The council accepted this because it was expected, considering it came from Paddy Tremayne, but also because they had no other choice. However, they didn’t know Paddy came around the lake to eat dinners Bohannan or I cooked for him regularly.
Three months after that, The Joy of Joy celebrated their grand re-opening.
Within the year, regardless that the author had not had the cooperation of any of the players, including Ray Andrews, who was reportedly furious that his and Tony’s families were badgered for information, the first book about Ray Andrews and Tony Romano was published.
It was titled Real Men.
It was a bestseller.
And word was, they were making it into a movie.
Epilogue
The End
But I’m getting ahead of myself…
The End.
I typed those two words, stared at them and smiled to myself.
Finally, the next Jack Mullally was ready (after a reread) to submit to my publisher.
I was so far past deadline, the one for next year’s Priscilla Lange romance was only three months away.
But…so be it.
I had a life to live.
And I was going to live it.
No more detailed planning every task and every second. I could be organized, but I didn’t have the time to be obsessed with it.
I had three beautiful daughters, even if one wasn’t strictly mine, two handsome sons, even though they also weren’t mine, and a fabulous man, who was definitely mine.
I had a job I loved.
I had a beautiful home with a beautiful view, and a future that was blindingly bright.
And I’d also had an experience that I decided, firmly, I’d use to remind me, instead of life being a day-to-day battle, it was a gift.
You could struggle through it.
Or you could rise each day and make the most of it.
I chose the latter.
I hit save, closed the chapter, went back to the directory, opened the Prologue (and the next five chapters besides) to start reading so I could make my last-minute tweaks, when I heard it.
Concrete Blonde’s “Joey.”
“Oh boy,” I said to my computer, sat back in my chair, my right fingers, like they did often, moving to tinker with the bracelet on my left wrist, and I looked out the windows in my fabulous new office to the mist on the lake.
This song meant I either had to get up and do something or put on my noise cancelling headphones.
There was a time when I was used to the presence of teenage girls (and their moods) when I wrote.
That time was passed.
I needed to get that mojo back.
Once the song was over, it started again.
Celeste had great taste in heartbreak songs. And that particular one was enduring. I’d listened to it myself back in the day.
During breakups.
I felt him before I turned around and saw him in the door.
Bohannan.
When I caught his eyes, he jerked his head in a backward motion, indicating Celeste’s door across the hall.
Also indicating I needed to get on that.
“Joey” ended, and it started again.
Yes.
I needed to get on that.
I nodded.
Bohannan sent me a neutral look that had nuances of relieved and grateful before he disappeared from my doorway.
I knew precisely what was happening.
When spring break rolled around, Bohannan and I felt it necessary to take a break and give Celeste a fun week. Of the same mind, the twins had booked their own getaway down in Mexico.
However, Bohannan had rented two bungalows that were situated next to each other on Turks and Caicos.
We let Celeste bring her friend Phoebe and gave them their own space so they could have a modicum of being free and breezy and unincumbered in the sand and sun, but still under Bohannan’s oversight.
Frolicking in the tropics with the concomitant attention a beautiful girl got from young men her age (and not her age, which was gross, and made it good Bohannan was so adept with a glower) set Celeste to understanding something.
She liked Will, very much.
But he needed her more than she needed him, and that kind of imbalance in a relationship, unless it eventually righted itself, could be smothering.
She was young, and even though much that happened in her life (and not only what had happened most recently) made it so she’d probably never be truly carefree, sometimes she had to feel that feeling.
Will was young too, but old enough to know that the behaviors of his mother and father were inexcusable. Therefore, he didn’t excuse them.
This left him with a dead sister he’d adored, fatally selfish parents, and as such, he was nursing a healthy dose of growing cynicism, justified righteousness and a fierce protective streak.
Which, for a seventeen-year-old, could be a drag (yes, she’d had her birthday in February, yes, I’d spoiled her once again, and yes, this time Bohannan made clear in a way I thought he might mean it (still, I’d probably test it) we needed gift-giving budgets).
However, she had a kind and generous heart, and she knew it would destroy Will if she broke up with him.
But she wanted to break up with him.
Bohannan had been right with his head jerk.
I needed to deal with this.
I needed to, in order to let Celeste off the hook and guide her through something that anyone with a soul found hard to do: breaking a heart.
And I needed to do it because I was done with my book.
I was giving myself a short break and the next week, Bohannan and I were heading to Paris for two weeks. The second of which, Joan and Camille would meet us, and we’d stay in my apartment and enjoy each other’s company and the greatest city in the world (in my opinion).
Bohannan and I were going from there to Cornwall to hole up in my cottage.
There, I was going to dig into my Lange novel, and he was going to figure out if he could work remotely from England. This along with giving a series of lectures through England, Scotland and Wales.
In total, we were set to be gone for three months with the boys in charge of Celeste.
I had doubts about this, considering they were already enjoying giving her crap about the fact they were literally going to be the boss of her.
That said, her school year would end somewhere in the middle of month two of this sojourn, and she was coming out to be with us.
But that meant a near two-month gap, and this had to be dealt with before we left.
I got up and went to her room.
I knocked softly.
Nothing.
I knocked a bit louder.
A few beats passed and then “Joey” cut off.
“Yeah?” she called.
I opened the door and poked my head around. “Hey.”
She was on her belly on a diagonal across the corner of her bed, feet hanging over one side, head and arms hanging over the end.
Other than that, she was doing nothing. Not reading a book that was laid out on the floor. Her phone wasn’t there. Nor were her laptop or tablet.
Indication this wasn’t a mood.
It was a mood.
I slid fully in and closed the door.
“Can we talk?”
“I gotta get ready. Will’s coming to get me in an hour.”
I moved to her and then dropped to cross-legged on the floor in front of her.
“Will’s what I want to talk about.
She pushed back and got up on her forearms, starting, “Delly—”