Temporary insanity. Our connection felt so real, and if it was all an act, then how can I ever trust my instincts again? He was the love of my life. Yes, he could be controlling, and he wanted to be the sun around which everyone in his life orbited. But he could also be tender and kind. Brilliant and funny. And oh so sexy. But I would never risk letting him near my child after that.

Maybe there’s a potential killer lurking in all of us, just waiting for the right trigger. I can understand killing to protect those you love. I would kill for my daughter. But killing to protect your reputation, your legacy, that’s something I hope never to understand. Savannah keeps saying that she now believes Bennett used her as a substitute for me. I don’t tell her that the ring she wears used to be mine. It’s too cruel. It’s ironic that the same man who caused us both so much pain has become the vehicle to reunite us.

I decided to stay in New Mexico and moved to Santa Fe. I love it here. The wide-open skies painted in colors so vivid it’s hard to believe they’re real. The mountains and mesas, the adobe architecture. It’s all enchanting to me. I don’t miss the East Coast at all. I can’t wait for Savannah to get here. This is my most personal work yet and I’m excited to share it with her.

I reread the advance press preview article, and a smile breaks out on my face all over again.

Artforum Preview—November Issue

Poppy Morningside: “Borrowed Voices” at SITE Santa Fe

A new voice is being heard in the art world. Poppy Morningside’s installation, Borrowed Voices, grapples with questions of originality, technology, and identity in the age of artificial intelligence. The interactive installation invites visitors to walk through a tunnel where text fragments taken from classic and contemporary novels as well as computer-generated text fragments will overlap each other and at times intersect, splintering into new narratives. Haunting audio from multiple sources competes, collides, and cancels itself out.

Photocopied pictures of canonical artwork are cut and reassembled into collaged “new designs.” AI-generated images, accompanied by their text prompts, hang alongside original drawings rendered in colored pencil.

When asked what inspired the piece, Ms. Morningside said she wanted to get people thinking about the cost of forsaking originality for profit. Asked what she hoped visitors would take away from the installation, she replied, “I don’t want to tell anyone what to think. That’s the point.”

I hear a knock at the door. She’s here! I’d offered to pick her up, but she insisted on hiring a car, reminding me that now that she’s a bestselling author she can easily afford it. The scales have tipped in her favor, at least in terms of outward success. But I’m good with that. My art will never command the kind of money her books will. At least I don’t think it will. That’s not why I do it. I never want to feel the pressure to be popular, to be less than authentic because I’ve allowed my art to turn into a commodity.

Some would say that it’s easy for me to say that, inheriting Bennett’s sizable estate. I’m not living a life of luxury. It’s not what I want. I established a trust for Millie. We’re comfortable, and for that I’m grateful. I bought a home that I love in a great neighborhood where my daughter will have friends to play with and a good school to attend. It’s a very different life than the one we’ve been living, but I’m ready to reenter the world. Some of the old habits I’m keeping. I don’t have a cell phone. If someone wants to get in touch, they have to do it the old-fashioned way and call my landline. I do have email, a necessity for my work.