Sitting back up, she closed her eyes and told herself to breathe.
“Hello?” he said when she didn’t respond.
She was tempted to educate him on what love was all about. How loyalty and compassion and sacrifice were integral. But what was the point? If he was married with three kids and didn’t get that by now, he probably never would.
How had she been so blind? How had she missed seeing what a shallow, selfish man he was? He came off so good-natured, so smart, so driven—until he felt he could drop that mask.
“I’m still here,” she said.
“What are you thinking?”
“I feel sorry for Sally.”
“What?”
“She deserves better. We both do,” she added and pressed the End button.
16
serenity
SERENITY BENT HER head to peer through the French doors leading into the cabin, trying to see if Lorelei and Lucy were back from the store. Reagan, who sat across from her, had dried the dew off the metal table and two of the chairs and persuaded Serenity to set up her computer on the deck. After that brief, unexpected storm when they first arrived, the weather was now a glorious sixty-five degrees, which was why Reagan had insisted they work outside. She’d said it would be good for them both to be out in the fresh air and sunshine, that they might find the view inspiring.
Since the overhang on the cabin blocked the glare of the sun on their computer screens, Serenity had decided to give it a try. And she was glad she had. She’d written the first five pages of her new book.
Once she was no longer typing, or frowning in concentration, Reagan looked up. “How’re you doing?”
“Better.”
“How much better?”
She offered Reagan a hopeful smile. “I’ve gotten a start.”
“That’s wonderful! See? We’ll take it day by day. Eventually, you’ll get there.”
A light breeze ruffled Serenity’s hair as she slid back in her chair and crossed her legs. Reagan seemed so quiet today. Serenity worried that something was wrong, but Reagan insisted it wasn’t. “I can only hope my publisher will be patient. I’ve asked them to give me to the end of the summer.”
“Think they’ll go for it?”
Now that she was finally writing, finally feeling as though she might have a chance of regaining her earlier momentum, she was afraid her publisher had already given up hope. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to check.”
“Why not?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You made me turn off my WiFi, remember?”
The first grin Serenity had seen all morning appeared on Reagan’s face. “I remember. We’re not letting anything distract us. So, let’s hear it.”
“Hear what? That you were right? That I needed to sit my butt in a chair, forget everything else and simply write?”
Reagan folded her arms. “No, I want to hear what you’ve written.”
Not only had Reagan made Serenity turn off her WiFi, she’d taken away her cell phone, so that it couldn’t be a distraction, told Lorelei to make sure Serenity wasn’t interrupted until lunch was ready and started working on her social media pages, introducing herself as “a member of Serenity’s team”—as if Serenity had a team—who’d be interacting with them while Serenity dedicated herself to meeting her deadline.
Her real deadline was past, of course, but she and Reagan had decided on a new one—and that was what she’d taken to her publisher. Serenity hoped she’d adequately communicated her renewed commitment to the project in the email she’d sent her editor. Her professional future rested on her publisher’s perception of her ability to deliver.
“I need to finish the first chapter and then I’ll edit it several times before I read it to anyone,” she told Reagan.
“Why not let me see how you’ve started it? Just the first couple of sentences.”
Reagan was being so supportive that Serenity was reluctant to refuse. With a shrug, she complied. “‘It was a hot and humid morning in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, when Linda Maynard rolled out of bed on August 2, 1997,’” she read. “‘She was looking forward to the end of what had felt like a long summer—a hard summer, considering the setbacks her husband had experienced at work—and planned to spend this Friday shopping for school clothes with her three children.’”
She looked up to find a pained expression on Reagan’s face. “What? It’s no good?”
“The writing’s great. It’s just that... I mean... Is this the day he killed them?”
Relieved to learn Reagan was reacting to the sadness of the subject matter and not the way Serenity had begun the book, she nodded.
“And no one saw it coming? What kind of man was he?”
“Most people say he was quiet, contemplative, private. Seemed harmless.”
“That’s terrifying!”
“It is. But that’s how he’s been characterized by his work associates, neighbors and siblings. So that’s how I’m going to portray him.”
Lorelei peered out, saw them talking instead of working and opened the door. “Are you two getting hungry?”
Reagan glanced at her watch. “I am. Should we eat outside?”
They agreed that would be ideal. Lorelei said she’d have Lucy help set the table and disappeared back inside.
“Now can I have my phone?” Serenity was teasing Reagan, acting as though Reagan had been a grueling taskmaster this morning, but she was grateful that her new sister was helping her focus and move forward.
As soon as Reagan handed it over, Serenity turned on the ringer and checked her email.
“Anything?” Reagan asked.
“Not yet.” No answer meant her editor was probably taking the situation to upper management, and they were trying to come to a consensus on how best to proceed—whether they needed to move her book in the production schedule to accommodate the new deadline.
Serenity hated that she was causing other people extra work. But she hoped the credibility she’d established over her previous books would carry her through.
Reagan slid her laptop toward Serenity. “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”
“I thought you were interacting with the people on my Facebook page.”
“I was, for a while. But I also wrote my first post for Serenity Alston Investigates.”
“You’re done? Jeez, if it was that easy, maybe you should be the writer.”