Page 102 of A Bookish Story

“The worst.”

“Oh well, it will get better. After all, tomorrow is another day!” She says in a sing-song tone and goes back to cleaning the oven.

I’m a bit taken aback by her casual attitude but she’s right. Tomorrow is another day, her insincere platitudes notwithstanding. So what if Ryan claims to be in love with me, the point is he left. The point is he put it in writing when he should have said it out loud. The point is he doesn’t think I’m worth fighting for. Instead of tears, there’s a shaking anger that convulses through me. I am so done with men. Done!

Maybe I’m just meant to write the romances, not live them. Most people are probably not meant to live out a great love story but simply learn to live with whatever joy comes their way. It turns out some of the “lucky” people have to wait twenty-five years before they can be together.

Well, I will not be waiting. I will be moving on. Like Eddie before my mother, maybe I’ll date a whole lot and be the woman that goes to the wedding receptions in my forties and is available to dance with all the single men.

I will be happy with my work and my family. It will be enough.

Since I suddenly have the entire day ahead of me I go back to the coffee shop and pull out my laptop. I will rejoin the mighty droves of aspiring authors and playwrights all around me and rage write. I pull up the beginning of the sequel and add a few hundred words, but they’re unhinged words. I’m going to have to revise heavily, maybe even (gasp) delete. There’s little I hate worse than throw-away words, but I admit they get the juices flowing.

“What are you doing here?” Lula screams. “I thought you left.”

Grayson turns to Lula. “Ignore my stupid letter. I couldn’t leave. Because I love you.”

“You don’t love me. What a load of bullshit baloney bull hockey!” Lula grabs her gun, which is legally registered and for which she has a permit.

“What are you doing?” Grayson asks.

Lula cocks the gun, and shoots Grayson in the heart.

“I’m wounded!” He clutches his chest. “This hurts like hell. It’s worse than my bruised ribs.”

“Now you know how I feel!”

And…end scene.

This is terrible. Truly awful. I will never write a crime thriller but if I did, while it wouldn’t be any good, it would be extremely cathartic. I’d start by killing all the guys who say they love me and then leave. I’d devise evil ways to torture them. Facts are, I can’t concentrate. I envy all the writers around me who are lost in the worlds they’ve created. They remind me of Ryan and his ridiculous powers of concentration.

Since I can’t write words that make any sense, I check my email and find the agency agreement from Kate.

To: theghostwriter@hotmail

From: Kate.Emery@EmeryAgency

Re: Agency agreement

Dear Lucia,

Attached please find the agency agreement. Please review and sign. We’re all so excited about the sequel to Soulmates. Ryan ran the query by me and I love the idea of a book entirely from Lula’s point of view. Please send me the proposal by, shall we say, next month? Do let me know if you need more time. I look forward to working with you.

Best,

Kate

I quickly reply that I’m thrilled and will sign and email the agreement back today.

At least one good thing happened today but it rings hollow for me. All of my long-held dreams are finally happening even if not at all in the way I’d imagined. I have what many in the business would call a “dream agent.” This is everything I ever wanted and I should be happier. I should squeal, jump for joy, spill my coffee, call my family, and everyone I’ve ever met. I should post it on my socials and email everyone in my address book.

But I’m in a mood right now since Ryan wrote a note saying he loved me then skipped town.

My thoughts turn to someone whose feelings I’ve obviously deeply wounded even if it was never my intention. I email Holly and find out whether she’s still in town and might like to meet for coffee. She’s probably already going to be on a plane back to Missouri but maybe if she took the time to fly all the way here, she and her family made a vacation out of it.

To: inthequerytrenches@yahoo

From: theghostwriter@hotmail