Page 88 of The Write Stuff

“That’s a hard way to go,” I confirmed. “Before my mom hit it big with the Coronado trilogy, her book contracts were basically supplemental income. She worked at a few restaurants when I was a kid, before the money started coming in.”

“Are you suggesting I start writing?”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t have the temperament to write. You’re too impatient.”

“See, there’s an insult buried in there.” She made a face. “I’m not an idiot, just because I’m not a top-tier author like the rest of you.”

“I never suggested that you were an idiot,” I replied, refusing to let her bait me. “I suggested that writing isn’t the best career for you because your strengths don’t match what we do.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we have to plant ourselves in chairs constantly to get our stuff done. No words, no money. You’re too antsy for that. You need to be flitting around.”

“So, what do you think I should do?” She looked vulnerable when asking.

The question seemed sincere on the face of it, so I really thought about my answer. “You could be a tour guide, maybe. They’re constantly bouncing around. If you’re into the ghost scene — which I have no idea if you are — that might involve eventually opening your own shop.”

Her eyes went wide. “Do you really think I could do that?”

“Your sister seems to think you could do anything you set your mind to … once you get out of your own way,” I replied.

“I’m mad at her.” Lucy’s lower lip came out to play. “She’s being mean to me.”

“She’s doing what needs to be done for you,” I countered. “She’s the best sister you could ever ask for. She kept you afloat for years. Stop giving her a hard time.”

“You’re just going to take her side because you’re having sex with her.”

“It’s way more than sex.” I considered it. “Although the sex is great.”

She made a face. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Are you saying the sex isn’t great with Hayley?” Immediately, I wanted to take back the question. “Wait.” I held up my hand. “Don’t answer that.”

It was too late. Lucy’s expression told me she was about to go on a rant. “She won’t have sex with me until I get my act together. Do you know that she thinks I’m juvenile?”

“I’m shocked,” I deadpanned.

“And lazy. She says I’m lazy.”

“Huh.” Really, what else was I supposed to say to that?

“I’m on my feet for eight-hour shifts four days a week. She doesn’t care, though.” The lip Lucy was obviously comfortable using as a weapon began to tremble. “Nobody cares how hard my life is.”

“Your life isn’t hard,” I countered. I wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “Your life is comfortable enough that you never have to worry about missing rent because your sister will make sure that you never fall through the cracks.

“You have a chance to make something of yourself here,” I continued, my eyes locking with hers. “Have you considered that if you really put some thought into it, your mother would help you with tuition?”

She looked taken aback. “College? But … I never saw myself in college.”

“Well, think about it. Savannah has a state university, a technical university, and an art school. It’s the latter one that gets the most attention.” I paused a beat. “Are you artistic?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, why don’t you take advantage of this city?” I suggested. “There are artist shops everywhere. You can keep your job and go to school. Something tells me that your mother and sister would be able to work something out with you when it comes to money on that front.”

“They said no more money.” Lucy looked pitiful. “They just cut me off.”

“Good.” I didn’t care how ruthless I sounded. “You needed to be cut off.”