ThePlot
AlsobyJeanHanffKorelitz
TheDevilandWebster
YouShouldHaveKnown
Admission
TheWhiteRose
TheSabbathdayRiver
AJuryofHerPeers
MIDDLEGRADEFICTION
InterferencePowder
DRAMA
TheDead,1904(withPaulMuldoon)
POETRY
ThePropertiesofBreath
Thisisaworkoffiction.Allofthecharacters,organizations,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.THEPLOT.Copyright?2021byJeanHanffKorelitz.Allrightsreserved.PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica.Forinformation,addressCeladonBooks,adivisionofMacmillanPublishers,120Broadway,NewYork,NY10271.www.celadonbooks.comLibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData(TK)ISBN978-1-250-79076-7(hardcover)ISBN978-1-250-79074-3(ebook)Ourbooksmaybepurchasedinbulkforpromotional,educational,orbusinessuse.PleasecontactyourlocalbooksellerortheMacmillanCorporateandPremiumSalesDepartmentat1-800-221-7945,extension5442,orbyemailatMacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.FirstEdition:202110?9?8?7?6?5?4?3?2?1REVIEWERSAREREMINDEDTHATTHISISANUNCORRECTEDPROOF.ANYQUOTESFORPUBLICATIONMUSTBECHECKEDAGAINSTTHEFINISHEDBOOK.PRICE,PUBLICATIONDATES,ANDMANUFACTURINGDETAILSARESUBJECTTOCHANGEWITHOUTNOTICE.ALLINQUIRIESSHOULDBEDIRECTEDTO:CHRISTINE.MYKITYSHYN@CELADONBOOKS.COM.ForLaurieEustisPARTONE
CHAPTERONE
AnybodyCanBeaWriter
JacobFinchBonner,theoncepromisingauthorofthe“New&Noteworthy”(NewYorkTimesBookReview)novelTheInventionofWonder,lethimselfintotheofficehe’dbeenassignedonthesecondfloorofRichardPengHall,sethisbeat-upleathersatchelonthebarrendesk,andlookedaroundinsomethingakintodespair.Theoffice,hisfourthhomeinRichardPengHallinasmanyyears,wasnogreatimprovementontheearlierthree,butatleastitoverlookedavaguelycollegiatewalkwayundertreesfromthewindowbehindthedesk,ratherthantheparkinglotofyearstwoandthreeorthedumpsterofyearone(when,ironically,he’dbeenmuchclosertotheheightofhisliteraryfame,suchasitwas,andmightconceivablyhavehopedforsomethingnicer).Theonlythingintheroomthatsignaledanythingofanactualliterarynature,thatsignaledanythingofanywarmthatall,wasthebeat-upsatchelJakeusedtotransporthislaptopand,onthisparticularday,thewritingsamplesofhissoon-to-arrivestudents,andthisJakehadbeencarryingaroundforyears.He’dacquireditatafleamarketshortlybeforehisfirstnovel’spublicationwithacertainwriterlyself-consciousness:acclaimedyoungnoveliststillcarriestheoldleatherbagheusedthroughouthisyearsofstruggle!Anyresidualhopeofbecomingthatpersonnowwaslonggone.Andevenifitwasn’ttherewasnowaytojustifytheexpenseofanewbag.Notnow.
RichardPengHallwasa1960sadditiontotheRipleycampus,anunlovelyconstructionofwhitecinderblockbehindthegymnasiumandbesidesomedormitoriesslappedtogetherfor“coeds”whenRipleyCollegebeganadmittingwomenintheyear1966(which,toitscredit,hadbeenaheadofthecurve).RichardPenghadbeenanengineeringstudentfromHongKong,andthoughheprobablyowedmoreofhiseventualwealthtotheinstitutionhe’dattendedafterRipleyCollege(namelyMIT),thatinstitutionhaddeclinedtoconstructaRichardPengHall,atleastnotforthesizeofdonationhe’dhadinmind.TheRipleybuilding’soriginalpurposehadbeentoaccommodatetheengineeringprogram,anditstillborethedistincttangofasciencebuildingwithitswindowedlobbynobodyeversatinlong,barrencorridorsandthatsoul-killingcinderblock,butwhenRipleygotridofengineeringin2005(gotridofallitsscienceprograms,actually,andallofitssocialscienceprograms)anddedicateditself,inthewordsofitsfranticboardofsupervisors,“tothestudyandpracticeoftheartsandhumanitiesinaworldthatincreasinglyundervaluesandneedsthem,”RichardPengHallwasreassignedtothelow-residencyMasterofFineArtsPrograminFiction,Poetry,andPersonalNon-Fiction(Memoir).
ThushadthewriterscometoRichardPengHall,onthecampusofRipleyCollege,inthisstrangecornerofnorthernVermont,closeenoughtothefabled“NortheastKingdom”tobearsometraceofitsdistinctoddness(theareahadbeenhometoasmallbuthardyChristiancultsincethe1970s)butnotsofarfromBurlingtonandHanoverastobecompletelyinthebackofbeyond.Ofcoursecreativewritinghadbeentaughtatthecollegesincethe1950s,butneverinanyserious,letaloneenterprisingway.Thingsgotaddedtothecurriculumofeveryeducationalinstitutionconcernedwithsurvivalastheculturechangedarounditandasthestudentsbegan,intheireternallystudent-yway,tomakedemands:women’sstudies,African-Americanstudies,acomputercenterthatactuallyacknowledgedcomputerswere,youknow,athing.ButwhenRipleyunderwentitsgreatcrisisinthelate1980s,andwhenthecollegetookasober,anddeeplytrepidatiouslookatwhatmightberequiredforactualinstitutionalsurvival,itwas—surprise!—thecreativewritingthatsignaledthemostoptimisticwayforward.Andsoithadlauncheditsfirst(and,still,only)graduateprogram,theRipleySymposiainCreativeWriting,andoverthefollowingyearstheSymposiabasicallyateuptherestofthecollegeuntilallthatwasleftwasitslow-residencyprogram,somuchmoreaccommodatingforstudentswhocouldn’tdropeverythingforatwo-yearMFAcourse.Andshouldn’tbeexpectedto!Writing,accordingtoRipley’sownglossyprospectusandhighlyenticingwebsite,wasnotsomeelitistactivityoutofboundstoallbutthefortunatefew.Everysinglepersonhadauniquevoiceandastorynobodyelsecouldtell.Andanybody—especiallywiththeintensiveyetnurturingcommunityoftheRipleySymposia—couldbeawriter.
AllJacobFinchBonnerhadeverwantedtobewasawriter.Ever,ever,ever,allthewaybacktosuburbanLongIsland,whichwasthelastplaceonearthaseriousartistofanykindoughttocomefrombutwherehe,nonetheless,hadbeencursedtogrowup,theonlychildofataxattorneyandahighschoolguidancecounselor.Whyhe’daffixedhisstartotheforlornlittleshelfinhislocallibrarymarkedAUTHORSFROMLONGISLAND!wasanyone’sguess,butitdidnotpassunnoticedintheyoungwriter’shome.Hisfather(thetaxattorney)hadbeenforcefulinhisobjections(Writersdidn’tmakemoney!ExceptSidneySheldon.WasJakeclaiminghewasthenextSidneySheldon?)andhismother(theguidancecounselor)hadseenfittoremindhim,constantly,ofhismediocre-at-bestPSATscoreontheverbalside.(ItwasgreatlyembarrassingtoJakethathe’dmanagedtodobetteronthemaththantheverbal.)Thesehadbeengrievouschallengestoovercome,butwhatartistwaswithoutchallengestoovercome?He’dreadstubbornly(and,itshouldbenoted,alreadycompetitively,andwithenvy)throughouthischildhood,departingthemandatorycurriculum,leapfroggingtheusualadolescentdrosstovettheemergingfieldofhisfuturerivals.ThenoffhehadgonetoWesleyantostudycreativewriting,fallinginwithatightgroupoffellowproto-novelistsandshortstorywriterswhowerejustasinsanelycompetitiveashewas.
ManywerethedreamsofyoungJacobFinchBonnerwhenitcametothefictionhewouldonedaywrite.(The“Bonner,”inpointoffact,wasn’tentirelyauthentic—Jake’spaternalgreat-grandfatherhadsubstitutedBonnerforBernsteinasolidcenturybefore—butneitherwasthe“Finch,”whichJakehimselfhadaddedinhighschoolasanhomagetothenovelthatawakenedhisloveoffiction.)Sometimes,withbooksheespeciallyloved,heimaginedthathehadactuallywrittenthemhimself,andwasgivinginterviewsaboutthemtocriticsorreviewers(alwayshumbleinhisdeflectionoftheinterviewer’spraise)orreadingfromthemtolarge,avidaudiencesinabookstoreorsomehallfullofoccupiedseats.Heimaginedhisownphotographonthebackjacketflapofahardcover(takingashistemplatesthealreadyoutdatedwriter-leaning-over-manual-typewriterorwriter-with-pipe)andthoughtfartoooftenaboutsittingatatable,signingcopiesforalong,coilinglineofreaders.Thankyou,hewouldintonegraciouslytoeachwomanorman.That’ssokindofyoutosay.Yes,that’soneofmyfavorites,too.
Itwasn’tpreciselytruethatJakeneverthoughtabouttheactualwritingofhisfuturefictions.Heunderstoodthatbooksdidnotwritethemselves,andthatrealwork—workofimagination,workoftenacity,workofskill—wouldberequiredtobringhisowneventualbooksintotheworld.Healsounderstoodthatthefieldwasnotuncrowded:alotofyoungpeoplejustlikehimselffeltthewayhedidaboutbooksandwantedtowritethemoneday,anditwasevenpossiblethatsomeoftheseotheryoungpeoplemightconceivablyhaveevenmorenaturaltalentthanhedid,orpossiblyamorerobustimagination,orjustagreaterwilltogetthejobdone.Thesewerenotideasthatgavehimmuchpleasure,but,inhisfavor,hedidknowhisownmind.HeknewthathewouldnotbegettingcertifiedtoteachEnglishinpublicschools(“ifthewritingthingdoesn’tworkout”)ortakingtheLSATs(“whynot?”).Heknewthathehadchosenhislaneandbegunswimming,andhewouldnotstopswimminguntilheheldhisownbookinhisownhands,atwhichpointtheworldwouldsurelyhavelearnedthethinghehimselfhadknownforsomanyyears:
Hewasawriter.
Agreatwriter.
Thathadbeentheintention,anyway.
ItwaslateJuneandithadbeenrainingalloverVermontforthebetterpartofaweekwhenJakeopenedthedoortohisnewofficeinRichardPengHall.Ashesteppedinsidehenoticedthathehadtrackedmudalongthecorridorandintotheroom,andhelookeddownathissorryrunningshoes—oncewhite,nowbrownwithdampanddirt,neverinfactusedforactualrunning—andfeltthepointlessnessoftakingthemoffnow.He’dspentthelongdaydrivingupfromthecitywithtwoplasticFoodEmporiumbagsofclothesandthatelderlyleathersatchelcontainingthenearlyaselderlylaptoponwhichhiscurrentnovel—thenovelhewastheoretically(asopposedtoactually)workingon—andthefoldersofsubmittedworkbyhisassignedstudents,anditoccurredtohimthathehadbroughtprogressivelylesswithhimeachtimehe’dmadethetripnorthtoRipley.Thefirstyear?Abigsuitcasestuffedwithmostofhisclothing(becausewhoknewwhatmightbeconsideredappropriateattireforthreeweeksinnorthernVermont,surroundedbysurelyfawningstudentsandsurelyenviousfellowteachers?)andeveryprinted-outdraftofhissecondnovel,thedeadlineforwhichhe’dhadatendencytowhineaboutinpublic.Thisyear?Onlythosetwoplasticbagsoftossed-injeansandshirtsandthelaptophenowmainlyusedfororderingdinnerandwatchingYouTube.
Ifhewasstilldoingthisdepressingjobayearfromnow,heprobablywouldn’tevenbotherwiththelaptop.
No,Jakewasnotlookingforwardtotheabout-to-beginsessionoftheRipleySymposia.Hewasnotlookingforwardtoreconveningwithhisdrearyandannoyingcolleagues,notoneofthemawriterhegenuinelyadmired,andcertainlyhewasnotlookingforwardtofeigningexcitementforanotherbattalionofeagerstudentwriters,eachandeveryoneofthemlikelyconvincedtheywouldonedaywrite—orperhapshadalreadywritten—theGreatAmericanNovel.
Mostofall,hewasnotlookingforwardtopretendingthathehimselfwasstillawriter,letaloneagreatone.
ItwentwithoutsayingthatJakehadnotdoneanypreparationfortheimminenttermoftheRipleySymposia.Hewasutterlyunfamiliarwithanyofthesamplepagesinthoseannoyinglythickfolders.Whenhe’dbegunatRipleyhe’dpersuadedhimselfthat“greatteacher”wasalaudableadditionto“greatwriter,”andhe’dgiventhewritingsamplesofthesefolks,who’dputdownrealmoneytostudywithhim,someveryfocusedattention.Butthefoldershewasnowpullingoutofhissatchel,foldersheoughttohavebegunreadingweeksearlierwhenthey’darrivedfromRuthSteuben(theSymposia’shighlyacerbicofficemanager)hadtraveledfromPriorityMailboxtoleathersatchelwithouteveroncesufferingtheindignityofbeingopened,letalonesubjectedtointimateexamination.Jakelookedatthembalefullynow,asiftheythemselveswereresponsibleforhisprocrastination,andtheappallingeveningthatlayaheadofhim,asaresult.
Becauseafterall,whatwastheretoknowaboutthepeoplewhoseinnerlivesthesefolderscontained,whowereevennowconvergingonnorthernVermontandthesterileconferenceroomsofRichardPengHall,andthisveryoffice,oncetheone-on-oneconferencesbeganinafewdays?Theseparticularstudents,theseardentapprentices,wouldbeutterlyindistinguishablefromtheirearlierRipleycounterparts:mid-careerprofessionalsconvincedtheycouldchurnoutCliveCussleradventures,ormomswhobloggedabouttheirkidsanddidn’tseewhythatshouldn’tentitlethemtoaregulargigonGoodMorningAmerica,ornewlyretiredpeople“returningtofiction”(secureintheknowledgethatfictionhadbeenwaitingforthem?).WorstofallweretheoneswhoremindedJakemostofhimself:“literarynovelists,”utterlyserious,burningwithresentmenttowardanyonewho’dgottentherefirst.TheCliveCusslersandmombloggersmightstillbepersuadablethatJakewasafamous,oratleasta“highlyregarded”young(now“youngish”)novelist,butthewould-beDavidFosterWallacesandDonnaTarttswhowerecertainlypresentinthepileoffolders?Notsomuch.ThisgroupwouldbealltooawarethatJacobFinchBonnerhadfumbledhisearlyshot,failedtoproduceagoodenoughsecondnoveloranytraceofathirdnovel,andbeensenttothespecialpurgatoryforformerlypromisingwriters,fromwhichsofewofthemeveremerged.(IthappenedtobeuntruethatJakehadnotproducedathirdnovel,butinthiscasetheuntruthwasactuallypreferabletothetruth.Therehadindeedbeenathirdnovel,andevenafourth,butthosemanuscripts,themakingofwhichhadtogetherconsumednearlyfiveyearsofhislife,hadbeenrejectedbyaspectaculararrayofpublishersofdecliningprestige,fromthe“legacy”publisherofTheInventionofWondertotherespectableuniversitypressthathadpublishedhissecondbook,Reverberations,tothemany,manysmallpresspublicationcompetitionslistedinthebackofPoets&Writers,whichhehadspentasmallfortuneentering,and,needlesstosay,hadfailedtowin.Giventhesedemoralizingfacts,heactuallypreferredthathisstudentsbelievehewasstillstrugglingtoreelinthatmythicalandstupendoussecondnovel.)
Evenwithoutreadingtheworkofhisnewstudents,though,Jakefelthealreadyknewthemasintimatelyashe’dknowntheirearliercounterparts,whichwasbetterthanhewantedtoknowthem.Heknew,forexample,thattheywerefarlessgiftedthantheybelievedtheywere,orpossiblyeverybitasbadastheysecretlyfearedtheywere.Heknewtheywantedthingsfromhimthathewasutterlyunequippedtodeliverandhadnobusinesspretendinghepossessedinthefirstplace.Healsoknewthateveryoneofthemwasgoingtofail,andheknewthatwhenheleftthembehindattheendofthecurrentthree-weeksessiontheywoulddisappearfromhislife,nevertobethoughtofagain.Whichwasallhewantedfromthem,really.
Butfirst,hehadtodeliveronthatRipleyfantasythattheywereall,“students”and“teachers”alike,colleagues-in-art,eachwithauniquevoiceandasingularstorytotellwithit,andeachequallydeservingofbeingcalledthatmagicalthing:awriter
Itwasjustpastsevenandstillraining.Bythetimehemethisnewstudentsthefollowingeveningatthewelcomecookoutfornewstudents,hewouldhavetobeallsmiles,allpersonalencouragement,andfullofsuchscintillatingguidancethateachnewmemberoftheRipleySymposiaMasterofFineArtsProgrammightbelievethe“gifted”(PhiladelphiaInquirer)and“intriguing”(BostonGlobe)authorofTheInventionofWonderwaspersonallypreparedtousherthemintotheShangriLaofLiteraryFame.
Unfortunately,theonlypathfromheretothereledthroughthosetwelvefolders
HeturnedonthestandardRichardPengdesklampandsatdowninthestandardRichardPengofficechair,whichgavealoudsqueakashedid,thenhespentalongmomenttracingalineofgrimealongtheridgesofthecinderblocksonthewallbesidehisofficedoor,delayingtillthelastpossiblemomentthelonganddeeplyunpleasanteveningthatwasabouttocommence.
Howmanytimes,lookingbackatthisnight,theverylastnightofatimehewouldalwaysafterwardthinkofas“before,”wouldhewishthathehadn’tbeensoutterly,fatallywrong?Howmanytimes,inspiteoftheastonishinggoodfortunesetinmotionbyoneofthosefolders,wouldhewishhe’dbackedhiswayoutofthatsterileoffice,retracedhisownmuddyfootprintsdownthecorridor,returnedtohiscar,anddriventhosemanyhoursbacktoNewYorkandhisordinary,personalfailure?Toomany,butnomatter.Itwasalreadytoolateforthat.
CHAPTERTWO
TheHero’sWelcome
BythetimethewelcomecookoutcommencedthefollowingafternoonJakewasrunningonfumes,havingdraggedhimselfintothatmorning’sfacultymeetingafterascantthreehours’sleep.IthadbeenasmallvictorythisyearthatRuthSteubenwasfinallyshiftingthestudentswhoself-identifiedaspoetsawayfromhimandtootherteacherswhoalsoself-identifiedaspoets(Jakehadnothingofvaluetoteachaspiringpoets.Inhisexperience,poetsoftenreadfiction,butfictionwriterswhosaidtheyreadpoetrywithanyregularitywereliars),soitcouldatleastbesaidthatthedozenstudentshe’dbeenassignedwereprosewriters.Butwhatproseitwas!Inhisthrough-the-nightandfueled-by-Red-Bullreadthrough,narrativeperspectivehoppedaboutasifthetruenarratorwasaflea,traipsingfromcharactertocharacter,andthestories(or…chapters?)weresosimultaneouslyflaccidandfreneticthattheysignified—atworst,nothing,andatbest,notenough.Tensesrolledaroundwithintheparagraphs(sometimeswithinthesentences!)andwordswereoccasionallyusedinwaysthatdefinitelyimpliedthewriterwasnotoverlyclearontheirmeanings.Grammatically,theworstofthemmadeDonaldTrumplooklikeStephenFryandmostoftherestweremakersofsentencesthatcouldonlybedescribedas…utterlyordinary.
Encompassedinthosefoldershadbeentheshockingdiscoveryofadecayingcorpseonabeach(thecorpse’sbreastshadbeen,incomprehensibly,describedas“ripehoneymelons”),awriter’shistrionicaccountofdiscovering,viaDNAtest,thathewas“partAfrican,”aninertcharacterstudyofamotheranddaughterlivingtogetherinanoldhouse,andtheopeningofanovelsetinabeaverdam“deepintheforest”).Someofthesesampleshadnoparticularpretensionstoliterature,andwouldbeeasyenoughtodealwith—nailingdowntheplotandred-pencilingtheproseintobasicsubserviencewouldbeenoughtojustifyhispaycheckandhonorhisprofessionalresponsibilities—butthemoreself-consciously“literary”writingsamples(someofthem,ironically,amongtheworstwritten)weregoingtosuckhissoul.Heknewit.Itwasalreadyhappening.
Fortunately,thefacultymeetingwasn’tterriblytaxing.(ItwaspossibleJakehadevendozed,briefly,duringRuthSteuben’sritualintoningofRipley’ssexualharassmentguidelines.)ThereturningprofessorsoftheRipleySymposiagotonreasonablywell,andwhileJakecouldn’thavesaidhe’dbecomeactualfriendswithanyofthem,hedidhaveawell-establishedtraditionofaonce-per-sessionbeeratTheRipleyInnwithBruceO’Reilly,retiredfromColby’sEnglishDepartmentandtheauthorofhalfadozennovelspublishedbyanindependentpressinhisnativeMaine.ThisyearthereweretwonewcomersintheRichardPenglobby-levelconferenceroom,anervouspoetcalledAlicewholookedtobeabouthisownageandamanwhointroducedhimselfasa“multigenric”writer,whointonedhisname,FrankRicardo,inawaythatdefinitelyimpliedtherestofthemrecognizedit—oratanyrateoughttorecognizeit.(FrankRicardo?ItwastruethatJakehadstoppedpayingcloseattentiontootherwritersaroundthetimehisownfourthnovelbegantocollectrejections—ithadsimplybeentoopainfultocontinue—buthedidn’tthinkhewassupposedtohaveheardofaFrankRicardo.(HadaFrankRicardowonaNationalBookAwardoraPulitzer?HadaFrankRicardolobbedanout-of-nowherefirstnovelontothetopoftheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistviaviralwordofmouth?)AfterRuthSteubenfinishedherrecitationandwentovertheschedule(dailyandweekly,eveningreadings,duedatesforwrittenevaluations,anddeadlinesforjudgingtheSymposia’send-of-sessionwritingawards)shedismissedthemwithasmilingbutsteelyreminderthatthewelcomecookoutwasnotoptionalforfaculty.Jakeleaptfortheexitbeforeanyofhiscolleagues—familiarornew—couldtalktohim.
TheapartmentherentedwasafewmileseastofRipley,onaroadactuallynamedPovertyLane.Itbelongedtoalocalfarmer—moreaccuratelyhiswidow—andfeaturedaviewovertheroadtoafalling-downbarnthathadoncehousedadairyherd.NowthewidowleasedthelandtooneofRuthSteuben’sbrothersandranadaycareinthefarmhouse.SheprofessedherselftobemystifiedaboutthethingJakedidthatgotmadeintobooks,orhowitwasgettingtaughtoveratRipley,orwhomightactuallypaytolearnsuchathing,butshehadheldtheapartmentforhimsincehisfirstyearatRipley—quiet,polite,andresponsiblewithrentwereapparentlytoorareacombinationnotto.Hehadmadeittobedataboutfourthatmorningandsleptuntiltenminutesbeforethefacultymeetingbegan.Itwasn’tenough.Nowhepulledthecurtainsandpassedoutagain,wakingatfivetobeginassemblinghisgamefacefortheofficialstartoftheRipleyterm.
Thebarbequewasheldonthecollegegreen,surroundedbytheRipley’searliestbuildings,which—unlikeRichardPengHall—werereassuringlycollegiateandactuallyverypretty.JakeloadedupapaperplatewithchickenandcornbreadandreachedintooneofthecoolerstoextractabottleofHeineken,butevenashedidabodyleanedagainsthim,andalongforearm,thicklycoveredwithblondhair,tippedhisownforearmoutofitstrajectory.
“Sorry,man,”saidthisunseenperson,evenashisfingersclosedaroundJake’sintendedbeerbottleandpulleditfromthewater.
“Okay,”Jakesaidautomatically.
Suchapatheticallysmallmoment.Itmadehimthinkofthosebodybuildingcartoonsinthebackofoldcomicbooks:bullykickssandinthefaceofninety-eight-poundweakling.What’shegoingtodoaboutit?Becomeabulked-upbullyhimself,ofcourse.Theguy—hewasmiddlingtall,middlingblond,thickthroughtheshoulders—hadalreadyturnedaway,andwaspoppingthebottlecapandliftingittohismouth.Jakecouldn’tseetheasshole’sface.
“Mr.Bonner.”
Jakestraightenedup.Awomanwasstandingbesidehim.Itwasthenewcomer,fromthefacultymeetingthatmorning.Alicesomething.Thenervousone.
“Hi.Alice,right?”
“AliceLogan.Yeah.IjustwantedtosayhowmuchIlikeyourwork.”
Jakefelt,andnoted,thephysicalsensationthatgenerallyaccompaniedthissentence,whichhestilldidhearfromtimetotime.Inthiscontext“work”couldonlymeanTheInventionofWonder,aquietnovelsetinhisownnativeLongIslandandfeaturingayoungmannamedArthur.Arthur,whosefascinationwiththelifeandideasofIsaacNewtonprovidesathroughlineforthenovelandastayagainstchaoswhenhisbrotherdiessuddenly,wasnot,emphaticallynot,astand-inforJake’sownyoungerself.(Jakehadnosiblingsatall,andhe’dhadtodoextensiveresearchtocreateacharacterknowledgeableaboutthelifeandideasofIsaacNewton!)TheInventionofWonderhadindeedbeenreadatthetimeofitspublication,and,hesupposed,wasstillreadonoccasion,bypeoplewhocaredaboutfictionandwhereitmightbeheading.Neveroncehadanyoneusedthephrase“Ilikeyourwork”torefertoReverberations(acollectionofshortstorieswhichhisfirstpublisherhadrejected,andwhichtheDiademPressoftheStateUniversityofNewYork—ahighlyrespecteduniversitypress!—hadrecastas“anovelinlinkedshortstories”),despitethefactthatinnumerablecopieshadbeendutifullysentoutforreview(resultinginnotasingleone).
Itoughttobenicewhenitstillhappened,butsomehowitwasn’t.Somehowitmadehimfeelawful.Butreally,didn’teverything?
Theywenttooneofthepicnictablesandsat.Jakehadneglected,intheaftermathofthatHeinekentheft,tograbanotherdrink.
“Itwassopowerful,”shesaid,pickingupfromwhereshe’dleftoff.“Andyouwere…what,twenty-fivewhenyouwrotethat?”
“Aboutthat,yes.”
“Well,Iwasblownaway.”
“Thankyou,that’ssoniceofyoutosay.”
“IwasinmyMFAprogramwhenIreadit.Ithinkwewereinthesameprogram,actually.Notatthesametime.”
“Oh?”
Jake’sprogram—and,apparently,Alice’s—hadnotbeenthisnewer“lowresidency”typebutthemoreclassicdrop-your-life-and-devote-yourself-to-your-art-for-two-straight-yearsvariety,andtobebluntitwasalsoafarmoreprestigiousprogramthanRipley’s.AttachedtoaMidwesternuniversity,theprogramhadlongproducedpoetsandnovelistsofgreatimportancetoAmericanletters,andwassohardtogetintothatithadtakenJakethreeyearstomanageit(duringwhichtimehehadwatchedcertainlesstalentedfriendsandacquaintancesgetaccepted).He’dspentthoseyearslivinginamicroscopicapartmentinQueensandworkingforaliteraryagencywithaspecialinterestinsciencefictionandfantasy.Sciencefictionandfantasy,nevergenrestowhichhehadpersonallybeendrawn,seemedtoattractahighquotientof—well,whynotbeblunt?—crazyinitsaspiringauthorpool,notthatJakehadnothingtocomparethattosinceeveryoneoftheverydistinguishedliteraryagencieshe’dappliedtoaftergraduatingfromcollegehaddeclinedtomakeuseofhistalents.FantasticFictions,LLC,atwo-manshopinHell’sKitchen(actuallyinthetinybackroomoftheowners’railroadflatinHell’sKitchen)hadaclientlistofaboutfortywriters,mostofwhomleftforlargeragenciesthemomenttheyexperiencedanyprofessionalsuccess.Jake’sjobhadbeentosictheattorneyontheseungratefulwriters,todiscourageover-the-transomauthorsintentondescribingtheirten-novelseries(writtenorunwritten)withtheagentsoverthephone,andabovealltoreadmanuscriptaftermanuscriptaboutdystopianalternaterealitiesondistantplanets,darkpenalsystemsfarbelowthesurfaceoftheearth,andleaguesofpost-apocalypticrebelsbentontheoverthrowofsadisticwarlords.
Onceheactuallyhadferretedoutanexcitingprospectforhisbosses,anovelaboutaspunkyyoungwomanwhoescapesfromapenalcolonyplanetaboardsomekindofintergalacticjunkship,anddiscoversamutantpopulationamongthegarbagewhichshetransformsintoavengefularmyandultimatelyleadsintobattle.Ithaddefinitepotential,butthetwoloserswho’dhiredhimletthemanuscriptlanguishontheirdeskformonths,wavingoffhisreminders.Eventually,Jakehadgivenup,andayearlater,whenhereadinVarietyaboutICM’ssaleofthebooktoMiramax(withSandraBullockattached),he’dcarefullyclippedthestoryandstuckitinhispocket.Sixmonthslater,whenhisgoldentickettotheMFApartyarrivedandhequithisjob—OHappyDay!—he’dplacedthearticlesquarelyonhisboss’sdeskatopthedustymanuscriptitself.He’ddonewhathe’dbeenhiredtodo.He’dalwaysknownagoodplotwhenhesawone.
UnlikemanyofhisfellowMFAstudents(someofwhomenteredtheprogramwithactualpublications,mostlyinliteraryjournalsbutinonecase—thankfullythatofapoetandnotafictionwriter—theeffingNewYorker!),Jakehadnotwastedamomentofthosetwopreciousyears.Hedutifullyattendedeveryseminar,lecture,reading,workshop,andinformalgatheringwithvisitingeditorsandagentsfromNewYork,anddeclinedinthemaintowallowinthat(itselffictional)malady,“Writer’sBlock.”Whenhewasn’tinclassorauditinglecturesattheuniversityhewaswriting,andintwoyearshe’dbangedoutanearlydraftofwhatwouldbecomeTheInventionofWonder.Thishesubmittedashisthesisandforeveryeligibleawardtheprogramoffered.Itwononeofthem.Evenmoreconsequentially,itgothimanagent.
Alice,itturnedout,hadarrivedattheMidwesterncampusonlyweeksafterhisowndeparture.She’dbeentherethefollowingyearwhenhisnovelwaspublished,andacopyofitscoverpinnedtothebulletinboardmarkedALUMNIPUBLICATIONS.
“Imean,soexciting!Onlyayearoutoftheprogram.”
“Yeah.Headystuff.”
Thatsatbetweenthemlikesomethingdullandunpleasant.Finallyhesaid:“So,youwritepoetry.”
“Yes.Ihadmyfirstcollectionoutlastfall.UniversityofAlabama.”
“Congratulations.IwishIreadmorepoetry.”
Hedidn’t,actually,buthewishedhewishedhereadmorepoetry,whichoughttocountforsomething.
“IwishIcouldwriteanovel.”
“Well,maybeyoucan.”
Sheshookherhead.Sheseemed…itwasridiculous,butwasthiswanpoetactuallyflirtingwithhim?Whatonearthfor?
“Iwouldn’tknowhow.Imean,Ilovereadingnovels,butI’mexhaustedjustwritingaline.Ican’timagine,pagesandpagesofwriting,nottomentioncharactersthathavetofeelrealandastorythatneedstosurpriseyou.It’sabsurd,thatpeoplecanactuallydothat.Andmorethanonce!Imean,youwroteasecondone,didn’tyou?”
Andathirdandafourth,hethought.Afifthifyoucountedtheonecurrentlyonhislaptop,whichhe’dbeentoodisheartenedtoevenlookatfornearlyayear.Henodded.
“Well,whenIgotthisjobyouweretheonlypersononfacultyIknew.Imean,whoseworkIknew.Ifigureditwasprobablyokayifyouwerehere.”
Jaketookacarefulbiteofhiscornbread:predictablydry.Hehadn’tencounteredthisdegreeofwriterlyapprobationforacoupleofyears,anditwasincrediblehowquicklyallofthenarcoticallywarmfeelingscamerushingback.Thiswaswhatitwastobeadmired,andthoughtfullyadmiredatthat,bysomeonewhoknewexactlyhowharditwastowriteagoodandtranscendentsentenceofprose!Hehadoncethoughthislifewouldbecrowdedwithencountersjustlikethis,notjustwithfellowwritersanddevotedreaders(ofhisever-growing,ever-deepeningoeuvre)butwithstudents(perhaps,ultimately,atmuchbetterprograms)thrilledtohavebeenassignedJacobFinchBonner,therisingyoungnovelist,astheirsupervisingwriter/instructor.Thekindofteacheryoucouldgrababeerwithaftertheworkshopended!
NotthatJakehadevergrabbedabeerwithoneofhisstudents.
“Well,that’skindofyoutosay,”hetoldAlicewithstudiedmodesty.
“I’mstartingasanadjunctatHopkinsthisfall,butI’venevertaught.Imightbeinprettyfarovermyhead.”
Helookedather,hisreserveofgoodwill,alreadysmall,nowswiftlydrainingaway.AdjunctatJohnsHopkinswasnothingtosneezeat.Itprobablymeantafellowshipshe’dhadtobeatafewhundredotherpoetsoutfor.Theuniversitypresspublicationwaslikelyalsotheresultofaprize,itoccurredtohimnow,andjustabouteveryonecomingoutofanMFAprogramwithamanuscriptwentinforeveryoneofthose.Thisgirl,Alice,wasquitepossiblysomeversionofabigdeal,oratleastwhatpassedforabigdealinthepoetryworld.Thethoughtofthatdeflatedhimutterly.
“I’msureyou’lldofine,”hesaid.“Whenindoubtjustencouragethem.That’swhytheypayusthebigbucks.”Hewentforagrin.Itfelthorriblyawkward.
Alice,afteramoment,producedherowngrin,andlookedjustasuncomfortableashewas.
“Hey,youusingthat?”saidavoice.
Jakelookedup.Hemightnothaverecognizedtheface—longandnarrow,blondhairfloppingforwardintohoodedeyes—butherecognizedthatarm.Hefollowedittoitspointoftermination:arathersharpfingernailonanextendedindexfinger.Therewasabottleopeneronthepicnictable’sredcheckplastictablecovering.
“What?”saidJake.“Oh,no.”
“Becausepeoplearelookingforit.It’ssupposedtobeoverbythebeers.”
Theaccusationwasplain:JakeandAlice,twoobviouslyunimportantpeople,haddeprivedthisthrobbingtalentattheheartoftheRipleySymposia,andhisfriends,ofaccesstothecrucialbottle-openingtool,whichinturndeprivedtheseobviouslytalentedstudentsaccesstotheirbeverageofchoice.
NeitherAlicenorJakeresponded.
“SoI’llbetakingitback,”theblondguysaid,doingjustthat.Thetwofacultymemberswatchedinsilence:again,thatbackturned,middlingheight,middlingblond,broadshouldered,stalkingaway,bottleopenerbrandishedintriumph.
“Well,there’sacharmer.”Alicespokefirst.
Theguystalkedofftooneoftheothertables,whichwaspackedtocapacity,peoplesidesaddleattheendsofthebenchesandseatedindragged-overlawnchairs.Theveryfirstnightofthesessionandthisgroupofbrand-newstudentshadclearlyestablisheditselfasanalpha-clique,andjudgingfromthehero’swelcometheblondguywiththebottleopenerwasreceivingfromhistable-mates,theircensoriousfriendwasitsobviousepicenter.
“Hopehedoesn’tturnouttobeapoet,”Alicesighed.
Notmuchchanceofthat,Jakethought.EverythingabouttheguyscreamedFICTIONWRITER,thoughthespeciesitselfbrokedownmoreorlessevenlyintothesubcategories:
1.GreatAmericanNovelist
2.NewYorkTimesBestsellingAuthor
Orthathighlyrarehybrid…
3.NewYorkTimesBestsellingGreatAmericanNovelist
ThetriumphantsavioroftheabductedbottleopenermightwanttobeJonathanFranzen,inotherwords,orhemightwanttobeJamesPatterson,butfromapracticalstandpointitmadenodifference.Ripleydidnotdividetheliterarypretentiousfromthejourneymanstoryteller,whichmeantthatonewayoranotherthislegendinhisownmindwasverylikelygoingtowalkintoJake’sownseminarthefollowingmorning.Andtherewasn’tadamnthinghecoulddoaboutit.
CHAPTERTHREE
EvanParker/ParkerEvan
Andlo:therehewas,swaggeringintoPeng-101(thelobby-levelconferenceroom)withtheothersthefollowingmorningatten,glancingidlyattheendoftheseminartablewhereJakewassitting,showingnottheslightestrecognitionoftheperson(JacobFinchBonner!)whowastheobviousauthorityfigureintheroom,andtakingaseat.HereachedforthestackofphotocopiesatthecenterofthetableandJakewatchedhimimpassivelyflipthroughthepages,givethemapreemptivesneer,andsetthemdownbesidehisownnotebookandpenandwaterbottle.(TheRipleySymposiagavethebottlesoutatregistration.Theywouldbetheprogram’sfirstandfinalperk.)Thenhefellintoloudconversationwithhisneighbor,arotundgentlemanfromtheCapewho’datleastintroducedhimselftoJakethenightbefore.
Atfivepasttheappointedtime,theclasscommenced.
Ithadbeenanothermoistmorningandthestudents—nineoftheminall—begantoshedlayersofouterwearastheworkshopgotunderway.Jakedidmuchofthisonautopilot:introducinghimself,sketchinghisownautobiography(hedidn’tdwellonhispublications;iftheydidn’tcare,oriftheydeclinedtoholdhisaccomplishmentsinhighesteem,hepreferrednottoseeitontheirfaces),andtalkingabitaboutwhatcouldandcouldnotbeaccomplishedinacreativewritingworkshop.Hesetsomeoptimisticparametersforbestpractices(Positivitywastherule!Personalcommentsandpoliticalideologiesweretobeavoided!)andtheninvitedthemeachtosayabitaboutthemselves:whotheywere,whattheywrote,andhowtheyhopedtheRipleySymposiamighthelpthemtogrowaswriters.(Thishadalwaysbeenareliablewaytouseupmostoftheinauguralclass.Ifitdidn’t,theywouldmoveontothethreewritingsampleshe’dhadphotocopiedfortheirfirstmeeting.)
Ripleycastabignetwhenitcametoattractingstudents—inrecentyearstheglossybrochureandwebsitehadbeenjoinedbytargetedFacebookads—butthoughtheapplicantpoolhadcertainlyswelled,therehadn’tyetbeenasessionforwhichthenumberofapplicantshadbeengreaterthanthenumberofspots.Inshort,anyonewhowantedtoattendRipley,andcouldaffordtoattendRipley,waswelcomeatRipley.(Ontheotherhand,itwasn’timpossibletogetthrownoutonceyouwerein;thisdistinctionhadbeenachievedbymorethanafewstudentssincetheSymposiabegan,mostcommonlyduetoextremeobnoxiousnessinclass,carryingafirearm,orjustgenerallyactingbatshitcrazy.)Aspredicted,thegroupbrokedownmoreorlessevenlybetweenstudentswhodreamedofwinningNationalBookAwardsandstudentswhodreamedofseeingtheirbooksinaspinningrackofpaperbacksattheairport,andasneitheroftheseweregoalsJakehimselfhadaccomplishedheknewhehadcertainchallengestoovercomeastheirteacher.HisworkshopcontainednotonebuttwowomenwhocitedElizabethGilbertastheirinspiration,anotherwhohopedtowriteaseriesofmysteriesorganizedaround“numerologicalprinciples,”amanwhoalreadyhadsixhundredpagesofanovelbasedonhisownlife(hewasonlyuptohisadolescence)andagentlemanfromMontanawhoseemedtobewritinghisownversionofLesMisérables,albeitwithVictorHugo’s“mistakes”corrected.Bythetimetheyreachedthesaviorofthebottleopener,Jakewasfairlysurethegrouphadcoalescedaroundtheabsurdityofthenumerologistandthepost–VictorHugoguy,mainlybecauseoftheblonddude’sbarelyhiddensmirking,buthewasn’tsure.Muchwoulddependonwhathappenednext.
Theguycrossedhisarms.Hewasleaningbackinhischair,andsomehowmadethatpositionlookcomfortable.“EvanParker,”theguysaidwithoutpreamble.“ButI’mthinkingaboutreversingit,professionally.”
Jakefrowned.“Youmean,asapenname?”
“Forprivacy,yeah.ParkerEvan.”
Itwasallhecoulddonottolaugh,thelivesofthevastmajorityofauthorsbeingfarmoreprivatethantheylikelywished.MaybeStephenKingorJohnGrishamgotapproachedinthesupermarketbyaquaveringpersonextendingpenandpaper,butformostwriters,evenreliablypublishedandactuallyself-supportingwriters,theprivacywasthunderous.
“Andwhatkindoffiction?”
“I’mnotsomuchaboutthelabels,”saidEvanParker/ParkerEvan,sweepingthatlockofthickhairoffhisforeheadandback.Itfellimmediatelyoverhisfaceagain,butperhapsthatwasthepoint.“Ijustcareaboutthestory.Eitherit’sagoodplotoritisn’t.Andifit’snotagoodplot,thebestwritingisn’tgoingtohelp.Andifitis,theworstwritingisn’tgoingtohurtit.”
Thisratherremarkablesentencewasmetwithsilence.
“Areyouwritingshortstories?Orareyouplanningonanovel?”
“Novel,”hesaidcurtly,asifJakedoubtedhimsomehow.Which,tobefair,Jakeabsolutelydid.
“It’sabigundertaking.”
“I’mawareofthat,”EvanParkersaidcaustically.
“Well,canyoutellussomethingaboutthenovelyou’dliketowrite?”
Helookedinstantlysuspicious.“Whatkindof‘something’?”
“Well,thesetting,forinstance.Thecharacters?Orageneralsenseoftheplot.Doyouhaveaplotinmind?”
“Ido,”saidParker,withnowoverflowinghostility.“Iprefernottodiscussit.”Helookedaround.“Inthissetting.”
Evenwithoutlookingatanyofthemdirectly,Jakecouldfeelthereaction.Everyoneseemedtobeatthesameimpasse,butonlyhewasexpectedtorespondtoit
“Isuppose,”Jakesaid,“thatwhatwe’dneedtoknow,then,ishowI—howthisclass—canbesthelpyouimproveasawriter.”
“Oh,”saidEvanParker/ParkerEvan,“I’mnotreallylookingtoimprove.I’maverygoodwriter,andmynoveliswellontrack.Andactually,ifI’mbeinghonestaboutit,I’mnotevensurewritingcanevenbetaught.Imean,evenbythebestteacher.”
Jakenotedthewaveofdismaycirclingtheseminartable.Morethanoneofhisnewstudents,morelikelythannot,wasconsideringhiswastedtuitionmoney.
“Well,I’dobviouslydisagreewiththat,”hesaid,tryingforalaugh.
“Icertainlyhopeso!”saidthemanfromCapeCod.
“I’mcurious,”saidthewomantoJake’sright,whowaswritinga“fictionalizedmemoir”aboutherchildhoodinsuburbanCleveland,“whywouldyoucometoanMFAprogramifyoudon’tthinkwritingcanbetaught?Like,whynotjustgoandwriteyourbookonyourown?”
“Well”—EvanParker/ParkerEvanshrugged—“I’mnotagainstthiskindofthing,obviously.Thejury’soutonwhetheritworks,that’sall.I’malreadywritingmybook,andIknowhowgooditis.ButIfigured,eveniftheprogramitselfdoesn’tactuallyhelpme,Iwouldn’tsaynotothedegree.Morelettersafteryourname,thatneverhurts,right?Andthere’sachanceIcouldgetanagentoutofit.”
Foralongmoment,noonespoke.Morethanafewofthestudentsseemednewlydistractedbythestapledwritingsamplesbeforethem.Finally,Jakesaid:“I’mgladtohearyou’rewellalongonyourproject,andIhopewecanbearesourceforyou,andasupportsystem.Onethingwedoknowisthatwritershavealwayshelpedotherwriters,whetherornotthey’reinaformalprogramtogether.Weallunderstandthatwritingisasolitaryactivity.Wedoourworkinprivate—noconferencecallsorbrainstormingmeetings,noteam-buildingexercises,justusinaroom,alone.Maybethat’swhyourtraditionofsharingourworkwithfellowwritershasevolvedthewayithas.There’vealwaysbeengroupsofuscomingtogether,readingworkaloudorsharingmanuscripts.Andnotevenjustforthecompanyorthesenseofcommunity,butbecauseweactuallyneedothereyesonourwriting.Weneedtoknowwhat’sworkingand,evenmoreimportant,what’snotworking,andmostofthetimewecan’ttrustourselvestoknow.Nomatterhowsuccessfulanauthoris,bywhatevermetricyoumeasuresuccess,I’mwillingtobettheyhaveareadertheytrustwhoseestheworkbeforetheagentorpublisherdoes.Andjusttoaddalayerofpracticalitytothis,wenowhaveapublishingindustryinwhichthetraditionalroleof‘editor’isdiminished.Today,editorswantabookthatcangostraightintoproduction,orasclosetothataspossible,soifyouthinkMaxwellPerkinsiswaitingforyourmanuscript-in-progresstoarriveonhisdesk,sohecanrolluphissleevesandtransformitintoTheGreatGatsby,thathasn’tbeentrueforalongtime.”
Hesaw,tohissadnessbutnothissurprise,thatthename“MaxwellPerkins”wasnotfamiliartothem.
“Soinotherwords,ifwe’rewisewe’llseekoutthosereadersandinvitethemintoourprocess,whichiswhatwe’realldoinghereatRipley.Youcanmakethatasformalorinformalasyoulike,butIthinkourroleinthisgroupistoaddwhatwecantotheworkofourfellowwriters,andopenourselvestotheirguidanceasmuchaspossible.Andthatincludesme,bytheway.Idon’tplanontakinguptheclass’stimewithmyownwork,butIdoexpecttolearnagreatdealfromthewritersinthisroom,bothfromtheworkyou’redoingonyourownprojectsandfromtheeyesandearsandinsightsyoubringtoyourclassmates’work.”
EvanParker/ParkerEvanhadnotstoppedgrinningonceduringthissemi-impassionedspeech.Nowheaddedaheadshaketounderscorehisgreatamusement.“I’mhappytogivemyopiniononeveryone’swriting,”hesaid.“Butdon’texpectmetochangewhatI’mdoingforanyoneelse’seyesorearsornoses,forthatmatter.IknowwhatI’vegothere.Idon’tthinkthere’sapersonontheplanet,nomatterhowlousyawriterheis,whocouldmessupaplotlikemine.Andthat’saboutallI’mgoingtosay.”
Andwiththathefoldedhisarmsandshuttighthismouth,asiftoensurethatnofurthermorselofhiswisdommightslippasthislips.ThegreatnovelunderwayfromEvanParker/ParkerEvanwassafefromthelessereyes,ears,andnosesoftheRipleySymposia’sfirst-yearprosefictionworkshop.
CHAPTERFOUR
ASureThing
Themotherandthedaughterintheoldhouse:thatwashiswritingsample.Andifeveraworkofprosepointedlesstoastupendous,surefire,can’t-douse-its-fireplotitcouldonlybesomethingalongthelinesofanexposéonthedryingofpaint.Jaketookextratimewiththepiecebeforehisfirstone-on-onemeetingwithitsauthor,justtomakesurehewasn’tmissingaburiedRaidersoftheLostArkspringboardortheseedsofsomeepicLordoftheRingsquest,butiftheywerethere,inthequotidiandescriptionsofthedaughter’shomeworkpractices,orthemother’swayofcookingcreamedcornfromacan,orthedescriptionsofthehouseitself,Jakecouldn’tseeit.
Atthesametime,itsortofannoyedhimtonotethatthewritingitselfwasn’tterrible.EvanParker—andEvanParkerhewouldbe,unlessanduntilheactuallysucceededinpublishinghisthreatenedmasterworkandrequiringaprivacy-savingpenname—mighthavedweltuponhissupposedlyspectacularplotintheworkshopbutJake’sobnoxiousstudenthadproducedeightpagesofentirelyinoffensivesentenceswithoutobviousdefectsoreventheusualwriterlyindulgences.Thebaldfactofitwas:thisassholeappearedtobeanaturalwriterwiththekindofrelaxedandappreciativerelationshipwithlanguageeventhosewritingprogramsfarhigheruptheprestigescalethanRipley’swereincapableofteaching,andwhichJakehimselfhadneveronceimpartedtoastudent(ashe,himself,hadneveroncereceiveditfromateacher).Parkerwrotewithaneyefordetailandanearforthewaythewordswoveintosequence.Heconjuredhistwoapparentprotagonists(amothernamedDiandraandherteenagedaughter,Ruby)andtheirhome,averyoldhouseinsomeunnamedpartofthecountrywheresnowwasgeneralinwinter,withaneconomyofdescriptionthatsomehowconveyedthesepeopleintheirsetting,aswellastheobviousandevenalarmingleveloftensionbetweenthem.Ruby,thedaughter,wasstudiousandsullen,andshecameupoutofthepageasacloselyobservedandeventexturedcharacter.Diandra,themother,wasalessdefinedbutheavypresenceattheedgesofthedaughter’sperspective,asJakesupposedonemightexpectinacapaciousoldhousewithonlytwopeopleinit.Butevenatoppositeendsofthehometheyshared,theirmutualloathingwasradiant.
Hehadbeenthroughthepiecetwice,already;onceafewnightsearlierinthecourseofhisall-nighter,andagainthenightafterhisfirstclass,whensheercuriosityhaddrivenhimbacktothefolders,hopingtolearnabitmoreaboutthejerk.WhenParkermadesuchsensationalclaimsforhisplotJakehadthoughtinevitablyofthatbodydiscoveredinthesand,incongruouslydecayingwhilestillillogicallyinpossessionof“honeymelon”breasts,andhe’dbeenmorethanalittlesurprisedtodiscoverthatthismemorableincongruityhadsprungfromthefertilemindofhisstudentChris,ahospitaladministratorfromRoanokeandthemotherofthreedaughters.Afewmomentslater,whenherealizedthatEvanParkerwastheauthoroftheseparticularpages—wellwritten,tobesure,bututterlydevoidofanyplot,letaloneaplotsoscintillatingevena“lousywriter”couldn’tmessitup—Jakehadwantedtolaugh.
Now,withtheauthorhimselfabouttoarriveforhisfirststudent-teacherconference,hesatdownwiththeexcerptforathirdandhopefullyfinaltime.
Rubycouldhearhermother,allthewayupstairsinherbedroomandonthephone.Shecouldn’theartheactualwords,butsheknewwhenDiandrawasononeofherPsychicHotlinecallsbecausethevoicewentupandgotbillowy,asifDiandra(oratleastherpsychicalias,SisterDeeDee)werefloatingoverhead,lookingdownateverythinginthepoorcaller’slifeandseeingall.Whenhermother’svoicewasmid-rangeandhertoneflat,RubycouldtellthatDiandrawasworkingforoneoftheoff-sitecustomerservicelinessheloggedinto.Andwhenitgotlowandbreathy,itwasthepornchatlinethathadbeenthesoundtrackofmostofthelastcoupleofyearsofRuby’slife.Rubywasdownstairsinthekitchen,retakinganat-homehistorytest,byherownspecialrequesttoherteacher.ThetesthadbeenontheCivilWarupthroughthepost-warreconstruction,andshe’dgottenananswerwrongaboutwhatacarpetbaggerwas,andwherethewordcamefrom.Itwasonlyalittlething,butithadbeenenoughtokickheroutofherusualspotatthetopoftheclass.Naturallyshe’dhadtoaskforanotherfifteenquestions.Mr.Brownhadtriedtotellherthe94onheroriginaltestwasn’tgoingtohurthergrade,butsherefusedtoletitgo.“Ruby,youmissedaquestion.It’snottheendoftheworld.Besides,fortherestofyourlifeyou’regoingtorememberwhatacarpetbaggeris.That’sthewholepoint.”Itwasn’tthewholepoint.Itwasn’tanypartofthepoint.ThepointwastogetanAintheclasssoshecouldargueherwayoutoftheso-calledAdvancedAmericanHistoryjuniorspringclassandtakehistoryatthecommunitycollegeinstead,becausethatwouldhelphergetoutofhereandintocollege—hopefullywithascholarship,hopefullyfar,farawayfromthishouse.NotthatshefelttheleastinclinationtoexplainanyofthistoMr.Brown.Butshepleaded,andeventuallyhegavein.“Okay.Butatake-hometest.Doitonyourowntime.Lookstuffup.”“I’lldoittonight.AndIpromise,Iabsolutelywillnotlookstuffup.”Hesighedandsatdowntowriteanotherfifteenquestions,justforher.ShewaswritingalongerthannecessaryresponseabouttheKuKluxKlanwhenhermothercamedownthestairsandpaddedintothekitchen,phonewedgedbetweenherearandhershoulder,alreadyreachingfortherefrigeratordoor.“Honey,she’scloseby.Rightnow.Icanfeelher.”Therewasapause.Hermother,apparently,wasgatheringinformation.RubytriedtoreturntotheKuKluxKlan.“Yes,shemissesyou,too.She’swatchingoveryou.Shewantedmetosaysomethingabout…whatisit,honey?”Diandrawasnowstandingbeforetheopenrefrigerator.Afteramoment,shereachedforacanofDietDr.Pepper.“Acat?Doesacatmeananythingtoyou?”Silence.Rubylookeddownathertestsheet.Shestillhadnineanswerstogo,butnotwiththepsychicworldfillingthelittlekitchen.“Yes,shesaiditwasatabbycat.Sheusedtheword‘tabby.’How’sthecatdoing,honey?”Rubysatupstraightagainstthelittlebanquette.Shewashungry,butshe’dpromisedherselfnottomakeanydinneruntilshe’ddonewhatsheneededtodo,andfinishedprovingtohimwhatsheneededtoprove.Itwasthetailendoftheirgroceryweek,andnotawholelotinthefridge,she’dchecked,buttherewasafrozenpizza,andsomegreenbeans.“Oh,that’sgoodtoknow.She’ssohappyaboutthat.Nowhoney,we’realmostathalfanhour.Doyouhavemorequestionsforme?Doyouwantmetostayonthelinewithyou?”NowDiandrawaswalkingbacktothestaircaseandRubywatchedhergo.Thehousewassoold.Ithadbelongedtohergrandparents,andhergrandfather’sparentsevenfartherback,andthoughthere’dbeenchanges,wallpaperandpaintandawall-to-wallcarpetinthelivingroomthatwassupposedtobebeige,therewasstillafaintoldlineofstencilingalongtheceilingsinsomeoftherooms.Aroundtheinsideofthefrontdoor,forexample:arowofmisshapenpineapples.ThosepineappleshadnevermadesensetoRuby,atleastuntilherclasshadgoneonadaytriptosomeearlyAmericanmuseumandshe’dseentheexactsamethinginoneofthebuildingsthere.Apparently,thepineapplesymbolizedhospitality,whichmadeitaboutthelastthingthatbelongedonthewalloftheirhome,becauseDiandra’sentirelifewastheoppositeofhospitality.Shecouldn’tevenrememberthelasttimesomebodyhadstoppedbywithamisdeliveredpieceofmail,letaloneforacupofhermother’sterriblecoffee.Rubyreturnedtohertest.Thetabletopwasstickyfromthatmorning’sbreakfastsyrup,ormaybethemacandcheeseoflastnight’sdinner,ormaybesomethinghermotherhadeatenordoneatthetablewhileshe’dbeenatschool.Thetwoofthemneverateatthetabletogether.Rubydeclined,asmuchaswaspossible,toplacehernutritionalwell-beinginthehandsofhermother,whoevidentlymaintainedhergirlishphysique—literallygirlish:fromtheback,motheranddaughterlookedabsurdlyalike—throughanapparentdietofcelerysticksandDietDr.Pepper.DiandrahadstoppedfeedingherdaughteraroundthetimeRubyturnednine,whichwasaroundthetimeRubyhadlearnedhowtoopenacanofspaghettiforherowndamnself.Ironically,asthetwoofthemgrewevermorephysicallysimilartheyhadlessandlesstosaytoeachother.Notthatthey’deverenjoyedwhatyoumightcallalovingmother-and-daughterrelationship;Rubycouldremembernobedtimecuddlesorpretendteaparties,noindulgentbirthdaysortinsel-strewnChristmasmornings,andneveranythinginthewayofmaternaladviceorunsolicitedaffection,thekindshesometimesencounteredinnovelsorDisneymovies(usuallyrightbeforethemotherdiedordisappeared).Diandraseemedtoskatebywiththebarestminimumofmaternalduties,mainlythoserelatedtokeepingRubyaliveandvaccinated,sheltered(ifyoucouldcallthisfreezinghouseasourceofshelter),andeducated(ifyoucouldcallherunambitiousruralschoolasourceofeducation).SheseemedtowantitalltobeovereverybitasferventlyasRubyherselfdid.Butshecouldn’twantitasferventlyasRubyherselfdid.Shecouldn’tevencomeclose.TheprevioussummerRubyhadgonetoworkforthebakeryintown,offthebooks,ofcourse.Andthen,thatfall,shepickedupaSundayjobforaneighbor,watchingacoupleoftheyoungerkidswhiletherestofthefamilywenttochurch.Halfofwhatevershemadewentintothehouseaccountforfoodandtheoccasionalrepair,buttheotherhalfRubywedgedintoanAPChemistrytextbook,whichhadtobethelastplacehermotherwouldeverthinktolookforit.Thechemistryhadbeenanecessaryslogtheyearbefore,adealshe’dmadewithheradvisortolethermoveaheadinherschool’sbare-bonessciencetrack,andithadn’tbeeneasytomanagealongsideherhumanitiesclassesatthecommunitycollege,theindependentFrenchproject,andofcoursehertwojobs,butitwasallpartoftheplanshehadformedaroundthetimeshe’dopenedthatfirstcanofspaghetti.ThatplanwascalledGet-The-Fuck-Away-From-Here,andshe’dneverdeviatedfromitforasinglesecond.Shewasfifteennowandaneleventhgrader,havingalreadyskippedherkindergartenyear.Inacoupleofmonthsshe’dbeabletoapplytocollege.Ayearfromnow,she’dbeawayfromhere,forgood.Shehadn’talwaysbeenthisway.Shecouldrecall,withouttoomuchmentalheavylifting,atimewhenshefeltatleastneutralaboutlivinginthishouseandintheorbitofhermother,whowasprettymuchheronlyextantfamilymember(andcertainlytheonlyfamilymembersheeversaw).Shecouldrecalldoingthethingsshesupposedmostotherchildrendid—playingindirt,lookingatpictures—withoutanyaccompanyinggrieforanger,andsheknewenoughbynowtorecognizethatasunpleasantasherhomelifeand“family”mightbe,therewereendlessversionsofworseoutthereinwhatshehadcometounderstandasthewiderworld.Sowhathadbroughthertothisbitterprecipice?Whathadmadehernormalchild-selfintotheRubyhuddledoverherat-homehistorytestonwhichsomuch—inhermind,atleast—depended,who(literally)countedthedaysuntilherdeparture?Theanswerwasinaccessible.Theanswerhadneverbeensharedwithher.Theanswerwasnolongerofanyconcern,onlyitsattendanttruth,whichshe’dfiguredoutyearsagoandhadneveroncequestioned:hermotherloathedher,andprobablyalwayshad.Whatwasshesupposedtodowithsuchinformation?Exactly.Passhertest.AskMr.Browntowriteateacherrecommendation(forwhich,withluck,he’dregurgitatethisveryanecdoteaboutthegirlwhoinsistedonbeingassignedextrawork).Andthen,takeherclearlysuperiorbrainoutfromunderthatcanopyofoldpineapplesandintoaworldthatwouldatleastappreciateher.Shehadlearnednottoexpectlove,andwasn’tevensureshewantedit.Thiswasthemostprofoundwisdomshe’dmanagedtogleanfromthefifteenyearsshehadspentinhermother’spresence.Fifteendown.One—please,God,onlyone—togo.
Jakesetthepagesdown.Motheranddaughter,closelyconfined,somewhatisolatedbuthardlyhermits(mothershopsatsupermarket,daughterattendshighschoolandhasateacherinterestedinherwelfare),withobviousandextremetensionbetweenthem.Okay.Motherisgainfully(ifdubiously)employedandkeepingaroofovertheirheadandsubprimefoodonthetable.Okay.DaughterisambitiousandaimingtoleavehomeandMomforcollege.Okay,okay.
AshisownwritingteacherinhisownMFAprogramhadoncesaidtooneofthemoreself-indulgentprosewritersintheirworkshop:“And…sowhat?”
Aplotlikemine,EvanParkerhadcalledit.Butinfact,wasthereevensuchathingas“aplotlikemine”?GreatermindsthanJake’s(andeven,hewaswillingtobet,thanEvanParker’s)hadidentifiedthefewessentialplotsalongwhichprettymucheverystoryunfurleditself:TheQuest,TheVoyageandReturn,ComingofAge,OvercomingtheMonster,etal.Themotherandthedaughterintheoldclapboardhouse—well,specificallythedaughterintheoldclapboardhouse—lookedprettylikelytobeaComingofAgestory,orBildungsroman,ormaybeaRagstoRichesstory—butcompellingasthesestoriescouldbe,theyhardlyactedasstunning,surprising,twistingandhurtlingstories,socompellinginthemselvesthattheycouldbeimmunetobadwriting.
Overtheyearsofhisteachingcareer,Jakehadsatdownwithplentyofstudentswho’dlaboredunderanimperfectgraspoftheirowntalent,thoughthedisconnecttendedtocenteronbasicwritingability.Manyfledglingwriterslaboredunderthemisperceptionthatiftheythemselvesknewwhatacharacterlookedlike,thatwassufficienttomagicallycommunicateittothereader.Othersbelievedasingledetailwasenoughtorenderacharactermemorable,butthedetailtheychosewasalwayssopedestrian:femalecharactersmerelydescribedas“blond,”whileforaman“six-packabs”—Hehadthem!Orhedidn’thavethem!—wereallanyreaderapparentlyneededtoknow.Sometimesawritersetoutsentenceaftersentenceasanunvaryingchain—noun,verb,prepositionalphrase,noun,verb,prepositionalphrase—withoutunderstandingtheteeth-grindingirritationofallthatmonotony.Sometimesastudentgotboggeddownintheirownspecificinterestorhobbyandupchuckedhispersonalpassionalloverthepage,eitherwithanoverloadoflessthanscintillatingdetailorsomekindofshorthandheorshethoughtmustbesufficienttocarrythestory:manwalksintoaNASCARmeet,orwomanattendsreunionofcollegesororityfriendsonexoticisle(which,indeed,washowoneparticularhoneymelon-endowedcorpsehadendeduponabeach).Sometimestheygotlostintheirpronouns,andyouhadtogoback,overandover,tofigureoutwhowasdoingwhattowhom.Sometimes,amidpagesofperfectlyserviceableorevenbetter-than-all-rightwriting…absolutelynothinghappened.
Buttheywerestudentwriters;that’swhy,presumably,theywerehereatRipleyandwhytheywereinJake’sofficeinRichardPengHall.Theywantedtolearnandgetbetter,andtheywereonthewholeopentohisinsightsandsuggestions,sowhenhetoldthemhecouldn’ttellfromtheiractualwordsonthepagewhatacharacterlookedlikeorwhattheycaredabout,orthathedidn’tfeelcompelledtogoalongwiththemontheirpersonaljourneysbecausehehadn’tbeensufficientlyengagedintheirlives,orthattherewasn’tenoughinformationaboutNASCARorthecollegesororityreunionforhimtounderstandthesignificanceofwhatwasbeingdescribed(ornotdescribed),orthattheprosefeltheavyorthedialoguemeanderedorthestoryitselfjustmadehimthinksowhat?…theytendedtonod,takenotes,perhapswipeawayatearortwo,andthengetdowntowork.Thenexttimehesawthemthey’dbeclutchingfreshpagesandthankinghimformakingtheirworkinprogressbetter.
Somehowhedidn’tthinkthatwasgoingtobethecasehere.
EvanParkercouldbeheardmakinghisleisurelywaydownthecorridor,despitethefactthathewasnearlytenminuteslatefortheirappointment.Thedoorwasajarandheenteredwithoutknocking,settinghisRipleywaterbottledownonJake’sdeskbeforetakingtheextrachairandanglingit,asifthetwoofthemweregatheredaroundacoffeetableforacomradelydiscussionratherthanfacingeachotheracrossadeskwithanydegreeofformalityordisparityin(nominal)authority.Jakewatchedhimtakefromhiscanvasbagalegalpad,itstopmostpagestornraggedlyaway.Thisheputonhisownlap,andthen—justashehadintheconferenceroom—hecrossedhisarmstightlyagainsthischestandgavehisteacheranexpressionofnotentirelybenevolentamusement.“Well,”hesaid,“I’mhere.”
Jakenodded.“I’vebeenlookingagainattheexcerptyousentin.You’requiteagoodwriter.”
Hehadmadeuphismindtoopenwiththis.Theuseofthewords“quite”and“good”hadbeenthoroughlyinterrogated,butintheendthishehadfelttobethebestwayforward,andindeedhisstudentseemedeversoslightlydisarmed.
“Well,gladtohearthat.Especiallysince,asIsaid,I’mnotatallsurewritingcanbetaught.”
“Andyethereyouare.”Jakeshrugged.“SohowcanIhelp?”
EvanParkerlaughed.“Well,Icoulduseanagent.”
Jakenolongerhadanagent,buthedidnotsharethisfact.
“There’sanindustrydayattheendofthesession.I’mnotsurewho’scoming,butweusuallyhavetwoorthreeagentsandeditors.”
“Apersonalrecommendationwouldprobablygoevenfarther.Youprobablyknowhowharditisforanoutsidertogethisworkinfrontoftherightpeople.”
“Well,I’dnevertellyouconnectionsdon’thelp,butjustremember,noonehaseverpublishedabookasafavor.There’stoomuchatstake,toomuchmoneyandtoomuchprofessionalliabilityifthingsdon’tgowell.Maybeapersonalrelationshipcangetyourmanuscriptintosomebody’shands,buttheworkhastotakeitfromthere.Andhere’ssomethingelse:agentsandeditorsreallyarelookingforgoodbooks,andit’snotlikethedoorsareshuttofirst-timeauthors.Farfromit.Foronething,afirst-timeauthorisn’tdraggingarounddisappointingsalesnumbersfrompreviousbooks,andreadersalwayswanttodiscoversomeonenew.Anewwriter’sinterestingtoagentsbecausehemightturnouttobeGillianFlynnorMichaelChabon,andtheagentmightgettobehisagentforallthebookshe’sgoingtowrite,notjustthisone,soit’snotjustincomenow,it’sincomeinthefuture.Believeitornot,you’reactuallymuchbetteroffthansomebodywho’sconnected,ifthey’vepublishedacoupleofbooksthatweren’twildlysuccessful.”
Somebodylikeme,inotherwords,thoughtJake.
“Well,that’seasyforyoutosay.Youwereactuallyonceabigdeal.”
Jakestaredathim.Somanydirectionstogo.Allofthemdeadends.
“We’reallonlyasgoodastheworkwe’redoingnow.WhichiswhyI’dliketofocusonwhatyou’rewriting.Andwhereitmightbegoing.”
Tohissurprise,Evanthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.Jakelookedupattheclockoverthedoorway.Fourthirty.Themeetingwashalfover.
“Youwanttheplot,don’tyou?”
“What?”
“Oh,please.ItoldyouIhadsomethinggreatIwasworkingon.Youwanttoknowwhatitis.You’reawriter,aren’tyou?”
“Yes,I’mawriter,”Jaketoldhim.Hewasdoingeverythinghecouldtoremovetheoffensefromhisvoice.“ButrightnowI’mateacher,andasateacherI’mtryingtohelpyouwritethebookyouwanttowrite.Ifyoudon’twanttosaymoreaboutthestory,wecanstilldosomeworkontheexcerptyousubmitted,butwithoutknowinghowthat’sgoingtoconnect,ultimately,withinthecontextofalargerstory,I’mgoingtobeatadisadvantage.”
Notthatitmakesanydifferencetome,headdedsilently.It’snotasifIgiveafuck.
Theblondassholeinhisofficesaidnothing.
“Theexcerpt,”Jaketried.“It’spartofthenovelyoumentioned?”
EvanParkerseemedtositwiththisveryinnocuousquestionforfarlongerthanitwarranted.Thenhenodded.Histhickblondwedgeofhairnearlyobscuredoneeye.“Fromanearlychapter.”
“Well,Ilikethedetail.Thefrozenpizzaandthehistoryteacherandthepsychichelpline.Igetastrongersenseofwhothedaughteristhanthemotherfromthesepages,butthat’snotaproblem,necessarily.AndofcourseIdon’tknowwhatdecisionsyou’remakingaboutnarrativeperspective.Rightnowit’sthedaughter,obviously.Ruby.ArewegoingtostaywithRubyallthroughthenovel?”
Again,thathardlywarrantedpause.“No.Andyes.”
Jakenodded,asifthatmadesense.Itdidn’t.
Parkersaid:“It’sjust…Ididn’twantto,youknow,giveitallawayinthatroom.ThisstoryI’mwriting,it’slike,asurething.Youunderstand?”
Jakestaredathim.Hewanteddesperatelytolaugh.“Idon’tthinkIdo,actually.Asurethingforwhat?”
Evansatforward.HetookhisRipleywaterbottleandunscrewedthetop,andhetippeditbackintohismouth.Thenhefoldedhisarmsagainandsaid,almostwithregret:“Thisstorywillbereadbyeverybody.Itwillmakeafortune.Itwillbemadeintoamovie,probablybysomebodyreallyimportant,likeanA-listdirector.Itwillgetallthebrassrings,youknowwhatImean?”
Jake,nowtrulylostforwords,fearedthathedid.
“Like,Oprahwillpickitforherbookthing.ItwillbetalkedaboutonTVshows.TVshowswheretheydon’tusuallytalkaboutbooks.Everybookclub.Everyblogger.EveryeverythingIdon’tevenknowabout.Thisbook,there’snowayitcanfail.”
Thatwastoomuch.Thatbrokethespell.
“Anythingcanfail.Inthebookworld?Anything.”
“Notthis.”
“Look,”saidJake.“Evan?IsitokayifIcallyouthat?”
Evanshrugged.Heseemedsuddenlytired,asifthisdeclarationofhisgreatnesshadexhaustedhim.
“Evan,Ilovethatyoubelieveinwhatyou’redoing.It’showIhopeallofyourclassmatesfeel,orwilleventuallyfeel,abouttheirwork.Andevenifalotofthe…thebrassringsyou’vementionedjustnowarevery,veryunlikelytohappen,becausetherearealotofgreatstoriesoutthereandthey’rebeingpublishedallthetime,andthere’salotofcompetitiontogetheard,therearesomanyotherwaystomeasurethesuccessofaworkofart,waysthataren’tconnectedtoOprahormoviedirectors.I’dliketoseelotsofgoodthingshappentoyournovel,butbeforeanyofthatyouneedtowritethebestpossibleversionofit.Idohavesomethoughtsaboutthat,basedonthelittleyou’vesubmitted,butIhavetobehonest:whatI’mseeingintheactualpagesI’vereadisaquieterkindofbook,Imean,notonethatscreamsA-listdirectorsandbestseller,necessarily,butapotentiallyverygoodnovel!Themotherandthedaughter,livingtogether,maybenotgettingalongsowell.I’mrootingforthedaughteralready.Iwanthertosucceed.Iwanthertogetawayifthat’swhatshewants.Iwanttofindoutwhat’sattherootofitall,whyhermotherseemstohateher,ifinfacthermotherdoeshateher—teenagersaremaybenotthemostreliableguidesonthesubjectoftheirparents.Buttheseareallveryexcitingfoundationsforanovel,andIguesswhatIdon’tunderstandiswhyyou’reholdingoutforsuchextremebenchmarksofvalidation.Won’titbeenoughtowriteagoodfirstnovel,and—Imean,let’sthrowinacoupleofgoalswehavelesscontrolover—findanagentwhobelievesinyouandyourfuture,andevenapublisherwillingtotakeachanceonyourwork?That’sgoingtobealot!Whyputyourselfinapositionwhere,Idon’tknow,itwillhavefailedifthedirectorforthemovieisB-listinsteadofA-list.”
Foranotherlongmoment,thisonemaddeninglylong,Evandidnotrespond.Jakewasonthepointofsayingsomethingelse,justtocutthesheerdiscomfort,evenifitmeantendingtheconferenceearly,becausewhatprogressweretheyactuallymaking,thetwoofthem?Theyhadn’tevenbeguntolookattheactualwriting,letalonetotalkaboutsomeofthemoremacroissuesgoingforward.Andalsothedudewasanarcissisticjerkoffofthefirstdegree,thiswasnowundeniable.Probably,evenifhedidmanagetofinishhistaleofasmartgirlgrowingupinanoldhousewithhermother,thebestitcouldlikelyaspiretowasthesamedegreeofliterarynoticeJakehimselfhadtoobrieflyenjoyed,andhewascompletelyavailabletodescribe,ifaskedtodoso,howprofoundlypainfulthatexperience,oratleastitsaftermath,hadbeen.SoifEvanParker/ParkerEvanwantedtobetheauthorofthenextTheInventionofWonder,hewaswelcometoit.Jakehimselfwouldfashionagarlandoflaurelsforhimandthrowhimaparty,andpassalongthesad,sadadvicehisownMFAadvisorhadoncetriedtogivehim:You’reonlyassuccessfulasthelastbookyoupublished,andyou’reonlyasgoodasthenextbookyou’rewriting.Soshutupandwrite.
“It’snotgoingtofail,”JakeheardEvansay.Thenhesaid:“Listen.”
Andthenhespoke.Hespokeandspoke,ormoreprecisely,hetoldandtold.AndashetolditJakefeltbothofthoseindeliblewomenentertheroomandstandbleaklyoneithersideofthedoorway,asifdaringthetwomentotrytoescapethem.Jakehadnothoughtofescape.Hehadnothoughtofanythingbutthisstory,whichwasnoneofthosegreatplots—RagstoRiches,Quest,VoyageandReturn,Rebirth(notreallyRebirth),OvercomingtheMonster(notreallyOvercomingtheMonster).Itwassomethingnewtohim,asitwouldbenewtoeverysinglepersonwhoreadit,andthatwasgoingtobealotofpeople.Thatwasgoingtobe,ashisterriblestudenthadsorecentlysaid,everybookgroup,everyblogger,everypersonoutthereinthevastarchipelagoofpublishingandbookreviewing,everycelebritywithabespokebookclubofherown,everyreader,everywhere.Thebreadthofit,thewallopofit,thisout-of-nowhereandoutrageousstory.Whenhisstudentfinishedtalking,Jakewantedtohanghishead,buthecouldn’tshowwhathefelt,thehorrorofwhathefelt,tothejustlyarrogantassholewhowouldoneday,henowfeltcertain,becomeParkerEvan,thepseudonymousauthorofthisstunningfirstnovel,catapultedontothetopoftheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistviaviralwordofmouth.Hecouldn’t.Sohenoddedandmadesomesuggestionsabouthowtograduallybringthemother’scharacterintotheforeground,andacoupleofwaystoconsiderdevelopingandadaptingthenarrativeperspectiveandthevoice—allpointless,allthoroughlyirrelevant.EvanParkerhadbeenentirelycorrect:theworstwriterontheplanetcouldnotmessupaplotlikethis.AndEvanParkercouldwrite
Afterhe’dgone,Jakewenttothewindowandwatchedhisstudentwalkawayinthedirectionofthedininghall,whichwasonthefarsideofasmallgroveofpinetrees.Thosetrees,he’dnevernoticed,formedakindofopaqueobstaclethroughwhichthelightsofthecampusbuildingsonthefarsidecouldbarelybeseen,andyeteveryonewentthroughtheminsteadofaround,everysingletime.Midwayuponthejourneyofourlife,heheardhimselfthink,Ifoundmyselfwithinaforestdark,forthestraightforwardpathwayhadbeenlost.Wordshehadknownforever,butnever,untilthismoment,trulyunderstood.
Hisownpathwayhadbeenlostalongtimeago,andtherewasnochance,nochanceatall,offindingitagain.Thenovel-in-progressonhislaptopwasnotanovel,anditwashardlyinprogress.Andanyideashemighthavehadforanotherstorywould,fromthisafternoonon,sufferthefatalimpactofnotbeingthestoryhehadjustbeentold,inhistemporarycinder-blockofficeinathird-rateMFAprogramthatnobody—notevenitsownfaculty—tookseriously.Thestoryhehadjustbeentold,thatwastheonlystory.AndJakeknewthateverythingthefutureParkerEvanhadbraggedabouthisnovel’sfuturewasabsolutelygoingtohappen.Absolutely.Therewouldbeabattletopublishit,andthenmorebattlestopublishitallaroundtheworld,andanotherbattletooptionitforfilm.OprahWinfreywouldholdituptothecameras,andyouwouldseeitonthetableclosesttothefrontdoorofeverybookstoreyouwalkedinto,likelyforyearstocome.Everyoneheknewwasgoingtoreadit.Everywriterhe’dcompetedwithincollegeandenviedingraduateschool,everywomanhe’dsleptwith(admittedlynotmany),everystudenthe’devertaught,andeveryRipleycolleagueandeveryoneofhisformerteachers,andhisownmotherandfatherwhoneverevenreadbooks,who’dhadtoforcethemselvestoreadTheInventionofWonder(if,indeed,theyactuallyhadreadit—he’dnevermadethemproveit),nottomentionthosetwojokersatFantasticFictionswhohadmissedachancetorepresentanovelthatbecameaSandraBullockmovie.NottomentionSandraBullockherself.Everylastoneofthemwouldbuyitandborrowitanddownloaditandlenditandstreamitandgiftitandreceiveitandlistentoit,thebookthisarrogant,pieceofshit,undeserving,sonofabitchParkerEvanwaswriting.Thatfuckingasshole,hethought,andimmediatelyhewasassailedbythefactthat“fuckingasshole”wasapatheticchoiceforsomeoneofhissupposedabilitywhenitcametowieldingwords.Butitwasallhecouldcomeupwithatthatparticularmoment.
PARTTWO
CHAPTERFIVE
Exile
Twoandahalfyearslater,JacobFinchBonner—authorofTheInventionofWonderandformerfacultymemberattheatleastrespectablelow-residencyRipleySymposia—edgedhiselderlyPriusintotheicylotbehindtheAdlonCenterfortheCreativeArtsinSharonSprings,NewYork.ThePrius,neverparticularlyrobust,wastrudgingthroughitsthirdJanuaryinthisareawestofAlbany(known,somewhatwhimsically,as“TheLeatherstockingRegion”)anditsabilitytoclimbevengentleinclinesinsnow—thehillleadingtotheAdlonwasanythingbutgentle—haddiminishedwitheachpassingyear.Jakewasnotoptimisticaboutitssurvival,orfranklyhisownwhilecontinuingtodriveitinwinter,buthewasevenlessoptimisticabouthisabilitytoaffordanothercar.
TheRipleySymposiahadlaidoffitsteachingstaffin2013,abruptlyandbymeansofaterselywordedemail.Then,lessthanamonthafterthat,theprogramhadmanagedtoreconstituteitselfasanevenlower-residency,infactanentirely-online-no-residency-at-allprogram,swappingvideoconferencingforthenownostalgiccharmsofRichardPengHall.Jake,alongwithmostofhiscolleagues,hadbeenrehired,whichwasadefinitesalvetohissenseofself-worth,butthenewcontractRipleyofferedhimfellwellshortofsustainingevenhismodestNewYorkCityexistence.
Andso,intheabsenceofotherprospectsandforthefirsttimesincearrivinginthemetropolis,post-Wesleyan,hehadbeenforcedtoconsiderthedreadfulthoughtofleavingthecenteroftheliteraryworld.
Whatwasoutthere,in2013,forawriterwhosetwotinypatchesofrealestateonthegreatcumulativeshelfofAmericanfictionwerebeingleftfartherandfartherbehindwitheachpassingyear?Jakehadsentoutfiftyrésumés,signedupforalloftheonlineservicespromisingtospreadthegoodnewsofhistalentstoprospectiveemployerseverywhere,andgottenbackintouchwitheverysinglepersonhecouldbeartosee,lettingthemknowhewasavailable.HewentinforaninterviewatBaruch,buttheprogramadministratorcouldn’tstophimselffrommentioningthatoneoftheirownrecentgraduates,whosefirstnovelwasabouttocomeoutfromFSG,hadalsoappliedfortheposition.He’dchaseddownaformergirlfriendwhonowworkedforawildlysuccessfulsubsidypublisherbasedinHouston,butaftertwentyminutesofforcedreminiscencesandcutestoriesabouthertwintoddlers,hejustcouldn’tbringhimselftoaskaboutajob.HeevenwentbacktoFantasticFictions,buttheagencyhadbeensoldandwasnowatinypartofanewentitycalledSci/Spec,andneitherofhistwooriginalbossesseemedtohavesurvivedthetransition.
Finally,andwithasenseofutterdefeat,hedidwhatheknewothershaddone,andcreatedawebsitetoutinghisowneditorialskillsastheauthoroftwowell-receivedliterarynovelsandalongtimefacultymemberatoneofthecountry’sbestlow-residencyMFAprograms.Andthenhe’dwaited.
Slowly,camethenibbles.WhatwasJake’s“successrate”?(Jakerespondedwithalengthyexplorationofwhattheterm“success”mightmeantoanartist.Heneverheardbackfromthatparticularcorrespondent.)DidMr.BonnerworkwithIndieAuthors?(Heimmediatelywrote:Yes!Afterwhichthatcorrespondentalsodisappeared.)WhatwerehisfeelingsonanthropomorphisminYAfiction?(Theywerepositive!Jakeemailedback.Whatelsewashegoingtosay?)Wouldhebewillingtodoa“sampleedit”offiftypagesofawork-in-progress,sothewritercouldjudgewhethertherewasvalueincontinuing?(Jaketookadeepbreathandwrote:No.Buthewouldagreetoaspecialfeediscountoffiftypercentforthefirsttwohours,whichoughttobeenoughforeachofthemtomakeadecisiononwhetherornottoworktogether.
Naturally,thispersonbecamehisfirstclient.
Thewritingheencounteredinhisnewroleofonlineeditor,coach,andconsultant(thatmarvelouslymalleableword)madetheleastofhisRipleystudentsseemlikeHemingway.Againandagainheurgedhisnewcorrespondentstochecktheirspelling,keeptrackoftheircharacters’names,andgiveatleastatinybitofthoughttowhatbasicideastheirworkshouldconvey,beforetheytypedthosethrillingwords:THEEND.Someofthemdid.Othersseemedsomehowtobelievethattheactofhiringaprofessionalwritermagicallyrenderedtheirownwriting“professional.”Whatsurprisedhimmost,however,wasthathisnewclients,farmorethaneventheleastgiftedofhisRipleystudents,seemedtoregardpublicationnotasthemagicalportalithadalwaysrepresentedtohimandtoeveryotherwriterheadmired(andenvied),butasapurelytransactionalact.Once,inanearlyemailexchangewithanelderlywomaninFloridawhohopedtocompleteasecondtrancheofhermemoir,hehadpolitelycomplimentedherontherecentpublicationofpartone(TheWindyRiver:MyChildhoodinPennsylvania).Thatauthor,tohercredit,hadbluntlydeclinedhisflattery.Ohplease,anybodycanpublishabook.Youjustwriteacheck.
Itwas,hehadtoadmit,aversionofanybodycanbeawriterthatevenhecouldgetbehind.
Insomeways,thingswereactuallyawholelotniceronthissideofthedivide.Therewerestillastoundingegostocontendwith,ofcourse,andtherewerestillhugedistancesbetweentheperceivedandactualqualitiesofthestoriesandnovelsandmemoirs(and,eventhoughhecertainlydidn’tseekitout,poetry)hisclientsemailedhim.Butthehonest,directexchangeoffilthylucreforservices,andtheclarityoftherelationshipsbetweenJakeandthepeoplewhocametohiswebsite(someofthemevenreferredbyclientshe’dalready“helped”)was,aftersomanyyearsoffalsecamaraderie…downrightrefreshing.
Evenwithsemi-regularconsultingworkalongsidehisnewRipleyresponsibilities,however,Jakecouldn’tmakethingsworkinNewYorkanymore.Whenoneclient,aBuffalo-basedwriterofshortstories,mentionedthatshe’drecentlyreturnedfroma“residency”attheAdlonCenterfortheCreativeArts,Jakejotteddowntheunfamiliarname,andafterthevideocallendedhefoundthewebsiteandreaduponwhathadtobeafairlynewidea:asubsidyartists’colonydoingapparentlygoodbusinessinaplacehe’dneverheardof,anupstatevillagecalledSharonSprings.
Hehimself,ofcourse,wasaveteranofthetraditionalartists’colonies,whichexistedtooffersuccorandrespitetoseriousartists.BackinhisownhalcyonperiodjustafterTheInventionofWonderwaspublishedhe’dreceivedanamedfellowshiptoYaddo,andflownouttoWyomingtospendacoupleofproductiveweeksattheUcrossCenter.He’ddoneVirginiaCenterfortheCreativeArts,too,andalsoRagdale,andifRagdalehadmarkedtheendofhisluckystreakayearafterReverberationswaspublished,thenatleasthecould(anddid!)listthoseaugustinstitutionsonhisrésuméandonhiswebsite,andtheywouldbeapartofhiswriterlyrecordforaslongashewantedthemtobe.AtnoneoftheseplaceshadJakeeverbeenaskedforadimeofhisownmoney,however,sohehadtoreaddeepintotheAdlonwebsitebeforeheunderstoodwhatnewentitythisplacerepresented:aself-sponsoredartists’retreat,inwhichthecelebratedenvironmentofaYaddooraMacDowellwasmadeavailable,notjusttotheeliteortraditionallyadvantagedpersonofletters,buttoanyoneinneedofit.Oratleast,anyoneinneedofitwithathousanddollarsperweektospend.
Jakeexaminedthephotographsoftheoldplace:agreatwhitehulkofhotel,listingslightly(orwasthatmerelytheangleofthephotograph?),anddatingtothe1890s.TheAdlonwasoneofseverallargehotelsstillstandinginSharonSprings,aformervacationtownarrayedaroundsulfurspringsandoncedottedbyVictorianspabuildings.SharonSpringswaslocatedanhoursouthwestofitsmorecelebratedcounterpart,SaratogaSprings,buthadbeenratherlessprosperousevenbackthenandcertainlywastoday.Thetownhadentereditsdeclineattheturnofthelastcentury,andbythe1950sitshalf-dozenhotelswerevariouslycollapsed,torndown,shutup,orwitheringawayastheirguestsabandonedlongstandingsummerroutinesorsimplydied.Then,somebodyinthefamilythatownedtheAdlonhadcomeupwiththisnovelideatoavertoratleasttemporarilydelaytheinevitable,andsofaritwasworking.Writershadapparentlybeengatheringatthehotelsince2012,payingforthepeaceandquiet,thecleanroomsandstudios,andthecommunallyservedbreakfastsanddinners(pluslunchinafolksywickerbasket,discreetlyleftatthedoorsoasnottointerruptKublaKhan).Theycamewhentheywished,spenttheirtimeastheywished,andsocializedwiththeirfellowartistsifandwhentheywished,andleftwhentheywished.
Actually,theplacekindofsoundedlike…ahotel.
Atthetopofthewebpage,hehadidlyclickedonOpportunitiesandfoundhimselfreadingthejobdescriptionforaprogramcoordinator,onsite,tobeginjustaftertheNewYear.Itdidn’tmentionasalary.Helookedupthetowntoseeifitwascommutablefromthecity.Itwasn’t.Still,itwasajob.
Hereallyhadneededajob.
AweeklaterhewasonatraintoHudsontomeettheyoungentrepreneur—“young”meaning,inthiscase,afullsixyearshisjunior—whosefamilyhadruntheAdlonforthreegenerationsandwho’dmanagedtopullthisparticularrabbitoutofthehat.BythetimetheyfinishedtheirmeetingatacoffeeshoponWarrenStreet,anddespiteJake’sobviouslackofprogram-directingexperience,hewashired.
“Iliketheideaofasuccessfulwritergreetingtheguestswhentheyarrive.Givesthemsomethingrealtoaspireto.”
Jakeoptednottocorrectthisremarkablestatementinanyofthewayshemighthavedone.
Itwasatemporarysolution,anyway.NobodyleftNewYorkforatinytownintheexactmiddleofnowhereonpurpose,oratleastnotwithoutaplantoreturn.HisownplanhadalottodowiththerelativerenthewaspayinginnewlyfabulousBrooklynandtheoneheexpectedtopayinCobleskill,afewmilessouthofSharonSprings,andthefactthathewouldberetaininghisprivatewritingclientsandhisgigworkforthereconstitutedRipleySymposiaevenashereceivedapaycheckfromtheAdlonCenterfortheCreativeArts.Allofitaddeduptoanexileofacoupleofyears,threeatthemost,whichwasalsoampletimetobeginandevencompleteanothernovelaftertheonehewaswritingnow!
Notthathewasreallywritingonenow,orhadthetiniestideaforanother.
Thejobitselfwasakindofhybridofadmissionsofficer,cruisedirector,andplantsupervisor,butevencumulativelythesewerenotparticularlytaxing.Moreonerous,ofcourse,wasthefactthathewasrequiredtobephysicallypresentattheAdlonduringthedaytime(andtechnicallyoncallatnightandontheweekends),butgiventheactuallaborassociatedwithmostactualjobs,Jaketendedtofeelprettyfortunate.Hewaslivingfrugallyandsavingmoney.Hewasstillintheworldofwritingandwriters(albeitfartherthanhehadeverbeenfromhisownwriterlyambitions).Hewasstillabletoworkonhisnovelinprogress(orhewouldbe,ifhehadone),andinthemeantimehecouldcontinuetonurtureandmentorotherwriters,beginningwriters,strugglingwriters,evenwriterslikehimselfundergoingwhatmightbecalledamid-careerretrenchment.Ashehadoncelongagoopined,inacinder-blockconferenceroomontheoldRipleycampus(which,lasthe’dheard,hadbeenpurchasedbyacompanythatdidcorporateretreatsandconferences),thiswasmerelywhatwritershadalwaysdoneforoneanother.
TheAdlon,onthisparticularday,hadsixguest-writers,whichmeantthatthecenterwasonlyatabout20percentcapacity(thoughthatalsorepresentedsixpeoplemorethanJakeimaginedcouldpossiblychoosetospendJanuaryinasnowboundlatter-dayspatownthathadn’tevenhadthegoodsensetoturnintoSaratogaSprings).Threeoftheguestsweresistersintheirsixtieswhowerecollaboratingonamultigenerationalfamilystory,unsurprisinglybasedontheirownfamily.AnotherwasavaguelymenacingmanwhoactuallylivedjustsouthofCooperstown,butdrovetothehoteleverymorning,wroteallday,andleftafterdinner.TherewasapoetfromMontreal—shedidn’tsaymuch,evenwhenshewasdownformeals—andaguywho’darrivedacoupleofdaysearlierfromSouthernCalifornia.(WhywouldanysanepersonleaveSouthernCaliforniainJanuarytotraveltoupstateNewYork?)Sofartheywereaquietlycooperativeand,apartfromthesisters’intramuralrivalries,amarkedlynondramaticgroup,afarcryfromsomeoftheinsanityhe’dpersonallywitnessedatRagdaleandVCCA!Thehotelitselfwasrunningassmoothlyasahundred-and-thirty-year-oldbuildingcouldbeexpectedtorun,andtheAdlon’spairofcooks,amotheranddaughterfromCobleskill,wereturningoutverytastymeals,remarkablegiventheremotenessoftheregioninwinter.Andthatmorning,asfarasJakeknew,thehoursaheadpromisednothingmorethananopportunitytositinhisofficebehindthehotel’sformercheck-indesk,andbegineditingthefourthrevisionofaprofoundlyunthrillingthrillerfromaclientinMilwaukee.
Anordinaryday,inotherwords,inalifethatwasabouttobecomeawholelotlessordinary.
CHAPTERSIX
WhatTerribleThing
TheguyfromCaliforniamadeanappearanceshortlyafterlunch,oratleastafterthelunchbasketshadbeentakenupstairsandleftbythedoorsofthewriters’rooms.Hewasaburlymaninhislatetwentiesormaybethirties,withtattooedforearmsandakindofswept-asidechunkofhairthatalwaysfellbackrightaway.HecamestormingintoJake’slittleofficebehindtheformercheck-indeskandsethisbasketdownonJake’stable.
“Well,thisiscrap.”
Jakelookedupathim.He’dbeendeepinhisclient’sterriblethriller,anarrativesoformulaicthathecouldhavetoldyouexactlywhatwasgoingtohappen,andinwhatorder,evenifthiswerethefirsttimehewasclawinghiswaythroughit,ratherthanthefourth.
“Lunch?”
“Crap.Somekindofbrownmeat.Whatisit,somethingyouhitonthedriveoverhere?”
Jakeactuallysmiled.TheroadkillofSchoharieCountywasindeedbroadinitsrange.
“Doyounoteatmeat?”
“Oh,Ieatmeat.Idon’teatcrap,though.”
Jacksatbackinhischair.“I’msosorry.Whydon’twegointothekitchenandwecantalktoPattyandNancyaboutwhatyoulikeanddon’tlike.Wecan’talwaysguaranteeaseparatemeal,butwewantyoutobehappy.Withonlysixofyouinresidencenow,weshouldbeabletotweakthemenus.”
“Thistownis,like,pathetic.There’snothinghere.”
Well,now.Inthat,Jake’sCalifornianfriendwasratherdecisivelywrong.SharonSprings’sglorydaysmighthavebeeninthelatenineteenthcentury(OscarWildehimselfhadoncelecturedatthePavilionHotel),butrecentyearshadbroughtapromisingrevival.Thetown’sflagshipAmericanHotelhadbeenrestoredtoacertaindegreeofelegance,andacoupleofsurprisinglygoodrestaurantshadtakenrootonthetinymainstreet.Mostimportantofall,acoupleofmenfromManhattan,involuntarilyseparatedfromtheirmediajobsinthe2008downturn,hadboughtalocalfarm,acquiredaherdofgoats,andcommencedmakingcheese,soap,and,moreimportantly,agreatbigstirintheworldwellbeyondSharonSprings,NewYork.They’dwrittenbooks,starredintheirownrealitytelevisionshow,andopenedashopthatwouldhavebeenrightathomeonthemainstreetsofEastHamptonorAspen,directlyacrossfromtheAmericanHotel.Thatplacewasgettingtobeabonafidetouristattraction.ThoughmaybenotinJanuary.
“Haveyoubeenouttoexplore?AlotofthewritersgoovertotheBlackCatCaféinthemorning.Thecoffeethereisgreat.AndthefoodattheBistroisexcellent.”
“I’mpayingyouenoughtobehere,andtoworkonmybookhere.Thecoffeehereshouldbegreat.Andthefoodhereshouldn’tbeshit.Imean,woulditkillyoutodoanavocadotoast?”
Jakelookedathim.InCalifornia,avocadosmightgrowontrees—literally—inJanuary,buthedoubtedthisdudewouldapproveoftherock-hardspecimensdownattheCobleskillPriceChopper.
“Milkandcheesearekindofthemainthingaroundhere.Maybeyou’venoticedallthedairyfarms?”
“I’mlactoseintolerant.”
“Oh.”Jakefrowned.“Didweknowthat?Isitonyourforms?”
“Idon’tknow.Ididn’tfilloutanyforms.”
Theguyflippedbackhisthickhair.Again.Anditfellforwardintohiseyes.Again.ItmadeJakethinkofsomething.
“Well,Ihopeyou’llwritedownsomeofthefoodsyou’dbehappytoseeatmeals.Iwouldn’tcountongoodavocadosuphere,notatthistimeofyear,butiftherearedishesyoulikeI’lltalktoPattyandNancy.Unlessyouwanttodothat.”
“Iwanttowritemybook,”theguysaid,sofiercelyhemighthavebeenutteringataglineinanadventuremovie,somethingalongthelinesofYouhaven’tseenthelastofmeorDon’tunderestimatewhatI’mcapableof.“Icameheretogetthisdone,andIdon’twanttobethinkingaboutanythingelse.Idon’twanttobelisteningtothosethreewitches,cacklingawayallthetimeontheothersideofmywall.Idon’twanttohaveabathroomwithpipesthatwakemeupinthemorning.Andwhat’swiththefireplaceinmybedroomI’mnotallowedtohaveafirein.IdistinctlyrememberafireinoneoftheroomswhenIlookedatyourwebsite.Whatthefuckisthat?”
Thatwastheparlorfire,Jakesaid.“Wehaven’tbeenclearedforfiresintherooms,unfortunately.Butwelighttheparlorfireeveryafternoon,andI’dbehappytodoitearlierifyou’dliketoworkdownthere,orread.Everythingwedohereistotryandsupportourguest-writers,andseetheyhavewhattheyneedtodotheirwork.Andofcoursetosupportoneanother,aswriters.”
Jakethought,evenashesaidthis,ofallthetimeshehadsaiditinthepast,orsaidsomethinglikeit,andwhenhe’dsaiditthepeoplehe’dsaidittoalwaysnoddedinagreement,becausethey,too,werewriters,andwritersunderstoodthepoweroftheircommonalities.Thathadalwaysbeentrue.Exceptforrightthisminute.And,nowitdawnedonhim,oneothertime.
ThentheguyfoldedhisarmstightlyacrosshischestandglaredatJake,andthefinalpartoftheconnectionsnappedintoplace.
EvanParker.FromRipley.Theonewiththestory.
Nowheunderstoodwhy,throughoutthisencounter,hisbrainhadfeltlikeitwascirclingbackonitself,whyhisthoughtshadbeenloopingaroundandaroundanasyetunspecifiedthing.No,hehadnevermetthisparticularassholeuntilacoupleofdaysago,butdidthatmeanhewasn’tfamiliartoJake?Hewasfamiliar.Hugelyfamiliar.
Notthathe’dspentthepastcoupleofyearsruminatingonthatasshole,becausewhatwriterofanydegreeofprofessionalsuccess,notjustJake’sown—wouldwanttodwellonafirst-timewriterwho’dsomehowmanagedtopulltheleverontheslotmachineofspectacularstoriesatexactlytherightmoment,withhisveryfirstdime,noless,sendinganutterlyunearnedjackpotofsuccessshudderingintohislap?Always,whenEvanParkercamedriftingthroughJake’sthoughts,itwaswiththeusualsurgeofenvy,theusualbitternessattheunfairnessofitall,andthenthebriefobservationthatthebookitselfhadnotyet—tohisknowledge,anditwouldobviouslyhavebeentohisknowledge—reachedactualpublication,whichmighthavemeantthatJake’sformerstudenthadunderestimatedhisownabilitytogetthethingfinished,buthe’dtakennogreatcomfortinthat.Thestory,asitsauthorhimselfhadpointedout,wasasilverbullet,andwheneverthebookdidemergeitwouldbesuccessful,anditsauthoralsosuccessfulbeyondhis(or,morepainfully,Jake’s)wildestdreams.
Now,inhislittleofficeattheAdlonCenterfortheCreativeArts,thatperson,EvanParker,onceagainreturnedtohim,andsosharplyitwasasifhetoohadenteredthelittleroomandwasstandingjustbehindhiscompeer.
Theguywasstilltalking—no,raging.Hehadmovedonfromhisfellowguest-writers,onfromtheAdlonandthefoodandthetownofSharonSprings.NowJakewashearingaboutan“EastCoastagent”who’dactuallysuggestedhepaysomebody,outofhisownmoney,toguideadditionalworkonhisnovelbeforeresubmittingit(Wasn’tthatwhateditorswerefor?Oragentsforthatmatter?)andthefilmscouthe’dmetatapartywho’dtoldhimtothinkaboutaddingafemalecharactertohisstory(Becausemendidn’treadbooksorgotomovies?)ortheassholesatMacDowellandYaddowho’drejectedhimforresidencies(Obviouslytheyfavored“artistes”whowerehopingtoselltencopiesoftheirbook-lengthpoems!)andtheloserstypingawayateverysingletableineverysinglecoffeeshopinSouthernCalifornia,whothoughttheywereGod’sgift,andtheworldwasobviouslywaitingfortheirshortstorycollectionortheirscreenplayortheirnovel…
“Actually,”Jakeheardhimselfsay,“I’mtheauthoroftwonovelsmyself.”
“Ofcourseyouare.”Theguyshookhishead.“Anybodycanbeawriter.”
Heturnedandstalkedoutoftheroom,leavinghisfolksywickerbasketbehindhim.
Jakelistenedtotheguest(guest-writer!)asheclompedupthestairs,andthentothesilencefillingthewakeofthat,andagainhewonderedwhathehaddone,whatterriblething,tomeritthecompanyofpeoplelikethis,letalonetheirscorn.Allhehadeverwantedwastotell—inthebestpossiblewords,arrangedinthebestpossibleorder—thestoriesinsidehim.Hehadbeenmorethanwillingtodotheapprenticeshipandthework.Hehadbeenhumblewithhisteachersandrespectfulofhispeers.Hehadaccededtotheeditorialnotesofhisagent(whenhe’dhadone)andbowedtotheredpencilofhiseditor(whenhe’dhadone)withoutcomplaint.Hehadsupportedtheotherwritershe’dknownandadmired(eventheoneshehadn’tparticularlyadmired)byattendingtheirreadingsandactuallypurchasingtheirbooks(inhardcover!atindependentbookstores!)andhehadacquittedhimselfasthebestteacher,mentor,cheerleader,andeditorthathe’dknownhowtobe,despitethe(tobefrank)utterhopelessnessofmostofthewritinghewasgiventoworkwith.Andwherehadhearrived,forallofthat?HewasadeckattendantontheTitanic,movingthechairsaroundwithfifteenungiftedprosewriterswhilesomehowpersuadingthemthatadditionalworkwouldhelpthemimprove.HewasamajordomoatanoldhotelinupstateNewYork,pretendingthatthe“guest-writers”upstairswerenodifferentthantheYaddofellowsanhourtothenorth.Iliketheideaofasuccessfulwriter,theAdlon’syoungownerhadtoldhimonce,atthatfirst,long-agomeeting.Givesthemsomethingrealtoaspireto.
Butnoguest-writerhadeveracknowledgedJake’sprofessionalachievements,letalonedrawninspirationfromhissuccessinthefieldtheysupposedlyhopedtoenter.Notonceinthreeyears.Hewasasinvisibletothemashehadbecometoeveryoneelse.
Becausehewasafailedwriter.
Jakegaspedwhenthewordscametohim.Itwas,unbelievably,theveryfirsttimethistruthhadeverbrokenthrough.
But…but…thewordscamespinningthroughhishead,unstoppableandabsurd:NewYorkTimesNew&Noteworthy!“Awritertowatch”accordingtoPoets&Writers!ThebestMFAprograminthecountry!ThattimehehadwalkedintoaBarnes&NobleinStamford,Connecticut,andseenTheInventionofWonderontheStaffPicksshelf,completewithalittleindexcardhandwrittenbysomeonenamedDaria:OneofthemostinterestingbooksI’vereadthisyear!Thewritingislyricalanddeep.
Lyrical!Anddeep!
Allofityearsago,now.
Anybodycouldbeawriter.Anybodyexcept,apparently,him.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Tap,Tap
Latethatnight,inhisapartmentinCobleskill,hedidsomethinghehadneverdone,notoncesincehe’dwatchedhisfortunatestudentwalkintoagroveoftreesontheRipleycampus.
Athiscomputer,Jaketypedinthename“ParkerEvan,”andclickedReturn.
Theguywasn’tthere.Whichmeantnotmuch:ParkerEvanhadbeenhisformerstudent’sintendedpennameatonepoint,butthatpointhadbeenthreeyearsearlier.Maybehe’ddecidedonanothername,eitherbecauseswitchinghisownactualnamearoundwasadumbideaorbecausehe’doptedforevenmoreprivacyfromtheinfinityofotherpossibilities.
Jakewentbacktothesearchfieldandtyped:“Parker,novel,thriller.”
Parker,novel,thrillerreturnedpagesofreferencestoDonaldWestlake’s“Parker”novels,andalsoanotherseriesofmysteriesbyRobertB.Parker.
SoevenifEvanParkerhadgottenhisbookallthewaytoapublisher,thefirstthingthey’dprobablyhavedonewasinstructhimtodropParkerasapenname.
Jakeremovedthenamefromhissearchfieldandtried:“thriller,mother,daughter.”
Itwasanonslaught.Pagesandpagesofbooks,bypagesandpagesofwriters,mostofwhomhe’dneverheardof.Jakeranhiseyedowntheentries,readingthebriefdescriptions,buttherewasnothingthatfittheveryspecificelementsofthestoryhisstudenthadtoldhimbackinRichardPengHall.Heclickedonsomerandomauthornames,notreallyexpectingtofindanimageofEvanParker’sonlyhalf-rememberedface,buttherewasnothingevenremotelylikeit:oldmen,fatmen,baldmen,andplentyofwomen.Hewasn’there.Hisbookwasn’there.
CouldEvanParkerhavebeenwrong?Couldhe,Jake,havealsobeenwrong,allthistime?Couldthatplotpossiblyhavedisappearedintotheseaofstories,novels,thrillers,andmysteriespublishedeachyear,andsunkintosilence?Jakethoughtnot.Itseemedmorelikelythat,despitehisboundlessfaithinhimself,Parkerhadsomehownotmanagedtofinishhisbookatall.Maybeitwasn’thereonhiscomputer,comfortablyensconcedinthefirstpageofeachandeveryoneofhissearchresults,becauseitwasn’tanywhere.Itwasn’tintheworldatall.Butwhy?
Jaketypedthename,therealname,“EvanParker”intothesearchfield.
FacebookEvanParkersappeared,manyofthem.JackclickedovertoFacebookandranhiseyedownthelist.Hesawmoremen—bigger,slighter,balder,darker—andevenafewwomen,butnooneremotelylikehisformerstudent.MaybeEvanwasn’tonFacebook.(Jakehimselfwasn’tonFacebook;he’dquitwhenitbecametoodemoralizingtoseehis“friends”postingnewsabouttheirforthcomingbooks.)Hereturnedtothesearchresultsandclickedthe“Images”tab,andscannedthepageandthenthenextpage.SomanyEvanParkers,noneofthemhis.Heclickedbacktothe“AllResults”page.TherewereEvanParkerswhowerehighschoolsoccerplayers,balletdancers,careerdiplomatscurrentlystationedinChad,racehorses,andengagedcouples(“ThefutureEvan-Parkerswelcomeyoutoourweddingsite!”).Therewasnomalehumaninhisnowmid-to-latethirtieswholookedanythingliketheEvanParkerhe’dknownatRipley.
Thenhesaw,atthebottomofthepage:“Searchesrelatedto‘evanparker.’”
Andbelowthatthewords:“evanparkerobituary.”
Evenbeforehiscursorfoundthelinkheknewwhathewouldsee.
EvanLukeParkerofWestRutland,VT(38)haddiedunexpectedlyontheeveningofOctober4,2013.EvanLukeParkerhadbeena1995graduateofWestRutlandHighSchoolandhadattendedclassesatRutlandCommunityCollegeandwasalifelongresidentofcentralVermont.Predeceasedbybothparentsandasister,hewassurvivedbyaniece.Memorialservicesweretobeannouncedatafuturetime.Burialwouldbeprivate.
Jakereaditthroughtwice.Therewasn’tmuchtoit,really,butitrefusedtopunchitswaythrough,evenso.
Hewasdead?Hewasdead.And…Jakelookednowatthedate.Thishadnothappenedrecently,either.Thishadhappened…incredibly,ithadhappenedonlyacoupleofmonthsaftertheirowndoomedattemptatateacher-studentrelationship.Jakehadn’tevenrealizedthatEvanwasaVermonter,orthathisparentsandsisterwerealreadydead,whichwasverytragicinlightofthefactthathewasyoung,himself.Notoneofthesethingshadevercomeupinconversationbetweenthem,ofcourse.They’dhadnoconversation,really,aboutanythingelsebutEvanParker’sremarkablenovelinprogress.Andeventhat,notmuch.FortherestoftheRipleysession,infact,hisstudenthadbeendownrightreticentinworkshop,andhehaddeclinedornotturnedupfortheremainingone-on-oneconferences.JakehadevenwonderedifParkerregrettedsharinghisextraordinarynovelideawithhisteacher,orifhe’datleastthoughtbetterofsharingitwithhispeersintheworkshop,buthehimselfneverletonthathehadbeentoldanythingaboutwhatParkerwasworkingon,orthathethoughtitwasatalloutoftheordinary.Whenthesessionended,thispompous,withholding,andprofoundlyirritatingpersonhadsimplygoneaway,presumablytodowhatheneededtodoinordertobringhisbooktothelight.Butactually,justtodie.Nowhewasgoneandhisbook,inalllikelihood,unwritten.
Later,ofcourse,Jakewouldgobacktothismoment.Later,hewouldrecognizeitforthecrossroadsitwas,butalreadyhewaswrappingthisstark,years-after-the-factsetofcircumstanceswiththefirstofwhatwouldbemanylayersofrationalization.ThoselayershadnotmuchatalltodowiththefactthatJakewasamoralhumanbeingwith,presumably,acodeofethicalconduct.Mainlytheyhadtodowiththefactthathewasawriter,andbeingawritermeantanotherallegiance,tosomethingofevenhighervalue.
Whichwasthestoryitself.
Jakedidn’tbelieveinmuch.Hedidn’tbelievethatanygodhadmadetheuniverse,letalonethatsaidgodwasstillwatchingthegoings-onandkeepingtrackofeveryhumanact,allforthepurposeofassigningafewmillenniaofHomosapienstoapleasantoranunpleasantafterlife.Hedidn’tbelieveinanafterlife.Hedidn’tbelieveindestiny,fate,luck,orthepowerofpositivethinking.Hedidn’tbelievethatwegetwhatwedeserve,orthateverythinghappensforareason(whatreasonwouldthatbe?),orthatsupernaturalforcesimpactedanythinginahumanlife.Whatwasleftafterallofthatnonsense?Thesheerrandomnessofthecircumstancesweareborninto,thegeneswe’vebeendealt,ourvaryingdegreesofwillingnesstoworkourassesoff,andthewitwemayormaynotpossesstorecognizeanopportunity.Shoulditarise.
Buttherewasonethingheactuallydidbelieveinthatborderedonthemagical,oratleastthebeyond-pedestrian,andthatwasthedutyawriterowedtoastory.
Stories,ofcourse,arecommonasdirt.Everyonehasone,ifnotaninfinityofthem,andtheysurroundusatalltimeswhetherweacknowledgethemornot.Storiesarethewellswedipintotoberemindedofwhoweare,andthewayswereassureourselvesthat,howeverobscurewemayappeartoothers,weareactuallyimportant,evencrucial,totheongoingdramaofsurvival:personal,societal,andevenasaspecies.
Butstories,despiteallthat,arealsomaddeninglyelusive.Thereisnodeepmineofplotstoblastaroundin,orbig-boxstorewithwideaislesofunused,undreamed-of,andthrillinglynewnarrativesforawritertopushabig,emptyshoppingcartthrough,waitingforsomethingtocatchtheireye.ThosesevenstorylinesJakehadoncemeasuredagainstEvanParker’snotveryexcitingmotheranddaughterinanoldhouse—OvercomingtheMonster?RagstoRiches?JourneyandReturn?—theywerethesamesevenstorylineswritersandotherstorytellershadbeenrummagingaroundinforever.Andyet…
Andyet.
Everynowandthen,somemagicallittlesparkflewupoutofnowhereandlanded(yes,landed)intheconsciousnessofapersoncapableofbringingittolife.Thiswasoccasionallycalled“inspiration,”though“inspiration”wasnotawordwritersthemselvestendedtouse.
Thosemagicallittlesparkstendednottowastetimeindeclaringthemselves.Theywokeyouupinthemorningswithanannoyingkindoftap,tapinyourheadandasenseofunfoldingurgency,andtheyhoundedyouthroughthedaysthatfollowed:theidea,thecharacters,theproblem,thesetting,linesofdialogue,descriptivephrases,anopeningsentence.JakerememberedthedayacertainkeymomentinTheInventionofWonderhadsuddenlybeentherewithhim,intheworld—nopreamble,nowarning.Anddespitethefactthatthishadneverhappenedtohimbefore,healsorememberedhisveryfirstthoughtintheinstantthatfolloweditsappearance:
Grabit
ToJake,thewordthatcomprisedtherelationshipbetweenawriterandtheirsparkwas“responsibility.”Onceyouwereinpossessionofanactualidea,youoweditadebtforhavingchosenyou,andnotsomeotherwriter,andyoupaidthatdebtbygettingdowntowork,notjustasajourneymanfabricatorofsentencesbutasanunshrinkingartistreadytomakepainful,time-consuming,evenself-flagellatingmistakes.Risingtothisresponsibilitywasamatteroffacingyourblankpage(orscreen)andmuzzlingthecriticsinsideyourhead,atleastlongenoughforyoutogetsomeworkdone,allofwhichwasprofoundlydifficultandnoneofwhichwasoptional.What’smore,youdidallofthiswithasenseofrealurgency,andyousteppedawayfromitatyourperil,becauseyouknewthatifyoufailedinyourresponsibilityyoumightwellfind,aftersomeperiodofdistraction,orevenlessthanfullycommittedwork,thatyourprecioussparkhad…leftyou.
Gone,inotherwords,assuddenlyandunexpectedlyasithadappeared,andyournovelalongwithit,thoughyoumightspinyourwheelsforafewmonthsorafewyearsorforever,hopelesslyputtingwordsontothepage(orscreen)inastubbornrefusaltofacewhathadhappened.
Andtherewasanotherthing,aspecial,darksuperstitionforanywriterabdicatingresponsibilitytothesparkofagreatidea,evenifthatwriterwasnotofareligiousbent,eveniftheydidnotbelievethat“everythinghappensforareason,”evenif,indeed,theyresistedmagicalthinkingofeveryotherconceivablekind.Thesuperstitionheldthatifyoudidnotdorightbythegreatstorythathadchosenyou,amongallpossiblewriters,tobringittolife,thatgreatstorydidn’tjustleaveyoutospinyourstupidandineffectualwheels.Itactuallywenttosomebodyelse.Agreatstory,inotherwords,wantedtobetold.Andifyouweren’tgoingtodothat,itwasoutofhere;itwasgoingtofindsomebodyelsewhowould.
Towatchsomebodyelsewriteandpublishyourbook?Intolerable.
He’dlackedevenapallidlittlefrissonofanideawithReverberations(his“novelinlinkedshortstories,”whichhadreallyonlyeverbeen…shortstories),thoughobviouslyhehadfinishedthatbook,limpingalongtosomepointatwhichhewaspermittedtotypethewords“TheEnd.”Ithadbeentheend,allright,toanyonepayingattentiontoJake’scareer—admittedly,notsomanypeople—ofhisperiodof“promise”as“ayoungwritertowatch.”Tobefrankhe’dhavebeenwisenottopublishitatall,butJakehadbeenterrifiedtolosethemomentumofTheInventionofWonder,andthesignificanceofpublication—aftereachandeveryoneofthelegacypublishers,andthenanentiretrancheoftheuniversitypresseshadrejectedthemanuscript—hadswelledtothepointatwhichthevalidationofhisentirebeingwasontheline.Besides,ifhecouldgetthisoneoutofhisway,he’dtoldhimselfatthetime,maybethenextidea,thenextspark,wouldallowhimareset.Hewouldcertainlydohisbesttodeservethat!
Buttherehadbeennoreset.Andwhilehe’dcontinuedtohavetheoccasionalcrustyandserviceableideasincethatuninspiredsecondbook—boygrowsupinfamilyobsessedwithdogbreeding,mandiscoversoldersiblinghasbeeninstitutionalizedsincebirth—there’dbeennothingevenapproachingthesparkhe’dreceivedatthebeginningofhissorrycareer.Theworkhe’ddone(faithfully,conscientiouslydone!)sincethen,ontheseandacoupleofevenworseideas,hadpetered,excruciatingly,out.
Until,ifhewasbeingcompletelyhonestwithhimself,andjustnowhewasbeingcompletelyhonestwithhimself,hehadstoppedeventrying.Ithadbeenmorethantwoyearssincehehadwrittenawordoffiction.
Goodwritersborrow,greatwriterssteal,Jakewasthinking.ThatuniquitousphrasewasattributedtoT.S.Eliot(whichdidn’tmeanEliothadn’t,himself,stolenit!),butEliothadbeentalking,perhapslessthanseriously,aboutthetheftofactuallanguage—phrasesandsentencesandparagraphs—notofthechainsofideasandmeaningandnarrativethatlanguageconveyed.Jakeknew,asEliothadknown,asallartistsoughttoknow,thateverysingleworkofart—fromthecavepaintingstowhateverwasplayingattheParkTheaterinCobleskilltohisownpunybooks—wasinconversationwitheveryotherworkofart:bouncingagainstitspredecessors,drawingfromitscontemporaries,harmonizingwiththepatterns…paintingsandchoreographyandpoetryandphotographyandperformanceartandtheever-fluctuatingnovelinarelentlessspinartmachineoftheirown.Andthatwasabeautiful,thrillingthing
Hewouldhardlybethefirsttotakesometalefromaplayorabook—inthiscase,abookthathadneverbeenwritten!—andcreatesomethingentirelynew.MissSaigonfromMadamButterflyTheHoursfromMrs.DallowayTheLionKingfromHamlet,forgoodness’sake!Itwasn’teventaboo,andobviouslyitwasn’ttheft.EvenifParker’smanuscriptactuallyexistedatthetimeofhisdeath,Jakehadneverseenmorethanacoupleofpagesofit,andherememberedlittleofwhathehadseen:themother,thedaughter,theringofpineapplesaroundthedooroftheoldhouse.Surelywhathe,alone,madefromsolittlewouldbelongtohimandonlytohim.
Once,longago,hehadbeengiventhatsparkofanidea,andhehadtriedtohonorit.Hehadundertakenthehardthinkingandthecarefulwriting,hehadpushedhimselftodowellandthentodobetter.Hehadtakenhischanceagainsttheworldandsubmittedhimselftotheopinionsofpublishers,reviewersandordinaryreaders…butfavorhadpassedoverhimandmovedontoothers,leavinghimdefeated.Whatwashetodo,whowashetobe,ifnoothersparkevercametohimagain?
Itwasunbearabletocontemplate.
These,then,werethecircumstancesinwhichJakefoundhimselfthatJanuaryeveninginupstateNewYork,atthenadir,ifcertainlynottheterminus,ofhisownliterarycareer.
Becauseitwasherewithhimnow,thisgloriousthing:hisformerstudent’s—hislateformerstudent’s—story.Indubitablyhere,andalreadytap,tappinginhishead,alreadyhoundinghim:theidea,thecharacters,theproblem.Hehadn’tgonelookingforthis.Hehadupheldthehonorofwriterswhohadlistenedtothefineideasofotherwriters,andturnedresponsiblybacktotheirownwork.(HadJ.R.R.TolkienheardhisfriendC.S.LewistalkaboutsomeinterestingnewideaonenightattheBirdandBabypubinOxford,andsetasidehisownhobbitsandwizardstowriteaboutlions,witches,andwardrobes?No!)Hehadabsolutelynotinvitedthebrilliantsparkhisstudenthadabandoned(okay,involuntarilyabandoned)tocometohim,butcomeithad.Nowitwashere,andwhatwasJakegoingtodoaboutthat?
Arhetoricalquestion,obviously.Healreadyknewexactlywhathewasgoingtodoaboutthat.
PARTTHREE
CHAPTEREIGHT
CribSyndrome
Threeyearslater,JacobFinchBonner,authorofTheInventionofWonderandofthedecidedlylessobscurenovelCrib(overtwomillioncopiesinprintandthecurrentoccupantofthenumbertwospotontheNewYorkTimeshardcoverlist,afterasolidninemonthsatnumberone),foundhimselfonthestageoftheS.MarkTaperFoundationAuditoriumoftheSeattleSymphony.Thewomanseatedoppositehimwasatypehe’dcometoknowwellduringhisinterminablebooktour:abreathless,hand-flappingenthusiastwhomightneverhavereadanovelbefore,shewassoenrapturedatencounteringthisparticularone.ShemadeJake’sownjobeasierbyvirtueofthefactthatshegushedincessantly,andseldomformedacogentquestion.Mainlyallhewascalledupontodowasnod,thankher,andlookoutovertheaudiencewithagrateful,self-effacingsmile.
Thiswasn’thisfirsttriptoSeattletopromotethebook,buttheearliervisithadtakenplaceduringthefirstweeksofthetourasthecountrywasjustbecomingawareofCrib,andthevenueshadbeentheusualonesforanot-yet-famousauthor:TheElliotBayBookCompany,aBarnes&NoblebranchinBellevue.ToJake,thosewereexcitingenough.(TherehadbeennobooktouratallforTheInventionofWonder,andthepersonalrequesthe’dmadetoreadattheBarnes&NoblenearhishometownonLongIslandhadyieldedanaudienceofsix,includinghisparents,hisoldEnglishteacher,andthemotherofhishighschoolgirlfriend,whomusthavespentthereadingwonderingwhatherdaughterhadeverseeninJake.)Whathadbeenevenmorethrillingaboutthosefirst-roundSeattlereadings,andthehundredslikethemalloverthecountry,wasthatpeopleactuallyattendedthem,peoplewhowerenothisparentsorhighschoolteachersorotherwisesomehowobligatedtoattend.Thefortywho’dshownupforthatElliottBayreading,forexample,orthetwenty-fiveattheBellevueBarnes&Noble,werecompletestrangers,andthatwasjustastonishing.Soastonishing,infact,thatithadtakenacoupleofmonthstowearoff.
Ithadwornoffnow.
Thattour—technicallythehardcovertour—hadneverreallyended.Asthebooktookoff,moreandmoredateswereadded,increasinglyforserieswherepurchaseofthebookwaspartofthepriceofadmission,andthenthefestivalsstartedgettingappendedtotheschedule:Miami,Texas,AWP,Bouchercon,LeftCoastCrime(theselasttwo,likesomuchelseaboutthethrillergenrehe’dinadvertentlyentered,hadheretoforebeenunfamiliartohim).Inall,he’dbarelystoppedtravelingsincethebookwasfirstpublished,withthefanfareofaworshipfuloff-the-book-pageprofileinTheNewYorkTimes,thekindthathadoncemadehimweak-kneedwithenvy.Then,afterninemonthsofconstanttravel,thenovel’spaperbackhadbeenmovedupafulltwomonthsandrushedintoprintwhenOprahnameditherOctoberselection,andnowJakewasreturningtosomeofhisearlierstops,butinvenuesevenhehadneverconceivedof.
TheS.MarkTaperFoundationAuditorium,forexample,hadover2,400seats,Jakehadlookedthatupinadvance.Twothousandfourhundredseats!Andasfarashecouldtellfromwherehewassitting,everysingleoneofthemwasoccupied.Outtherehecouldmakeoutthebrightkellygreenofthenewpaperback’scoveronpeople’slapsandintheirarms.Mostofthesepeoplehadbroughttheirowncopies,whichhesupposeddidnotbodewellforthefourthousandcopiesElliotBaywasnowunpackingatthesigningtablesoutinthelobby,butmanitwasgratifyingtohim.WhenTheInventionofWonderwaspublishednearlyfifteenyearsearlier,hehadsettledontheI’ll-know-I’ve-made-itfantasyofseeingastrangerreadinghisbookinpublic,andneedlesstosay,thishadneverhappened.Once,onthesubway,hehadseenaguyreadingabookthatlookedtantalizinglylikehis,butwhenheedgedcloser,tookaseatopposite,andcheckeditout,he’ddiscovereditwasactuallythenewScottTurow,andthathadbeenonlythefirstofseveralsuchcrushingfalsealarms.Neither,obviously,hadithappenedwithReverberations,ofwhichfewerthaneighthundredcopieshadevenbeensold(andhe’dpurchasedtwohundredofthemhimselfascheapremainderedcopies).Nowthisauditoriumwasfullofliving,breathingreaderswhohadpaidactualmoneyfortheirticketsandwerehereintheenormousspace,clutchinghisbookastheyleanedforwardintheirseatsandlaughinguproariouslyateverythinghesaid,eventhebanalstuffaboutwhathis“process”wasandhowhestillcarriedhislaptoparoundinthesameleathersatchelhe’downedforyears.
“Ohmygod,”saidthewomanintheotherchair,“Ihavetotellyou,IwasonaplaneandIwasreadingthebook,andIcametothepart—IthinkyouallprobablyknowthepartI’mspeakingof—andIjust,like,gasped!Like,Imadeanoise!Andtheflightattendantcameoverandshesaid,‘Areyouokay?’andIsaid,‘Ohmygod,thisbook!’AndsheaskedmewhatbookIwasreading,soIshowedher,andshestartedtolaugh.Shesaidthishasbeenhappeningformonths,peopleyelpingandgaspinginthemiddleofaflight.It’slikeasyndrome.Like:Cribsyndrome!”
“Oh,that’ssofunny,”saidJake.“Ialwaysusedtolookatwhatpeoplewerereadingonplanes.Itneverusedtobeme,Icantellyouthat!”
“ButyourfirstnovelwasaNewandNoteworthyinTheNewYorkTimes.”
“Yes,itwas.Thatwasaverygreathonor.Unfortunatelyitdidn’ttranslatetopeopleactuallygoingintobookstoresandbuyingit.Infact,Idon’tthinkthebookwaseveninbookstores.Iremembermymothertellingmetheydidn’thaveitatherlocalchainstoreonLongIsland.Shehadtospecialorderit.That’sprettyroughonaJewishmotherwhosekidisn’tevenadoctor.”
Explosivelaughter.Theinterviewer—hernamewasCandyandshewassomesortoflocalpublicfigure—doubledover.Whenshegotcontrolofherself,sheaskedJakethethoroughlypredictableoneabouthowhe’dfirstgottentheidea.
“Idon’tthinkideas,evengreatideas,areallthathardtocomeby.WhenpeopleaskmewhereIgetmyideas,myansweristhatthereareahundrednovelsineveryday’sissueofTheNewYorkTimes,andwerecyclethepaperoruseittolinethebirdcage.Ifyouaretrappedinyourownexperienceyoumayfindithardtoseebeyondthingsthathaveactuallyhappenedtoyou,andunlessyou’vehadalifeofNationalGeographic–worthyadventuresyou’reprobablygoingtothinkyouhavenothingtowriteanovelabout.Butifyouspendevenafewminuteswithotherpeople’sstoriesandlearntoaskyourself:Whatifthishadhappenedtome?OrWhatifthishappenedtoapersoncompletelyunlikeme?OrInaworldthat’sdifferentfromtheworldI’mlivingin?OrWhatifithappenedalittlebitdifferently,underdifferentcircumstances?Thepossibilitiesareendless.Thedirectionsyoucango,thecharactersyoucanmeetalongtheway,thethingsyoucanlearn,alsoendless.I’vetaughtinMFAprograms,andIcantellyou,that’smaybethemostimportantthinganyonecanteachyou.Getoutofyourownheadandlookaround.Therearestoriesgrowingfromtrees.”
“Well,okay,”saidCandy,“butwhichtreedidyoupickthisoneoffof?’CauseI’mtellingyou,Ireadallthetime.Seventy-fivenovelslastyear,Icounted!Well,Goodreadscounted.”Shesmirkedattheaudience,andtheaudienceobliginglylaughed.“AndIcan’tthinkofanothernovelthatwouldhavehadmemakinganactualnoiseonaplane.Sohow’dyoucomeupwithit?”
Andhereitwas:thatcoldwaveofterrordescendinginsideJakefromthecrownofhisheadpasthisgrinningmouthandalongeachlimb,downtotheendofeveryfingerortoe.Incredibly,hewasn’tyetusedtothis,althoughithadbeenwithhimeverymomentofeveryday,backthroughthistourandthetourprecedingit,backthroughtheheadymonthsbeforepublication,ashisnewpublisherrampedupthetemperatureandthebookworldbegantotakenotice.Backthroughthewritingofthethingitself,whichhadtakensixmonthsofwinterandspringinhisapartmentinCobleskill,NewYork,andinhisofficebehindtheoldfrontdeskattheAdlonCenterfortheCreativeArts,hopingnoneoftheguest-writersupstairswouldbotherhimwithcomplaintsabouttheroomsorquestionsabouthowtogetanagentatWilliamMorrisEndeavor,allthewaybacktothatJanuarynightwhenhe’dreadtheobituaryofhismostmemorablestudent,EvanParker.Hehadcarriedthisaroundwithhimeverymomentofeverydaysince,aperpetualthreatofpermanentharm.
Jake,needlesstosay,hadtakennotonesinglewordfromthosepageshe’dreadbackatRipley.Hehadn’thadthemtostealfrom,foronething,andifhehadhewouldhavethrownthemawayinordernottolook.EventhelateEvanParker,werehecapableofreadingCrib,wouldhavefounditimpossibletofindhisownlanguageinJake’snovel,andyet,eversincethemomenthe’dtypedthewords“CHAPTERONE”intohislaptopbackinCobleskillhe’dbeenwaiting,horriblywaiting,forsomeonewhoknewtheanswertothisveryquestion—How’dyoucomeupwithit?—torisetotheirfeetandpointtheirfingerinaccusation.
Candywasn’tthatperson,obviously.Candydidn’tknowmuchaboutmuch,andnothing,itwasabundantlyclear,eventohim,aboutthisparticularthing.WhatCandybroughttotheirconversationwasanadmirablesenseofeasewhilebeingstaredatbyupwardoftwenty-fourhundredhumanbeings,andthiswasnotaqualityJakehimselfdevalued,byanymeans.Behindherquestion,though,wasclearvapidity.Itwasjustaquestion.Sometimesaquestionwasjustaquestion.
“Oh,youknow,”hefinallysaid,“it’snotactuallythatinterestingastory.It’sactuallyalittlebitembarrassing.Imean,thinkofthemostbanalactivityyoucanimagine—Iwastakingmygarbageouttothecurb,andthismomfrommyblockhappenedtodrivebywithherteenagedaughter.Thetwoofthemwerescreamingateachotherintheircar.Obviously,youknow,havingamoment,likenoothermotherandteenagedaughterhaseverhad.”
HereJakeknewtopauseforlaughter.Hehadcontrivedthetaking-the-garbage-outstoryforpreciselytheseoccasions,andhe’dtolditmanytimesbynow.Peoplealwayslaughed.
“Andtheideaofitjustpoppedintomyhead.Imean,let’sbehonest.CanshewhohasneverthoughtIcouldkillmymotherorThiskidisgoingtodrivemetomurderpleaseraiseherhand?”
Thehugeaudiencewasstill.Candywasstill.Thentherewasanotherwaveoflaughter,thisonefarlessexuberant.Itwasalwayslikethat.
“AndIjuststartedthinking,youknow,howbadcouldthatargumentbe?Howbadcoulditget?Coulditeverget,youknow,thatbad?Andthenwhatwouldhappenifitdid?”
AfteramomentCandysaid:“Well,Iguessweallknowtheanswertothat,now.”
Morelaughterthen,andthenapplause.Somuchapplause.HeandCandyshookhandsandgottotheirfeet,andwaved,andexitedthestage,andparted,shetothegreenroomandhetothesigningtableinthelobby,wherethelongandcoilinglinehehadoncefantasizedaboutbegantoform.Sixyoungwomenwerearrayedalongthetabletohisleft.OnesoldthecopiesofCrib,anotherwrotethenameofanydedicateeonaPost-itandaffixedthattothecover,andathirdopenedthebookstotherightpage.Allhehadtodowassmileandwritehisname,whichhedid,overandover,untilhisjawachedandhislefthandachedandeveryfacebegantolooklikethefacebeforeit,orthefaceafterit,orbothfacesatonce.
Hi,thanksforcoming!
Oh,that’ssonice!
Really?That’samazing!
Goodluckwithyourwriting!
Itwashisfifteentheveningeventinasmanydays,exceptforthepreviousMondaynight,whichhe’dspentinahotelinMilwaukee,eatingaterribleburgerandansweringemailsbeforepassingoutduringRachelMaddow.Hehadnotbeenhometohisapartment—anewapartment,boughtwiththeastonishingadvancehe’dreceivedforCrib,andstillbarelyfurnished—sincelateAugustanditwasnowtheendofSeptember.Hewaslivingonhotelburgers,late-nightwhiskeysours,minibarjellybeans,andsheerstrain,tryingconstantlytoconjureupneworatleastvariantanswerstothesamequestionshe’dnowbeenaskedhundredsoftimes,anddown—despiteallthosejellybeans—atleastfivepoundsonaframethatcouldn’taffordtolosemuchmore.HisagentMatilda(whowasnottheagentwho’dbungledJake’sfirstnovelandresolutelydetachedherselffromhissecond!)calledeveryfewdaystocasuallyaskhowfarintothenextnovelhewas(answer:notfarenough),andachorusofwritershe’dknowningraduateschoolandcollegeandduringthoseNewYorkyearswerefollowinghimlikeFuries,bombardinghimwithrequests—everythingfromblurbsfortheirmanuscriptstorecommendationsforartists’coloniestorequeststobeputintouchwithMatilda.Inshort,hecouldlooknofartheraheadthanadayortwo.FartherthanthathelefttoOtis,theliaisonMacmillanhadsentoutontheroadwithhim.Itwasastrange,almostdisembodiedwaytolive.
Butalso:hisexactdream.Backwhenhe’ddreamed,solongago(notevenayearago!)ofbeinga“successfulwriter,”hadhenotpicturedtheseverythings?Audiences,stacksofbooks,thatmagical“1”besidehisnameonthefabledlistatthebackofTheNewYorkTimesBookReview?Hehad,ofcourse,butalsohopedforthesmall,humanconnectionsthatmustcometoawriterwhoseworkwasactuallyread:openingone’sownbook,writingone’sownname,holdingitouttoasinglereaderintentonreadingit.Wasitwrongtowantthesesimple,humblerewards?Handtohandandbraintobraininthemarvelousconnectionthatwaswrittenlanguagemeetingthepowerofstorytelling.Hehadthesethingsnow.Andtothink:hehadacquiredthemwithonlyhishardworkandhispureimagination.
Plusastorythatmightnothavebeenentirelyhis.
Whichsomebody,somewhereoutthere,mightconceivablyknow.
Allofit,atanytime,mightberippedawayfromhim—rip,rip,rip—andsoquicklythatJakewouldfindhimselfhelplessandannihilatedevenbeforeheknewwhatwashappening.Thenhewouldberelegatedtothecircleofshamedwritersforeverandwithouthopeofappeal:JamesFrey,StephenGlass,CliffordIrving,GregMortenson,JerzyKosinski…
JacobFinchBonner?
“Thankyou,”JakeheardhimselfsayasayoungmanmentionedsomenicethingaboutTheInventionofWonder.“That’soneofmyfavorites,too.”
Thewordsstruckhimassomehowfamiliar,andthenherememberedthatthisexactphrasehadbeenanotherfancyofhis,andforthebriefestmomentthismadehimfeelsoutterlyhappy.Butonlythebriefestmoment.Afterthat,hewentbacktobeingterrifiedagain.
CHAPTERNINE
NottheWorst
OnJake’sownprintedschedulehehadthefollowingmorningoff,butontheridebacktothehotelafterthelastbookwassignedOtislethimknowofanewevent,amorninginterviewforaradioshowcalledSunriseSeattle
“Remote?”Jakehadaskedhopefully.
“No.Instudio.Itwaslastminute,buttheprogramdirectorreallywantstomakethiswork.Shemovedthehost’sotherstuffaroundtogetyou.Bigfan.”
“Oh.Nice,”Jakesaid,thoughitwasn’t,really.HehadamiddayflighttoSanFranciscointheafternoonandanappearanceattheCastroTheatrethatnight,thenhehadtobeinLosAngelesthefollowingmorningfornearlyaweekofmeetingsrelatedtothefilmadaptation.Oneofthesewasalunchwiththedirector.AnA-listdirector,byanyone’sstandard.
KBIKwasn’tfarfromtheirhotelandonlyafewblocksnorthofthePikePlaceMarket.Earlythenextmorning,JakeleftOtistoretrievetheirbagsfromthetaxiandenteredthestation’slobby,wheretheirobviouscontactwaswaiting:awomanwithgleaminggrayhairheldbackoffherfacewithafranklygirlishheadband.Heapproachedherwithhishandoutstretchedandanentirelyunnecessary:“I’mJakeBonner.”
“Jake!Hi!”
Theyshook.Herhandwaslongandnarrow,liketherestofher.Shehadbrightblueeyesandhenoticedthatsheworenotalickofmakeup.Helikedthat.Thenhenoticedthathelikedthat.
“Andyouare?”
“Oh!Sorry,I’mAnnaWilliams.Anna.Imean,pleasecallmeAnna.I’mthedirectorofprogramming.Thisissofantasticthatwegotyoutocomein.Iloveyourbooksomuch.”
“Well,thanks,that’ssoniceofyoutosay.”
“Really,Icouldn’tgetitoutofmyhead,thefirsttimeIreadit.”
“Firsttime!”
“Oh,I’vereaditabunchoftimes.It’sjustamazingtomeetyou.”
Otisarrived,draggingboththeirsuitcases.HeandAnnashookhands.
“Soit’sastraightinterview?”Otisasked.“DoyouneedJaketoreadanything?”
“No.Notunlessyouwantto?”ShelookedatJake.Shelookedalmoststricken,asifshe’dfailedtomakethisimportantinquiry.
“Notatall.”Hesmiled.Hewastryingtofigureouthowoldshewas.Hisownage?Ormaybealittlebityounger.Itwashardtotell.Shewasslenderandworeblackleggingsandakindofhomespuntunic.VerySeattle.“Really,I’mprettyeasygoing.Willpeoplebecallingin?”
“Oh,weneverknow.Randy’sabitdifficulttopredict,hedoeseverythingonthefly.Sometimeshe’lltakecallersandsometimeshewon’t.”
“RandyJohnson’saSeattleinstitution,”Otissaidhelpfully.“Whatisit,liketwentyyears?”
“Twenty-two.Notallofitatthisstation.Idon’tthinkhe’sbeenofftheairlongerthanafewdayssincehestarted.”Shewasholdingherclipboardtightlyagainstherchest.Thoselonghandsgrippedtheedges.
“Well,IwasdelightedwhenIheardhewantedanoveliston!”Otissaid.“Usuallyifwe’reluckyenoughtodoRandyJohnson’sshowit’sasportsbiography,orsometimespolitics.Ican’tremembereverbringingafictionwriterinbeforetoday.Youshouldbeproud,”hesaidtoJake.“YougotRandyJohnsontoreadanovel!”
“Ah,”saidthewoman,AnnaWilliams.“Youknow,IwishIcouldpromiseyouthathe’sreadthewholenovel.He’sbeenbriefed,obviously,butyou’reright,Randy’snotwhatyou’dcallanaturalreaderoffiction.HegetswhatahugethingCribhasbecome,though.Helikestobeontopofaculturalphenomenonwhetherit’sanovelorapetrock.”
Jakesighed.Intheearlyweeksofthebook’spublicationhe’denduredmorethanafewinterviewswithpeoplewhohadn’treadthebook,andansweringtheirbasicquestions—Sowhat’syourbookabout?—presentedthesignificantchallengesofdescribingCribwithoutgivingawaytheplot’snowinfamoustwist.Bynow,everyoneseemedtoknowwhathisbookwasabout,whichhadbeenareliefinmorewaysthanone.Also,itwasn’tfuncoveringforsomebody’stotalunfamiliaritywithyournovelwhiletryingtosoundpleasantandengagedyourself.
Theywentupstairstothestudioandfoundthehost,RandyJohnson,inmid-interviewwithastatesenatorandherconstituent,bothhighlyexercisedbyanewregulationrelatedtodogsandtheirwaste.JakewatchedJohnson,alargeandhirsutemanwithadefinitetendencytospit,expertlyplaythesetwoantagonistsagainsteachotheruntiltheconstituent,atleast,wasredinthefaceandthesenatorwasthreateningtogetupandleavetheroom.
“Oh,now,youdon’twanttodothat,”saidJohnson,whowasdefinitelysuppressinghisownlaughter.“Look,let’stakeacall.”
Theproducer,AnnaWilliams,broughtJakeabottleofwater.Herfingers,slippingpasthis,werewarm,butthewaterwascool.Helookedather.Shewaspretty;very,undeniablypretty.Hehadnotpausedtoconsidertheprettinessofawomanforaverylongtime.Therehadbeenawomanhe’dmetonBumbletheprevioussummerandgoneouttodinnerwithacoupleoftimes.Beforethat,awomanwhotaughtstatisticsatSUNYCobleskill.Beforethat,AliceLogan,thepoethe’dmetatRipley,thoughthatpeteredoutwhensheheadedsouthtoJohnsHopkinsattheendofthesummer.Shewastenuredtherenow,Jakeknew.She’dsenthimabrief,congratulatoryemailwhenCribmadetheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlist.
“He’saboutfinishedwiththosetwo,”shesaidquietly.
Whenthecommercialbreakbegansheledhimtotheseattheangryconstituenthadjustvacatedandheldtheearphonesopenforhim.RandyJohnsonwasstudyingsomepapersanddrinkingfromaKBIKmug.“Hangon,”hesaid,withoutlookingup.“Hangonaminute.”
“Sure,”saidJake.HelookedaroundforOtis,butOtiswasn’tnearby.AnnaWilliamstooktheotherchairandputonherownheadset.Shegavehimanencouragingsmile.
“Hehassomegoodquestions,”shesaid,soundinglessthancertain.Obviously,shehadwrittenthequestionsherself.Theuncertainty,Jakesupposed,waswhetherthehostwouldsticktothem.
Justbeforetheywentbackonair,Johnsonlookedupandgrinned.“Howyoudoing.Jack,right?”
“Jake,”saidJake.Hereachedacrosstoshakethehost’shand.“Thanksforhavingmeon.”
RandyJohnsongrinned.“Thisone”—hepointedatAnna—“gavemenochoice.”
“Well,”Jakesaid,turningtoher.Annawaslookingdownatherclipboard,pretendingnottolisten.
“Lookslikeafeatherweight,butshe’saheavyweightwhenitcomestogettingherway.”
“That’sprobablywhatmakesheragreatproducer,”Jakesaid,asifthiscompletestrangerneededhimtodefendher.
“Fiveseconds,”saidavoiceinJake’sears.
“Okay!”RandyJohnsonsaid.“Ready,all?”
Jakewas,hesupposed.Bynowhe’dsatinanynumberofchairsjustlikethisone,andsmiledgeniallyatanynumberoflocalblowhards.HelistenedtoRandyJohnsonopineaboutunleasheddogsonthestreetsofSeattleforawhile,andthenheardwhatheunderstoodtobehisownintroduction.“Okay,soournextguestisprobablythehottestwriterinAmericaatthemoment.AmItalkingaboutDanBrownorJohnGrisham?You’reprobablygettingprettyexcitedoutthere,amIright?”
Heglancedatthewomanbesidehim.Hersharpjawwassetandhereyesdownontheclipboard.
“Well,toobad.Butletmeaskyousomething.Whooutthere’sreadanewbookcalledTheCrib?Soundslikeit’saboutababy.Isitaboutababy?”
Thehostwassilentthen.Afterahorrifiedmoment,Jakerealizedhewasexpectedtoactuallyanswerthisquestion.
“Uh,it’sCrib,notTheCrib.Andnothingreallytodowithababy.To‘crib’somethingmeanstostealit,orpurloinit.And…thanksforhavingmeon,Randy.WehadagreateventinSeattlelastnight.”
“Ohyeah?Where?”
Hecouldn’trememberthenameoftheactualhall.“SeattleArtsandLectures.Itwasatthesymphony.Gorgeousplace.”
“Yeah?That’sbig.Howbigisthatplace?”
Really?Jakethought.Nowhewasexpectedtoanswertriviaquestionsaboutthehost’sowncity?Butinfactheknewtheanswer.
“Abouttwenty-fourhundred,Ithink.Imetsomeamazingpeople.”
Besidehim,Annaheldupapieceofpaper,buttothehost,nottoJake.FULLNAME:JACOBFINCHBONNERitread.
Randymadeaface.“JacobFinchBonner.Whatkindofnameisthat?”
ThekindIgotatbirth,Jakethought.ExceptfortheFinch,ofcourse.
“Well,everyonecallsmeJake.Ihavetoadmittoaddingthe‘Finch’myself.AfterScout,Jem,andAtticus.”
“Afterwho?”
Itwassohardnottoshakehishead.Hehadtofightagainstit.
“CharactersinToKillAMockingbird.ItwasmyfavoritenovelwhenIwasachild.”
“Oh.Yeah,IthinkIgotoutofreadingthatbywatchingthemovie.”Hereheinterruptedhimselfwithhisownapprovinglaughter.“Soyougotthishotfirstnovel,everybody’sreadingit.Telluswhatit’sabout,JakeFinch.”
Jaketriedforalaughofhisown.Itcameoutsoundingfarlessnatural.“JustJake!Well,therearethingsinthisbookIdon’twanttospoilforpeoplewhohaven’treadit,solet’sjustsayit’saboutawomannamedSamanthawhobecomesamotheratayoungage.Veryyoung.Tooyoung.”
“Shewasanaughtygirl,”Randycommented.
Jakelookedathiminsomedisbelief.“Well,notnecessarily.Butshesortofgivesupherownlifetohaveherchild,andthetwoofthemlivetogetherinakindofisolatedway,inthehouseSamanthaherselfgrewupin.Butthey’renotclose.Anditgetsworsebetweenthemasthedaughter,Maria,becomesateenager.”
“Oh,youmeanit’slikemyhouse,”hesaiddelightedly.
Annaheldupanothersign.MORETHAN2MILLSOLD,itsaid.Andunderthat:SPIELBERGDIRECTINGMOVIE.
“So,Jake!IhearStevenSpielbergismakingitintoamovie.How’dyouhookthebigone?”
Itwasarelief,atleast,tomovethesubjectawayfromhimselfandevenhisbook.Jaketalkedabitaboutthefilm,andwhatafanofSpielberghe’dalwaysbeen.“It’samazingtomethatheconnectedsopowerfullywiththisstory.”
“Yeah,butwhy?Imean,theguyprobablyhashispickofeveryfilmprojectthat’soutthere.HepickedTheCrib.Why,doyouthink?”
Jakeclosedhiseyes.“Well,Iguesstherewassomethinginthecharactersthatmusthavespokentohim.Or—”
“Oh,solikemydaughter,who’ssixteen,andmywife,whostartscreamingateachotherwhentheygetupinthemorninganddon’tstoptillmidnight,IcouldgetStevenSpielbergtomakeamovieaboutthem?BecauseI’mdownwiththat.Myproducer’srighthere.Anna?CanwegetStevenSpielbergonthephone?I’lltellhimwhateverhe’spayingJake,I’llsellhimmywifeanddaughterforhalf.”
Jakestaredathiminhorror.HeturnedtolookforOtis.NoOtis.NotthatOtiscouldhavedoneanything.
“Okay!”Randysaidwithaflourish.“Let’stakesomecalls.”
Hestabbedhisconsolewithaforefinger,andawomanwithalowvoiceaskedifshecouldaskJakeaquestion.
“Sure!”saidJake,farmoreenthusiasticallythanhefelt.“Hi!”
“Hi.Ilovethebooksomuch.Igaveittoeveryoneinmyoffice.”
“Oh,that’ssonice,”Jakesaid.“Doyouhaveaquestion?”
“Yeah.Ijustwantedtoknowhowyouthoughtofthatstory.’CauseImean,Iwasreallysurprised.”
Hesearchedinhiscerebralfileforthemostappropriateofhispreparedanswers.
“Ithinkwhenyou’rewritingalongstory,likeanovel,youdon’tthinkofeverypartofthestoryatonce.Youthinkofonepart,andthenthenext,andthenext.Soitsortofevolves—”
“Thanks,”Randysaid,cuttingoffboththecallerandJake.“Soyoukindofmakeitupasyougoalong.Youdon’twriteanoutlinebeforehand?”
“Ineverhave.That’snottosayIneverwill.”
“Hithere,you’reonwithRandy.”
“Hi,Randy.DoyouknowifthecityisplanningtodoanythingaboutallthepeopledoingdrugsaroundOccidentalSquare?Iwasdowntherelastweekendwithmyin-laws,anditwasjustridiculous,youknow?”
“Oh,hellyeah,”Randyconcurred.“It’sneverbeenthisbad,andthecity,it’slike:seenoevil,hearnoevil.YouknowwhatIthinktheyoughttobedoingaboutit?”
Andhewasoff:themayor,thecouncil,thedo-goodershandingoutfoodandcoupons,whatwasthatsupposedtoaccomplish?JakelookedatAnna,whowaswatchingthehost,herfaceashen.Therewerenomorescribbledsigns.Sheseemedtohavegivenuponthat.Andthetimeranout.
“Okay,appreciateyoucomingin,”saidRandyJohnsonassoonasacarinsuranceadbegan.“Itwasfun.I’lllookoutforthefilm.”
I’msureyouwill,Jakethought.Hegottohisfeet.“Thanksforhavingme.”
“ThankAnna,”Randysaid.“Heridea.”
“Well…”hestartedtosay.
“Thanks,Anna.”ItwasOtis,finallyinthedoorway.“Thiswasgreat.”
“I’llwalkyouout,”saidAnna.Shewentinfrontofhim.Hewassuddenlyfarmorenervousthanhe’dbeenwhilewaitingfortheinterviewtobegin,orevenafterithadbegunfallingoffthecliffthatwasSeattleinstitutionRandyJohnson.Behindher,hiseyesonhernarrowback,thelonggrayhairbetweenhershoulderblades,hedescendedthestairstothegroundfloor.ThentheywerebackinthelobbyandOtiswasretrievingtheirbagsfrombehindthesecurityguard’sdesk.
“Iamsosorry,”Annasaid.
“Well,he’snottheworst.”
“No?”
He’dbeenprettyneartheworst,actually.Anyonecouldbeanidiotorajerk,separately,butthecombinationofignoranceandmean-spiritedness—thatwasunusual.
“I’vebeenaskedifIpaidsomebodyelsetowritemybookforme.I’vebeenaskedtolookattheinterviewer’schild’sfiction.Ontheair.OnewomanonaTVshow,justbeforeitstarted,shesaidtome:‘I’vereadthebeginningandtheendofyourbookandIthoughtitwasjustgreat.’”
“Shutup.”Annagrinned.
“Absolutelytrue.Ofcourseit’saridiculousformat:afewminutesonaradioshoworatelevisionshow,tosayanythingsubstantiveaboutanovel.”
“Buthewas…Ijustthought,y’know,hemightrisetotheoccasion.Hemaynotbeafictionguy,buthe’sinterestedinpeople.Ifhe’dreadithe’dhavebeenacompletelydifferentperson.Butobviously…”
Otiswasonhisphone,andfrowning.HewasprobablyorderinganUbertoSeaTac.
“Please,it’sfine.”
“No,Ijust,IwishIcouldmakeituptoyou.Wouldyou…doyouhavetimeforcoffee?Imean,I’msureyoudon’t.Butthere’sagoodplaceattheMarket…”
Itseemedtohavesurprisedherasmuchasitsurprisedhim,andimmediatelyshetriedtowalkitback.“Ohnevermind!Youprobablyneedtogetgoing.PleaseforgetIasked.”
“I’dloveto,”saidJake.
CHAPTERTEN
Utica
Shetookhimtoaplaceonthetopfloorofabuildingoppositethemarket,andinsistedongettingthecoffee.ItwasalocalchaincalledStoryville,andtheplacewaswarmwithafiregoingandawindowoverlookingthePublicMarketsign.Shehadrecoveredhercoolatsomepointonthewalkoverandseemedalmostserene.Shewasalsoexponentiallymorebeautifulwitheverypassingmoment.
AnnaWilliamswasnotaSeattlenative.She’dgrownupinnorthernIdahoandmovedtherestofthewaywestforcollegeattheUniversityofWashington—“famousforbeingTedBundy’sfirstplayground”—afterwhichshe’dspentadecadeoutonWhidbeyIslandworkingforasmallradiostation.
“Whatwasthatlike?”saidJake.
“Oldiesandtalk.Anunusualcombination.”
“No,Imeantlivingonanisland.”
“Oh.Youknow.Quiet.IwasinalittletowncalledCoupeville,wherethestationwas.Lotsofweekendersfromthecity,soitneverfeltthatremote.Andyouknow,we’reallusedtotheferriesuphere.Idon’tthink‘island’reallymeanstoSeattlepeoplewhatitmeanstootherpeople.”
“DoyougetbacktoIdaho?”heasked.
“Notsincemyadoptivemomdied.”
“Oh.I’msorry.”Amomentlater,hesaid:“So,youwereadopted?”
“Neverformally.Mymom—myadoptivemom—wasactuallymyteacher.Ihadareallybadsituationathome,andMissRoycejustsortoftookmein.Ithinkeveryoneinourtownunderstoodthesituation.Therewaskindofasilentagreementthatnoonewouldlooktoocloseorinvolvetheauthorities.IgotmorestabilityfromherinacoupleofyearsthanI’dhadmywholelifebeforethat.”
Clearlytheywerepoisedattheedgeofafathomlesslake.Thereweremanythingshewantedtoknow,butitwashardlytherightmoment.
“It’swonderfulwhentherightpersoncomesintoyourlifeattherighttime.”
“Well.”Annashrugged.“Righttime,Idon’tknow.Afewyearsearlierwouldhavebeenevenbetter.ButIcertainlywasabletoappreciatewhatIhad,whileIhadit.AndIwasextremelyfondofher.Iwasajuniorattheuniversitywhenshegotill.Iwenthometotakecareofher.That’swhenmyhairturnedgray.”
Jakelookedather.“Really?I’veheardofthat.Overnight,right?”
“No,itwasn’tlikethat.Thewaypeopletalkaboutit,itsoundslikeyouwakeupinthemorningandBAM—everystrand’sbeenreplaced.Formeitjuststartedtogrowoutandeverythingnewwasthiscolor.Thatwaskindofashockofitsown,butafterawhileIdecideditwaskindofanopportunity.IcouldgoanydirectionIwantedwithit.Ididcoloritforthefirstcoupleofyears,buteventuallyIdecidedIlikeditlikethis.Ilikedthatitwasalittlebitconfusing.Notformyself,butforotherpeople.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Oh…justthatthecombinationofhairthatsignifies‘old’withafacethatisn’toldisconfusingtoalotofpeople.I’venoticeditcanmakesomepeoplethinkI’molderthanmyrealage,andothersthinkI’myounger.”
“Howoldareyou?”Jakeasked.“MaybeIshouldn’task.”
“No,it’sokay.I’lltellyou,butonlyafteryoutellmehowoldyouthinkIam.It’snotavanitything.I’mjustcurious.”
ShesmiledatJake,andhetooktheopportunitytoseeitallagain:thepaleovalface,thestreakedsilverhairdownherback,andthatgirlishhairbandwiththelinenshirtandleggingshe’dseenaroundtown,andonherfeettanbootsthatlookedreadytohikeoffhomealongaruggedwoodedpath.Shewasright,herealized,aboutherage.Notthathe’dneverbeenespeciallyadeptatassessingage,butwithAnnahecouldn’thavesaidanynumberbetween,say,twenty-eightandforty,withanycertaintyatall.Becausehehadtosayanumber,heapproximatedhisown.
“Areyou…inyourmid-thirties?”
“Iam.”Shesmiled.“Wanttotryforthebonusround?”
“Well,I’mthirty-seven,myself.”
“Nice.Aniceage.”
“Andyouare…?”
“Thirty-five.Anevennicerage.”
“Itis,”Jakesaid.Outsideithadstartedtorain.“So.Whyradio?”
“OhIknow,it’sridiculous.Radiobroadcastingisaninsaneindustrytowanttogointointhetwenty-firstcentury,butIlikemyjob.Well,notthismorning,butmostofthetime.AndI’mgoingtokeeptryingtogetfictionontheair.ThoughIdoubtmanyothernovelistsaregoingtobeasmild-manneredaboutitasyouwere.”
Inwardly,Jakewinced.“Mild-mannered”hadmadehimthink,immediately,ofthatotherversionofhimself,theJakewho’doncesilentlyenduredthediatribeofanarcissisticguest-writerfromCalifornia:noisypipes!badsandwiches!non-workingfireplaces!Andthenevertobeforgotten:Anybodycanbeawriter.
Ontheotherhand,thatsamediatribehadultimatelybroughthimhere.Andherewasgood.Despitetheincandescenteventsofthepastseveralmonths—Oprah!Spielberg!—andtheongoingastonishmentofhisbook’sever-growingreadership,hewasactuallyhappierrightatthismoment—withthesilver-hairedgirlinthewood-linedcoffeeshop—thanhe’dbeeninmonths.
“Mostofus,”saidJake,“mostfictionwriters,Imean,we’renotallthathungupaboutthesalesandtherankingsandtheAmazonnumber.Imean,wecare,weneedtoeatlikeeveryoneelse,butwe’rejustsogladpeoplearereadingourwork.Like,anyone’sreadingourwork.Anddespitewhatyourbosssaidontheairthismorning,Cribwasn’tmyfirstbook.Orevenmysecond.Maybeacouplethousandpeoplereadmyfirstnovel,eventhoughithadagoodpublisherandsomenicereviews.Buteventhat’swaymorethanthenumberofpeoplewhoreadmysecondbook.Soyousee,it’sneveraforgoneconclusionthatanyoneisactuallygoingtoseeyourwork,nomatterhowgooditis.Andifnobodyreadsit,itdoesn’texist.”
“Treefallsintheforest,”Annasaid.
“Asuitablenorthwestinterpretation.Butiftheydoreadit,younevergetoverthethrillofthat:apersonyoudon’tevenknow,payingtheirhard-earnedmoneysotheycanreadwhatyouwrote?It’samazing.It’sunbelievable.WhenImeetpeopleattheseeventsandtheybringinsomegrubbycopythey’vedroppedinthebathorspilledcoffeeon,orfoldeddownthecornersofthepages,that’sthebestfeeling.Evenbetterthansomeonebuyingabrand-newcopyrightinfrontofme.”Hepaused.“Youknow,Ihaveanideayou’reasecretwriter,yourself.”
“Oh?”Shelookedathim.“Whysecret?”
“Well,youhaven’tmentionedityet.”
“Maybeithasn’tcomeupyet.”
“Okay.Sowhatisit?Fiction?Amemoir?Poetry?”
Annapickeduphermugandgazedintoit,asiftheanswerresidedwithin.“Notapoetryperson,”shesaid.“Lovereadingmemoirs,butnotinterestedindiggingaroundinmyowndirtsoIcanshareitwiththerestoftheworld.I’vealwayslikednovels,though.”Shelookedupathim,suddenlyshy.
“Oh?Tellmeafewofyourfavorites.”Itoccurredtohimthatshemightthinkhewasaskingforpraise.“Presentcompanyexcepted,”headded,tryingtomakeajokeofit.
“Well…Dickens,ofcourse.WillaCather.Fitzgerald.IloveMarilynneRobinson.Imean,itwouldbeadreamtowriteone,butthere’sabsolutelynothinginmylifethatsuggestsIcoulddoit.WherewouldIgetanidea?Wheredoyougetyours?”
Henearlygroaned.Backinthecerebralfileofacceptableanswershefoundthemostobviousone,theoneStephenKinghadgiventhemall.“Utica.”
Annastared.“I’msorry?”
“Utica.It’sinupstateNewYork.SomeoneaskedStephenKingwherehegetshisideas,andhesaidUtica.Ifit’sgoodenoughforStephenKing,it’scertainlygoodenoughforme.”
“Right.That’sfunny,”shesaid,lookingasifshethoughtitwasanythingbut.“Whydidn’tyouusethatlinelastnight?”
Foramomenthedidn’treply.“Youweretherelastnight.”
Sheshrugged.“OfcourseIwasthere.I’mafan,obviously.”
Andhethoughthowastonishingitwasthatthisveryprettywomanwascallingherselfhisfan.Afteramomentheheardheraskifhewantedanothercoffee.
“No,thanks.I’llneedtogosoon.Otiswasgivingmethesideeye,backattheradiostation.Youprobablynoticed.”
“Hedoesn’twantyoutomissyournextgig.Totallyunderstandable.”
“Yes,thoughI’dlovetohavealittlemoretime.Iwonder…doyouevercomeeast?”
Shesmiled.Shehadanoddsmile:lipspressedtogethersoharditlookedalmostuncomfortableforhertoholdtheexpression.
“Ihaven’tyet,”shesaid.
Whentheywentoutsideheconsidered,thoughtbetterof,thenreconsideredakiss,andwhilehevacillatedsheactuallyreachedoutforhim.Hersilverhairwassoftagainsthischeek.Herbodywassurprisinglywarm,orwasthathisown?Hehad,inthatmoment,suchapowerfulideaofwhatcouldcomenext.
Butthen,afewminuteslaterinthecar,hefoundthefirstofthemessages.Ithadbeenforwardedfromthecontactformonhisownauthorwebsite(Thanksforvisitingmypage!Haveaquestionoracommentaboutmywork?Pleaseusetheform!)justaroundthetimeashewasabouttogoontheairwithlocalSeattleinstitutionRandyJohnson,andithadalreadybeensittingthereinhisownemailin-boxforaboutninetyradioactiveminutes.Readingitnowmadeeverygoodthingofthatmorning,nottospeakofthelastyearofJake’slife,instantlyfallfromhimandlandinahorrible,reverberatingcrack.ItshorrifyingemailaddresswasTalentedTom@gmail.com,andthoughthemessagewasbrevityitselfatamerefourwords,itstillmanagedtogetitspointacross.Youareathief,itsaid.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages3?4
Shefoundoutshewaspregnantbythrowinguponherdeskincalculus.Samanthahadbeenfinishingupsomenotesontheproblemset,makingsureshehadtherightassignmentaseveryoneleft.(ShehadatheorythatMr.Fortis,whowasgenerallyamoron,didn’tactuallylookthroughtheequationsthemselves;hejustcheckedtomakesuretheproblemsweretheoneshe’dactuallygivenout.)Thenshe’dgottentoherfeet,swoonedlikesomebodyinasoapopera,putoutherarmstobraceherselfabovethedesk,andhurledalloverherownnotebook.Herverynextcogentthoughtwas:Fuck.
Shewasfifteenyearsoldandnotanidiot,thanksverymuch.Ormaybeshewas,butthiswasn’thappeningbecauseshe’dbeenignorantorna?ve,orbecauseshe’dthoughtnothingbad(thiswasbad)couldeverhappentoher.Itwasbecauseatruebastardhadtoldheranoutrightlie.Andprobablymorethanone.
Thevomitwasslimyandkindofyellowandthesightofitmadeherwanttothrowupagain.Herheadwasachingbecausethat’swhathappenedwhenyouthrewup,butthemainthingconcerninghernowwasthewayherskinhadkindofjumpedtolifealloverherbodyinareallyunpleasantway.Thatwasprobablyalsoasignofpregnancy,itoccurredtoher.Orjustrage.Itwascleartoherthatshehadboth.
Shepickeduphernotebook,carriedittothemetaltrashbininthecorneroftheroom,andshookthethingoverit;agobofslimeslidoff,thenshedriedittherestofthewaywithhershirtsleeve,becausehonestlyshewaspastcaring.Inthelastthirtysecondsofherlife,yearsofgoalshadsimplydisappeared.Shewaspregnant.Shewaspregnant.Thatcompletefuck.
Samanthawasnotanespeciallyluckygirl,shewaswellaware.CluelesshadplayedatthemovietheaterinNorwichtheprevioussummer;sheknewthereweregirlsherownagewhodrovecarsaroundBeverlyHillsandputtogethertheiroutfitsonacomputer,andthatobviouslywasn’ther,butatthesametimeshewasn’tcontendingwithviolentchildabuseorabjectpoverty,either.Therewasfoodinthehouse.Therewasschool,whichmeantbooks,andtheyhadcable,andherparentshadeventakenherdowntoNewYorkCitytwice,butonbothoccasionsthey’dseemedmystifiedbywhattheyshoulddooncetheyactuallygotthere:mealsinthehotel,abusthatdrovearoundwithaguidemakingjokesshedidn’tunderstand,theEmpireStateBuilding(itmadesensethefirsttime,butthesecondtimealso?)andRockefellerCenter(alsotwice,andneithertripwasaroundtheholidays,so…why?).Notthatshewasallthatknowledgeable,herself,aboutwhatthegreatestcityintheworldmighthavetoofferthreeyokelsfromthemiddleofNewYorkstate(whichmightaswellhavebeenthemiddleofIndiana)butshe’donlybeenninethefirsttimeandthentwelvethesecondsoitreallyshouldn’thavebeenuptoher.
Themainthingshedidhave,whichmostpeopledidn’t,wasafuture.
Herparentshadjobsandherfather’swasforthecollegeinHamilton,wherehistitlewassomethingimportant-soundinglike“plantengineer”butitreallymeanthewastheonewhogotcalledwhensomegirltriedtoflushaKotex.Hermothercleanedtoo,butattheCollegeInn:hertitlewasthefarmorehonest“housekeeper.”Butwhatherfather’sjobinparticularreallysignifiedwassomethingshe’dhadtoexplaintohim,ratherthantheotherwayaround:hisfourteenyearsofservicetotheinstitutionwasalegupwhenitcametimeforhertogotocollegeherself,andasignificantchunkofchangetopayherway.Accordingtoherfather’sownemploymenthandbook,whichhehimselfhadneverreadbutwhichSamanthahadbeenonintimatetermswithforacoupleofyears,thecollegegaveeveryconsiderationtothechildrenofitsfacultyandstaffwhenitcametoadmissions,andwhenitcametofinancialaid,thatwasactuallyspelledoutinblackandwhite:80percentscholarship,10percentstudentloan,10percenton-campusemployment.Inotherwords,forapersonlikeSamantha,somethingalongthelinesofagoldenticketinachocolatebar.
Oratleastthathadbeentrueuntiltoday.
HershitstormwasnottobeblamedonsubstandardsexeducationatEarlvilleMiddleSchool,letaloneChenangoCounty(wherethelocalshaddoneeverythingpossibletopreventitsyoungpeoplefromlearninghowbabiesweremade);Samanthahadbeenfullycognizantofthedetailssincethefifthgrade,whenherfathersaidsomethingaboutanespeciallyeventfulweekendatoneofthefraternities(anincidentwhichhadnecessitatedthepresenceofthepoliceandresultedinagirldroppingout).Shewasusedtofindingthingsoutforherself,especiallywhenthosethingswerecloakedinthedistinctiveparentalsilenceofstuff-you-weren’t-supposed-to-know-about.Overthefollowingyears,herpeerscaughtuptoherinbasicknowledge(again,nothankstotheofficialpoliciesoftheschooldistrictandthestate,whichhadactuallydeclinedtomandatesexeducation)buttheknowledgewasjustthat:basic.Twogirlsinherclassofsixtyhadalreadymovedto“homeschooling”andonehadgonetolivewitharelativeinUtica.Butthosegirlswerestupid.Thiswasthekindofthingthatwassupposedtohappentostupidpeople.
Shegathereduptherestofherstuffandlefttheclassroomasapregnantperson.Thenshewenttoherlockerasapregnantpersonandshejoinedtheothersoutsideandgotonherbus,takinghercustomaryseatattheback,butnowasapregnantperson,meaningapersonwho,ifshedidnothing,wasgoingtoeventuallyproduceanotherpersonandthereforeletgoofthereinsofherownlife,probablyforever.
Butobviouslyshewasn’tgoingtodonothing.
CHAPTERELEVEN
TalentedTomHetoldnoone.Ofcourse.
HewenttoSanFranciscoandtheCastroTheatre,andthen,thefollowingday,ontoLosAngeleswherethemeetingswentaboutaswellashecouldhavehoped(andthethrillofbeinginaroomwithStevenSpielbergnumbedhisdistressfordays),butintimehehadtoreturntoNewYork,totheworkonhisnextnovelandtothenewandsparselyfurnishedapartmentintheWestVillage.Bythen,he’dnearlymanagedtopersuadehimselfthattheemailhadbeenakindofphantasm,conjuredbyhisownparanoia,propelledbysomerandombotunderthecontrolofanintentionlessalgorithm.Thatdidn’tlast.Wakinguponhisunadornedboxspringandmattresscombothedayafterhisflight,hereachedforhisphoneandfoundthatasecondmessagehadlandedinhisin-box,thisonealsoforwardedfromtheJacobFinchBonnerwebsitecontactformandfeaturingthesameYouareathiefThistime,though,italsosaid:Webothknowit.
Thewebsitehadbeenconvertedfromhisoldwritingcoachsite,andnowlookedlikethesitesofmostsuccessfulwriters:anAboutMepage,mediaandreviewattentionforhisindividualbooks,alistofupcomingevents,andacontactformthathadbeeninheavyusagesinceCrib’spublicationthepreviousyear.Whowasgettingintouch?Readerswhowantedhimtoknowwhatwaswrongwithhisbook,orthatCribhadkeptthemupallnight(inagoodway).Librarianshopinghe’dcometospeakandactorssuretheywererightforthepartsofSamanthaorMaria,plusprettymucheverysinglepersonJakehadeverknownandlosttouchwith:LongIsland,Wesleyan,hisMFAprogram,eventhosefoolshe’dworkedforinHell’sKitchen.Everytimehesawoneoftheseinhisownin-box,withitstantalizinghalf-lineofcontent(Hi,Idon’tknowifyouremembermebut—Jake!Ijustfinishedyour—Hello,Iwasatyourreadingat—)hischesttightened,anditstayedthatwayuntilthemessageturnedouttobefromaformerclassmateorafriendofhismotherorapersonwhosebookhe’dsignedatsomebookstoreinMichigan,orevenarandomcrazyguywhobelievedanentityfromAlphaCentaurihaddictatedCribthroughanorangepeelinJake’sfruitbowl.
Andthentherewerethewriters.Writersrequestingmentorship.Writersrequestingblurbs.Writersrequestinganintroduction(withendorsement,obviously)toMatilda,hisagent,orWendy,hiseditor.Writerswantingtoknowifhe’dreadtheirmanuscriptsandgiveanopinionastowhethertheyshouldletgooftheirlifelongdreamor“holdon”.Writerswantinghimtoconfirmtheirtheoriesaboutdiscriminationinthepublishingworld—Anti-Semitism!Sexism!Racism!Ageism!—asthesoleandtruereasontheir800-pageexperimentalnon-linearpunctuation-freeneo-novelhadbeenturneddownbyeverypublisherinthecountry.
Inthemonthsafterhisbookwassold,Jakehadformally(andgratefully)leftbehindbothhisMFAandprivatecoachingwork,buthefullyunderstoodthathenowhadaspecialresponsibilitytonotbeanassholetootherwriters.Writerswhowereassholestootherwriterswereaskingforit:socialmediahadseentothat,andsocialmedianowclaimedasignificantportionofhismentalbandwidth.He’dstillbeenarelativelyearlyadopteronTwitter,thatplaygroundofwordpeople,thoughheseldompostedanything,himself.(Whatwashesupposedtotellhis74“followers”?HellofromupstateNewYork,whereIdidn’twritetoday!)Facebookhadseemedharmlessuntilthe2016election,whenitbombardedhimwithdubiousadsand“push”pollsaboutHillaryClinton’ssupposedlynefariousdeeds.Instagrammainlyseemedtowanthimtopreparephotogenicmealsandfrolicwithadorablepets,neitherofwhichwereaparthisCobleskillexistence.ButafterCribwaspurchasedandhe’dbegunsittingdownwithMacmillan’spublicityandmarketingteams,Jakehadbeenprevailedupontomaintainavigorouspresenceonthesethreeplatformsatleast,andgiventheoptionofsteppinguphisactivityorhandingthetaskovertoastaffmembertooperateonhisbehalf.Thathadbeenaharderdecisionthanitshouldhavebeen.He’dcertainlyseentheappealofoffloadingthechoreofbeingtweetedatandDM’dandpokedandcontactedbyeveryotheravenueofconnectiontheinternethaddreamedup,buthe’dstill,intheend,optedtobetheoneincontrol,andsincethedayhisbookwaspublishedhe’dbeenstartinghisdayswithasweepofhissocialmediaaccountsandareviewoftheGooglealertshe’dsetuptotrawltheinternet—Jacob+Finch+Bonner,Jake+Bonner,Bonner+Crib,Bonner+Writer,etc.Itwastime-consumingandirritatingdrudgery,andcrammedwithrabbitholes,mostofwhichdovestraightintohispersonallabyrinthofunhappiness.Sowhyhadn’theacceptedtheofferofsomeMacmillaninternormarketingassistanttodoit?
Becauseofthis.Obviously.
Youareathief.Webothknowit.
Andyet,themessengerthatwas“TalentedTom@gmail.com”hadnotmadehismoveontheopenbattlefieldsofTwitter,Facebook,orInstagram,orbeennettedbyaGooglealert.Thisguyhadn’tgonepublicatall;instead,he’doptedforthemoreprivatetransomprovidedonJake’swebsite.Wastheresomeimplicitnegotiationhere:Dealwithmenow,bythissinglevector,ordealwithmelater,everywhere?Orwasitashotacrosshisprivatebow,awarningtobraceforsomeimminentBattleofTrafalgar?
Jakehadknown,fromthatfirstmomentinthebackofthecartotheSeattleairport,thatthiswasnorandommessage,andTalentedTomwasnojealousnovelistordisappointedreaderoreventroubledadvocateoftheAlphaCentaura/orangepeel(orcomparable!)originstoryofhisfamousnovel.Manyyearsearlier,theadjective“talented”hadbeenboundineternal,indeliblesymbiosistothename“Tom”byonePatriciaHighsmith,foreveraugmentingitsmeaningtoincludeacertainformofself-preservationandextremelackofregardforothers.ThatparticulartalentedTomhadalsohappenedtobeamurderer.Andwhatwashissurname?
Ripley.
Asin:Ripley.WhereheandEvanParkerhadsofatefullycrossedpaths.
Themessagewasviolentlyclear:whoeverTalentedTomwas,heknew.AndhewantedJaketoknowthatheknew.AndhewantedJaketoknowthathemeantbusiness.
ThepersonwasasingleclickoftheReturnbuttonaway,butthenotionofopeningthataperturebetweenthetwoofthemwasfraughtwithdanger.RespondingmeantthatJakewasafraid,thathetooktheaccusationseriously,thatTalentedTom,whoeverhewas,deservedthedignityofrecognition.AndshowingevenatinyportionofhimselftothismalevolentstrangerfrightenedJakemorethanthediffuseandhorriblenotionofwhatmightcomenext.
So,onceagain,hedidnotrespond.Instead,heshakilyconsignedthissecondcommuniquetothesameplaceitspredecessorwaslanguishing,afolderonhislaptophe’dlabeled“Trolls.”(Thishadinfactbeenestablishedfullysixmonthsearlier,andalreadyhousedafewdozenilliterateattacksonCrib,nofewerthanthreeofwhichaccusedhimofbeingamemberofthe“DeepState,”andahandfulofemailsfromsomeoneinTexasthatreferencedthe“blood-brainbarrier,”whichJakehadevidentlycrossed,orwhichhadbeencrossedwithinhim—themessageswere,bytheirverynature,confounding.)Butevenashedidthisheknewitwasitsownpointlessgesture;theTalentedTomcommunicationsweredifferent.Whoeverhewas,thispersonhadmanagedtobecome,intheblinkofaneye,amongthemostsignificantinhislife.Andcertainlythemostterrifying.
WithinminutesofreceivingthissecondmessageJakehadpoweredoffhisphone,unpluggedhisrouter,andassumedafetalpositiononthegrubbycouchhe’dbeenhaulingaroundsincecollege,andthereheremainedforthefollowingfourdays,workinghiswaythroughadozencupcakesfromMagnoliaonBleeckerStreet(someofthem,atleast,hadhealthygreenicing)andthecongratulatorybottleofJamesonMatilda,hadsentafterthefilmsale.Therewere,intheseblurryhours,interludesofblissfulnumbnessinwhichheactuallyforgotwhatwashappening,butmanymoreofsheeranguishduringwhichheparsedandprojectedthemanywaysinwhichitcouldallbeabouttounfold:thevarioushumiliationsawaitinghim,therevulsionofeverysinglepersonhe’deverknown,envied,feltsuperiorto,hadacrushon,or—lately—beeninbusinesswith.Atcertainmoments,andasiftousherintheinevitableandatleastgetitoverwith,hecomposedhisownmediacampaignofpunishingself-accusations,declaiminghiscrimestotheworld.Atotherpointshewrotehimselflongandramblingspeechesofjustification,andevenlongerandmoreramblingapologies.Noneofitevenmadeadentinhiswhirling,howlingterror.
WhenJakedid,finally,surface,itwasn’tbecausehe’dmanagedtoachievesomeperspectiveormakeanythingresemblingaplan;itwasbecausehe’dfinishedthewhiskeyandthecupcakesanddevelopedastrongsuspicionthatthebadnewsmellhe’dlatelybecomeawareofwascomingfrominsidetheapartment.Afterhe’dopenedawindow,clearedthedishesaway,andhauledhimselfthroughtheshower,hereconnectedhisphoneandlaptoptotheworldandfoundadozenincreasinglyconcernedtextsfromhisparents,afaux-cheerfulemailfromMatilda,inquiring(again!)aboutthenewbook,andovertwohundredadditionalmessagesrequiringseriousattention,includingathirdfromTalentedTom@gmail.com:
Iknowyoustoleyour“novel”andIknowwhoyoustoleitfrom.
(Forsomereason,that“novel”justputhimovertheedge.)
HeaddedittotheTrollsfolder.Then,bowingtotheinevitable,hemadeanewfolder,justforthethreeTalentedTommessages.Afteramoment,henameditRipley.
Withgreateffort,hereturnedtotheworldbeyondhisowncomputerandphoneandhead,andforcedhimselftoacknowledgesomeoftheotherthings—someofthemverynicethings—thatwerealsohappening,moreorlessconcurrently.Cribhadrecapturedthenumberoneslotonthepaperbackbestsellerlist,thankstothebroadcastofhisbookclubinterviewwithOprahWinfrey,andJakehadappearedonthecoveroftheOctoberPoets&Writers(notexactlyaperiodicalontheorderofPeopleorVanityFair,okay,butthishadbeenapipedreamofhisallthewaybacktohisWesleyandays).He’dalsoreceivedaninvitationfromBouchercontodoakeynotespeech,andhewasbeingupdatedaboutanentireEnglishtourorganizedaroundtheHay-on-Wyefestival.
Allgood.Allgood.
AndthentherewasAnnaWilliamsofSeattle,andthatwasmorethangood.
Withindaysoftheirmeeting,heandAnnahadsettledintowhatevenJakecouldnotdenywasawarmwayofcommunicatingwitheachother,andwiththeexceptionofthatfour-daysojournonthecouchwiththecupcakesandtheJamesonthey’dbeeninatleastdailycontactviatext.JakenowknewmuchmoreaboutAnna’sdailylifeinWestSeattle,herchallenges(smallandnot-small)atWBIK,theavocadoplantshestruggledtokeepaliveinherkitchenwindow,hernicknameforherboss,RandyJohnson,andthepersonalmantrashe’dreceivedfromherfavoritecommunicationsprofessorattheUniversityofWashington:Nobodyelsegetstoliveyourlife.Heknewthatshereallywantedtogetacat,butherlandlordwouldn’tpermitit,andthatsheatesalmonatleastfourtimesaweek,andthatshesecretlypreferredwhatcameoutofherancientMr.CoffeemachinetoanythingshecouldgetinSeattle’srarefiedtemplestojava.HeknewthatsheseemedtocareasmuchabouttheJakeBonnerwhopredatedtheadventofCribasshedidabouthiscurrent,weirdlyboldfacedexistence.Thatmeanteverything.Thatwasthegamechanger.
Hecleaneduphisapartment.HebeganrewardinghimselfwithadailySkypecalltoSeattle:Annaonherfrontporch,himselfathislivingroomwindowoverlookingAbingdonSquare.Shestartedtoreadthenovelsherecommended.Hestartedtotrythewinessheliked.Hewentbacktoworkonhisnewnovelandputinasolidmonthoffocusedeffort,whichbroughthimtantalizinglyclosetoafinishedfirstdraft.Goodthingsupongoodthings.
Andthen,towardtheendofOctober,anothermessagecamethroughtheJacobFinchBonnerwebsite:
WhatwillOprahsaywhenshefindsoutaboutyou?AtleastJamesFreyhadthedecencytostealfromhimself.
Heopenedthenewfolderonhislaptopandaddedthistotheothers.Afewdayslater,therewasafifth:
I’monTwitternow.Thoughtyou’dliketoknow.@TalentedTom
Hewenttolook,andindeedtherewasanewaccount,butnoactualtweetsyet.Ithadthegenericeggforaprofilepictureandagrandtotalofzerofollowers.Itsprofilebioconsistedofoneword:Writer
Hehadbeenlettingtheclockrunoutwithoutevenattemptingtoidentifyhisopponent.Thathadnotbeenagooddecision.TalentedTom,hesuspected,waspreparingtoenteranewphase,andJakehadnotimelefttowaste.
CHAPTERTWELVE
I’mNobody.WhoAreYou?
EvanParkerwasdead:tobeginwith.Therewasnodoubtwhateveraboutthat.Jakehadseenthedeathnoticethreeyearsearlier.Hehadevenperusedanonlinememorialpage,which,thoughnotterriblywellpopulated,didcontainthereminiscencesofadozenpeoplewho’dknownParker,andthey,certainly,seemedtobeundertheimpressionthathewasdead.Itwasasimplemattertofindthatpageagain,andhewasn’tatallsurprisedtoseethattherehadbeennoadditionstothememorialsincehislastvisit:
EvanandIgrewuptogetherinRutland.Wedidbaseballandwrestlingtogether.Hewasarealnaturalleaderandalwayskepttheteamsspiritsup.Knewhe’dhadhisstrugglesinthepast,butthoughthewasdoingreallywell.Sosorrytohearaboutwhathappened.TookclasseswithEvanatRCC.Suchacooldude.Can’tbelievethis.RIPman.IgrewupinthesametownasEvan’sfamily.Thesepoorpeoplehadtheworstluck.IrememberEvanwhenheplayedbaseballforWestRutland.Neverknewhimpersonallybutagreatfirstbaseman.Reallysorryhehadsuchdemons.ByeEvan,I’llmissyou.RIP.MetEvaninourMFAprogramupinRipley.Supertalentedwriter,greatguy.Shockedthatthishappenedtohim.Pleaseacceptmycondolencesforyourloss,allfamilyandfriendsofthedeceased.Mayhismemorybeablessing.
Butthereseemednottobeanyclosefriends,andnoreferencetoanyspouseorsignificantother.WhatcouldJakelearnfromthisthathehadn’talreadyknown?
ThatEvanParkerhadplayedsportsinhighschool.Thathe’dhad“struggles”and“demons”—perhapstheywerethesame?—atleastatonepointandnow,apparently,again.Thatsomethingsuggestiveof“worstluck”attachedtohimandhisfamily.ThatatleastoneRipleystudentrememberedEvanfromtheprogram.Howwellhadthisstudentknownhim?WellenoughtohavebeentoldthesameextraordinaryplotEvanhadtoldJake?Wellenoughtobeconcerningthemselveswiththe“theft”oftheirclassmate’sunwrittennovel?
TheRipleystudentwho’dleftthetributehadsignedhisfirstnameonly:Martin.Thatwasn’tparticularlyhelpfulasfarasJake’smemorywent,butfortunatelythe2013RipleyMFAstudentrosterwasstillonhiscomputer,andheopeneduptheoldspreadsheet.RuthSteubenhadlikelyneverreadastoryorapoeminherlife,butshe’dbeenagreatbelieverinorderlyrecordkeeping,andalongsideeachstudent’saddress,phonenumber,andemailaddressacolumnhadbeengivenovertotheirgenreofconcentration:eitheranFforfictionoraPforpoetry.
TheonlyMartinwasaMartinPurcellofSouthBurlington,Vermont,andhehadanFnexttohisname.EvenafterlookingupPurcell’sFacebookprofileandseeingmultipleshotsofhissmilingface,however,Jakedidn’trecognizetheguy,whichmighthavemeanthe’dbeenassignedtooneoftheotherfictionwritersonthefaculty,butitmightalsomeanhe’dsimplybeenunmemorable,perhapseventoateachergenuinelyinterestedinknowinghisstudents(whichhadneverbeenJake,ashe’drecognizedabouthimselfeventhen).ApartfromEvanParker,theonlypeopleherememberedfromthatparticulargroupweretheguywho’dwantedtocorrectVictorHugo’s“mistakes”inanewversionofLesMisérablesandthewomanwho’dconjuredtheindeliblenon-word“honeymelons.”Therest,likethefacesandnamesoffictionwritersfromhisthirdteachingyear,andhissecond,andhisfirst,weregone.
HecommencedadeepdiveonMartinPurcell,duringwhichhepausedonlytoorderandeatsomechickenfromRedFarmandexchangeatleasttwentytextmessageswithAnna(mainlyaboutRandyJohnson’slatestanticsandaweekendtripshewasplanningtoPortTownsend),andhelearnedthattheguywasahighschoolteacherwhobrewedhisownbeer,supportedtheRedSox,andhadapronouncedinterestintheclassicCarliforniagroup,theEagles.PurcelltaughthistoryandwasmarriedtoawomannamedSusiewhoseemedtobeveryengagedinlocalpolitics.Hewasaridiculousover-shareronFacebook,mostlyabouthisbeagle,Josephine,andhiskids,buthepostednothingatallaboutanywritinghemightcurrentlybedoing,andhementionednowriterfriendsnoranywritershewasreadingorhadadmiredinthepast.Infact,ifitweren’tfortheRipleyCollegereferenceinhiseducationalbackgroundyou’dneverknowfromFacebookthatMartinPurcellevenreadfiction,letaloneaspiredtowriteit.
Purcellhadaheart-sinking438Facebookfriends.Whoamongthemmightbepeoplehe’dcrossedpathswithattheRipleySymposia’slow-residencyMasterofFineArtsProgramin2012or2013?JakewentbacktoRuthSteuben’sspreadsheetandcross-referencedhalfadozennames,thenhestarteddownthoseRipleyrabbitholes.Buthehadnoideawhathewaslookingfor,really.
JulianZigler,attorneyinWestHartfordwhomainlydidrealestateandworkedatafirmwithsixtygrinningattorneys,overwhelminglymale,overwhelminglywhite.Completelyunfamiliarface.
EricJin-JayChang,residentinhematologyatBrighamandWomen’sHospital.
PaulBrubacker,“scribbler”ofBillings,Montana.(TheVictorHugoguy!)
Patd’Arcy,artistfromBaltimore,anotherfaceJakecouldhaveswornhe’dneverseenbefore.Sixweeksago,Patd’ArcyhadpublishedaveryshortstoryonaflashfictionwebsitecalledPartitions.OneofthemanyconveyancesofcongratulationswasfromMartinPurcell:
Pat!Awesomestory!I’msoproudofyou!HaveyoupostedontheSymposiapage?
TheSymposiapage.
Itturnedouttobeanunofficialalumnipage,throughwhichhalfadozenyears’worthoflow-residencygraduateshadbeensharingworkandinformationandgossipsince2010.Jakeflewbackandbackthroughtheposts:poetrycontests,newsofanencouragingrejectionfromtheWestTexasLiteraryReview,anannouncementofafirstnovel’sacceptancebyahybridpublisherinBoston,weddingphotos,areunionof2011poetsinBrattleboro,areadingatanartgalleryinLewiston,Maine.Then,inOctoberof2013,thename“Evan”begantopopupinthemessages.
Only“Evan.”Ofcourse.Jakesupposedthiswaswhythealumnipagehadn’tappearedinhisinitial“EvanParker”searches.Naturally,theEvaninquestionwouldonlyrequirehisfirstname,atleasttoanyoneandeveryonewho’dknownhim.Evan,thetriumphantrescuerofthekidnappedbottleopener.Evan,theguywhosatattheseminartablewithhisarmstightlyfoldedacrosshischest.Everyonewouldknowanassholelikethat.
Guys,Ican’tbelievethis.EvandiedlastMonday.Reallysorrytohavetoshare.
(This,itwashardlysurprising,hadbeenpostedbyMartinPurcell,Ripley2011–2012.)
Ohmygod!What?Fuck!Holyshitthat’ssoawful.WhatdoyouknowMartin?WeweresupposedtomeetupathistavernlastSunday,IwascomingdownfromBurlington.Thenhedidn’ttextmeback.Ifiguredheblewmeofforforgotorsomething.FewdayslaterIcalledhimandIgotadisconnectnotice.Ijusthadabadfeeling.SoIGoogledanditcamerightup.Iknewhe’dhadsomeproblemsinthepast,butEvanhadbeensoberforawhile.Ohman,thatpoorguy.That’smythirdfriendtooverdose!Imean,whenaretheygoingtocallitwhatitis?ANEPIDEMIC.
Well,thoughtJake.Thiscertainlyconfirmedhisassumptionaboutwhat“unexpectedly,”“struggles,”and“demons”signified.
Jake’sphonebuzzed.
CrabPotSeattleAnnahadwritten.Therewasaphotoofatangleofcrablegsandcut-upearsofcorn.Beyondthat:awindow,aharbor.
JakewentbacktohislaptopandGoogledthewords“Evan+Parker+tavern,”andastoryfromtheRutlandHeraldcameup:ParkerTavern,anot-too-classy-lookingspotonStateStreetinRutland,wasundernewownershipfollowingthedeathofitslongtimeowner,EvanParkerofWestRutland.Jakestaredatthebuilding,arun-downVictorian,thekindyou’dfindonmostmajorstreetsinmostNewEnglandtowns.Ithadonceprobablybeensomeone’slovelyhome,butnowithadagreenneonPARKERTAVERNFOODANDLIQUORoverthefrontdoor,andwhatlookedlikeahand-paintedsignannouncingHappyHour3–6
Onhisphone,thesingleword:Hello?
Jakewroteback:Yum.
Enoughfortwo,shewroteimmediately.
IntheRutlandHeraldstorythenewowners,JerryandDonnaHastingsofWestRutland,hopedtopreservethebar’straditionalinterior,eclecticdraftselection,and,aboveall,warmandwelcomingambianceasameetingplaceforthecommunityandvisitorsalike.Whenaskedabouttheirdecisiontoretain“ParkerTavern”asthebar’sname,JerryHastingsansweredthatitwasoutofrespect:thelateowner’sfamilywentbackfivegenerationsincentralVermont,andbeforehistragicanduntimelydeathEvanParkerhadworkedforyearstomakethetavernthesuccessitwas.
Okaythen!Annatexted.Obviouslynotfeelingchattyatthemoment.Noworries!Ormaybeyou’recommuningwithyourmuse.
Hepickeduphisphoneagain.Nosuchthingasthemuse.Nosuchthingas“inspiration.”Or“writer’sblock”forthatmatter.It’salldeeplyunspiritual.
Oh?Whathappenedto“everybodyhasauniquevoiceandastoryonlytheycantell”?It’sgonetolivewiththeYetiandtheSasquatchandtheLochNessMonsterinAtlantis.ButIactuallyamworkingrightnow.Canwetalklater?I’llbringtheMerlot.Howwillyouknowwhichone?I’llaskyou.Ofcourse.
BecausethepublicschoolwhereMartinPurcelltaughtwasnamed,ittookJakealloftwentysecondstosecurehisemailaddress.
HiMartin(hewrote),
thisisJakeBonner,fromtheRipleyprogram.Sorrytoemailyououtoftheblue,butwonderedifIcouldgiveyouacallaboutsomething?Letmeknowwhenmightbeagoodtimetochat,orfeelfreetophonemewheneveryoulike.Verybesttoyou,Jake.
Andheaddedhisphonenumber.
Thedudecalledimmediately.
“Ohwow,”hesaidassoonasJakeanswered.“Ican’tbelieveyouemailedme.Thisisn’tsomekindofRipleyfundraisingthing,isit?BecauseIcan’trightnow.”
“No,no,”Jakesaid.“Nothinglikethat.Look,we’veprobablymet,butIdon’thavemyRipleyfileswithmesoI’mnotsureifyouwereinmyclassornot.”
“IwishIwasinyourclass.ThatguyIgotassignedto,allhewantedustodowaswriteaboutplace.Place,place,place.Like,everybladeofgrasshadtohaveitsownbackstory.Thatwashisthing.”
HehadtobetalkingaboutBruceO’Reilly,theretiredColbyprofessorandprofoundlyMaine-centricnovelistwithwhomJakehadhadanannualbeeratTheRipleyInn.Jakehadn’tthoughtaboutBruceO’Reillyinyears.
“That’stoobad.It’sbetteriftheymovestudentsaround.Theneveryonegetstoworkwitheveryone.”
Ithadalsobeenyearssincehe’dgivenanythoughtatalltotheinstitutionalizedteachingofcreativewriting.Hehadn’tmissedit.
“Ihavetotellyou,Ilovedyourbook.Man,thattwist,Iwaslike,holycrap.”
Nospecialsignificanceto“thattwist,”Jakenotedwithintenserelief.No:AndI’vegotaprettygoodideawherethatcamefromorevenIknewaguywhowaswritingasimilarstory
“Well,that’skindofyoutosay.ButthereasonIgotintouch,Ijustheardthatastudentofminepassedaway.AndIsawyourpostonthatRipleyFacebookpage.SoIthought—”
“Evan,you’retalkingabout.Right?”saidMartinPurcell.
“Yes.EvanParker.Hewasmystudent.”
“Oh,Iknow.”AllthewayupinnorthernVermontJakecouldhearMartinPurcellchuckle.“I’msorrytosay,notyourfan,though.ButIwouldn’ttakethattoopersonally.Evandidn’tthinkanyoneatRipleywasgoodenoughtobehisteacher.”
Jaketookamomenttorunthroughthissentenceslowly.“Isee,”hesaid.
“Icouldtellwithinanhourortwo,justthatfirstnightoftheresidency,Evanwasn’tgoingtogetmuchoutoftheprogram.Ifyou’regoingtolearnsomething,youneedtohavecuriosityaboutit.Hedidn’thavethat.Buthewasstillacoolguytohangaroundwith.Lotofcharm.Lotoffun.”
“Andyoukeptintouchwithhim,obviously.”
“Ohyeah.SometimeshecameuptoBurlington,foraconcertorsomething.WewenttotheEaglestogether.IthinkhecameupforFooFighters,too.AndsometimesIdrovedown.HehadataverndowninRutland,youknow.”
“Well,Idon’treallyknow.Wouldyoumindtellingmealittlebitmore?IjustfeelsobadlyI’monlyhearingaboutthisnow.Iwouldhavewrittentohisfamilywhenithappened.”
“Hey,wouldyougivemeasecond?”saidMartinPurcell.“LetmejusttellmywifeI’monacall.I’llberightback.”
Jakewaited.“IhopeI’mnottakingyouawayfromanythingimportant,”hesaid,whenPurcellreturned.
“Notatall.IsaidI’vegotafamousnovelistonthephone.Thatkindoftrumpstalkingtoourfifteen-year-oldaboutthepartywedon’twanthergoingto.”Hestoppedtolaughathisownwit.Jakeforcedhimselftojoinin.
“So,doyouknowanythingaboutEvan’sfamily?Isupposeit’stoolateforacondolencenote.”
“Well,evenifit’snot,Idon’tknowwhoyou’dsenditto.Hisparentsdiedalongtimeago.Hehadasisterwhoalsopassed,beforehedid.”Hepaused.“Hey,I’msorryifthissoundsrude,butInevergottheimpressionyoutwohadmuchofa…rapport.I’mateacher,myself,soI’msympathetictoanyonewhohastodealwithadifficultstudent.Iwouldn’thavewantedtobeEvan’steacher.Everyclasshasthatpersonwhoslouchesinhischairandcrossestheirarmsandjustglaresatyou,like,Whothefuckdoyouthinkyouare?”
“AndWhatmakesyouthinkyouhaveadamnthingyoucanteachme?”
“Exactly.”
Jakehadbeenjottingdownnotes:parents,sister—deceased.
Heknewallthatfromtheobituary.
“Yeah,thatwasdefinitelyEvaninthatparticularclass.ButIwasusedtohavinganEvan.Myfirstyearofteaching,myanswerto‘Whothefuckdoyouthinkyouare?’wouldhavebeen‘I’mnobody.Whoareyou?’”
HecouldhearMartinlaugh.“Dickinson.”
“Yeah.AndI’dhavebeenoutoftheroom.”
“Cryinginthebathroom.”
“Well.”Jakefrowned.
“Imeantme.Cryinginthebathroom.Firstyearasastudentteacher.Youhavetotoughenup.Butmostofthosekids,they’rejustmarshmallows,really.Andseriouslymiserable,intheirownlives.Sometimesthey’retheonesyouworryaboutmostofall,becausetheyhavenosenseofthemselves,noconfidenceatall.Butthatwasn’tEvan.I’veseenplentyoffalsebravado—thatwasn’tEvaneither.Hehadabsolutefaithinhisabilitytowriteagreatbook.Ormaybeit’smoreaccuratetosayhethoughtwritingagreatbookwasn’tallthathard,andwhyshouldn’thebeabletodoit?Mostofusweren’tlikethat.”
HereJakenotedacue—endemicamongwriters—toaskaboutMartin’sownwork.
“Ihaven’tmademuchprogresssincefinishingtheprogram,tobehonest.”
“Yes.Everyday’sachallenge.”
“Youseemtobedoingokay,”Martinsaid.Therewasanedgetothat.
“Notwithmybookinprogress.”
Hewassurprisedtohearhimselfsayit.Hewassurprisedthathe’dgivenMartinPurcellofBurlington,Vermont,acompletestranger,moreofasuggestionofhisvulnerabilitythanhe’dgivenhisowneditororagent.
“Well,sorrytohearthat.”
“Noit’sokay,justneedtopushthrough.Hey,doyouknowwhereEvanwaswithhisownbook?Didhegetmuchdoneaftertheresidency?Hewasjustatthestart,Ithink.AtleastthepagesIsaw.”
Martinsaidnothing,forthelongestsecondsofJake’slife.Finally,heapologized.“I’mjusttryingtorememberifheevertalkedaboutthat.Idon’tthinkheevertoldmehowitwasgoing.Butifhewasusing,Ireallydoubthewassittingdownathisdeskandturningoutpages.”
“Well,howmanypagesdoyouthinkhehad?”
Again,thatuncomfortablepause.
“Wereyouthinkingofdoingsomethingforhim?Imean,forhiswork?Becausethat’sincrediblykindofyou.Especiallysincehewasn’texactlyafawningacolyte,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
Jaketookabreath.Hewasnot,ofcourse,entitledtotheapprobation,buthesupposedhe’dbettergowithit.
“Ijustthought,youknow,maybethere’sacompletedstoryIcouldsendsomewhere.Youdon’thaveanypages,yourself,Isuppose.”
“No.Butyouknow,Iwouldn’tsaywe’retalkingaboutNabokov,here,leavingbehindanunfinishednovel.IthinkyoucanconsigntheunwrittenfictionofEvanParkertohistorywithouttoomuchguilt.”
“I’msorry?”Jakegasped.
“Ashisteacher.”
“Oh.Yeah.”
“BecauseIrememberthinking—andIlikedtheguy—thathehadtobeprettyfaroffbasethewayhetalkedaboutthisbook.LikeitwasTheShiningandTheGrapesOfWrathandMoby-Dick,allrolledintoone,andwhatahugesuccessitwasgoingtobe.Hedidshowmeacoupleofpagesaboutthisgirlwhohatedhermother,ormaybeitwasthemotherwhohatedher,andtheywereok,but,youknow,itwasn’texactlyGoneGirl.Ijustkindoflookedathim,like,Yeah,dude,whatever.Idon’tknow,Ijustthoughthewaskindofridiculouslyfullofhimself.Butyou’veprobablycomeacrossalotofpeoplelikethat.Man,”saidMartinPurcell,“Isoundlikeanasshole.AndIlikedtheguy.It’sreallydecentofyoutowanttohelphim.”
“Ijustwantedtodosomethinggood,”Jakesaid,deflectingasbesthecould.“Andsincethereisn’tanyfamily…”
“Well,maybeaniece.IthinkIreadaboutherintheobituary.”
Me,too,Jakedidn’tsay.Infact,hehadn’tlearnedasinglethingfromMartinPurcellthathadn’tbeeninthatbare-bonesobituary.
“Okay,”Jakesaid.“Look,thanksfortalkingtome.”
“Hey!Thanksforcalling.And…”
“What?”saidJake.
“Well,I’mgoingtokickmyselfinexactlyfiveminutesifIdon’taskyouthis,but…”
“Whatisit?”saidJake,whoknewperfectlywell.
“Iwaswondering,Iknowyou’rebusy.Butwouldyoubewillingtolookatsomeofmystuff?I’dlovetohaveyourhonestopinion.Itwouldmeansomuchtome.”
Jakeclosedhiseyes.“Ofcourse,”hesaid.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages23–25
TheywantedtoknowWhowasit?ofcourse.ApparentlyevenmorethanWhatthefuckdidshethinkshewasdoing?andobviouslyfarmorethanHowhadtheyfailedherasparents?Whateverthedetails,thisclearlywasnottheirfault,anditwasn’tgoingtobetheirproblem.Butwhoitwaswasn’tinformationSamanthafeltlikepartingwith,soherchoiceswere,one,towithholdor,two,tolieoutright.Lying,asageneralprinciple,didn’tmattertoheronewayortheother,buttheissuewithlying,atleastaboutthisparticularthing,wasthatthereweretests—you’dhavetoneverhavewatchedJerrySpringernottoknowaboutthetests—andanyoneshenamed(thatis,anyoneelseshenamed)couldeventuallybeshownnottobetheperson,whichwouldinturnhaverevealedthelieandinitiatedthewholesequenceagain:Whowasit?
Soshewentwiththewithholding.
“Look,it’snotimportant.”
“Ourfifteen-year-olddaughter’spregnantandit’snotimportantwhogotherthatway.”
Prettymuch,Samanthathought.
“Likeyousaid,it’smyproblem.”
“Yeah,itis,”saidherfather.Hedidn’tseemasangryashermother.Hewasmorehiscustomaryshutdown.
“Sowhat’stheplan?”saidhermother.“Theybeentellingusforyearshowsmartyouare.Andyougoanddothis.”
Shecouldn’tlookattheirblastedfaces,soshewentupstairsandslammedherbedroomdoorbehindher,throwingherbookbagonthefloornexttotheolddesk.Herroomwasintheback,overlookingtheslopedowntoPorterCreek,whichwasnarrowandrockythroughthispatchofthewoodsandwideandrockytothenorthandthesouth.Thehousewasold,morethanahundredyears.Ithadbeenthehouseofherfatherandhisparents,andbeforethat,thehouseofhergreat-grandparents.Sheguessedthatmeantitwassupposedtobehersoneday,butthathadnevermatteredtoherbeforeanditdidn’tmatternow,sinceshewasn’tgoingtolivehereaminutelongerthannecessary.That—inpointoffact—hadalwaysbeentheplananditwasstilltheplan.Justassoonasshesortedoutherproblem,finisheduphercredits,andgotherscholarshiptocollege.
WhoitwaswasapersonnamedDanielWeybridge,whowasalsononeotherthanhermother’sbossattheCollegeInnandinfacttheproprietoroftheCollegeInn,likehisfatherbeforehim,becausetheplacewasFamilyrunforthreegenerations!—itsaidsoontheinn’ssign,itsstationery,evenonthepapercoastersleftineveryroom.DanielWeybridgewasmarriedandthefatherofthreebouncingboys,whowouldcertainlybethenextproprietorsoftheCollegeInn.He’dalsohadavasectomy,orsohe’dpromised,thelyingshit.No,shehadn’ttoldhimshewaspregnant,andshewasn’tgoingto.Hedidn’tdeservetoknow.
ThestorywithDanielWeybridgewasthathe’dbeenafterherforatleastayeartoherknowledge,andprobablylongerthanthat,sincebeforeshe’dbeenpayingattention.Anynumberoftimesshe’dskitteredpasthiminacorridoroftheinn,orinoneofthehallwaysatthehighschoolwhenheturneduptowatchoneofthethreeprecioussonsplaywhateversporttheywereplaying,andshe’dfelttheheatofhimastheypassedeachother,andsensedthefixingofhisattentiononherfifteen-year-oldselfastheycrossedpaths.Ofcoursehehadbeenfartoostealthytomakeanoutrightgrab.Heledwithattention,thenmovedontocomplimentsandlittlehintsofgenuinegrown-upadmiration:Samanthahadskippedagrade—wasn’tthatremarkable!Samanthahadwonsomeprize,he’dheard—whatasmartgirl,destinedtogofar!Itpainedhertoadmitthatthesehadnotbeenineffectivetactics.DanielWeybridge,afterall,waswhatpassedforasophisticateinherworld.He’dgonetothehotelschoolatCornell,foronething,whichwasanIvyLeague,andhereadthenewspapersfromthecity,notjusttheUticaObserver-Dispatch.Once,inthehotellobbyasshewaswaitingforhermothertofinishup,thetwoofthemhadasurprisinglynuancedconversationaboutTheScarletLetter,whichSamanthawasreadingforeighth-gradeEnglish,andDanielWeybridgehadmadeapointthatactuallyfounditswayintoherpaper.Apaperforwhich,fittingly,shehadreceivedanA.
Sowhenitdawnedonher,asiteventuallydid,thattherewasalongergamebeingplayedhere,andhermother’sbosswastheoneplayingit,Samanthawasalittlemoresurprisedthansheshouldhavebeen.Thenshetookafreshlookatthingsherself.
Bythenshewasatenthgrader,thoughafullyearyoungerthanthenextyoungestinhergrade.Mostofherclassmates—alloftheboys,ifyoubelievedthem,exceptmaybetheshyestandmostbackward—werebusydefloweringmostofthegirls,andifyoudidn’tcountthetrashedreputationsofthosetwoyoungladieswho’dalreadyleftschool,nobodyseemedespeciallyexercisedaboutit.Momentslikethesehadawayofbringingtheagedifferenceintosharperfocus,andthoughSamanthahadbeenmorethanhappytoskipthatgradebackinsixthshedidn’tespeciallyenjoythefeelingofbeingyoungerthaneveryoneelse.Besides,therewasnothingespeciallymeaningful—letaloneromantic—abouttheactinquestion,justastherewasnothingespeciallyobscureaboutwhatDanielWeybridgewantedorhowhewastryingtogetit.
Still,ithadallbeenherdecision.Thestakesdidn’tseemallthathigh.Ifshedidnothing,DanielWeybridgewouldprobablycontinueflatteringandflirtingwithheruntilthedayshelefthome,andwhenthatdaycamehe’dsimplyshrugandturnhisattentiontothenextdaughterofthenexthousekeeper,orthehousekeeperherself.Butthemoreshethoughtaboutitthemoreshelikedtheidea.Fromapracticalstandpoint,shewasrepelledbyeveryboyshewenttoschoolwith,andDanielWeybridgewasn’tunattractive.Also,hewasagrown-upandafatherseveraltimesover,whichmeanthe’dobviouslyknowwhathewasdoingwhenitcametotheactitself.Also,unliketheboysinhergradewhowerecongenitallyincapableofkeepingtheirmouthsshut,itwentwithoutsayingthatDanielWeybridgewasn’tgoingtotellasoul.Andfinally,whenshelethimtakehertotheFennimoreSuite(notanhourafterherownmothercleanedit),hemadeapointoftellingherthathe’dhadavasectomyafterbouncingbabyboynumberthree.Whichsealedthedeal,basically.
Somaybeshereallywasn’tassmartaseveryonehadalwaysthoughtshewas,letaloneassmartasshe’dalwaysthoughtshewas.Shehadnoideahowtogoaboutgettingridofherproblem.Shedidn’tevenknowhowmuchtimeshehadlefttofiguresomethingout.Butsheknewitwouldn’tbeenough.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
HurlAway
“So,youknowme,Idon’tliketobethatpushyagent,but…”
Matilda,infact,wasineverymoleculeofherbeingthatpushyagent,whichwastheexactreasonJakehaddaydreamed,foryears,aboutherbeinghisagent.Whenhe’dfinishedCribafterthemostfrenziedperiodofwritinghe’deverexperienced,ithadbeentoMatildaSalter,andMatildaSalteralone,thathehadreachedout,inthemostcarefullywrittencoverletterofhislife:
AlthoughIdidhaverepresentationforTheInventionofWonder,andwillalwaysbeproudthatthenovelwasa“New&Noteworthy”inTheNewYorkTimesBookReview,I’mcomingbacknowwithaverydifferentkindofbook:plotdriven,suspenseful,andtwistywithastrongandcomplexfemaleprotagonist.Iwouldliketostartfreshwithanagentwhounderstandsexactlyhowfarabooklikethiscango,andwhowillbeabletohandleattentionfromforeignmarketsandfilminterests.
Matilda—ormorelikelyherassistant—hadrespondedwithaninvitationtosendthemanuscript,andthingshadmovedwithgratifyingspeedafterthat.ForJakeithadallbeendeeplyredemptive,nottosaythrilling;Matilda’sauthorswereanall-starrosterofPulitzerandNationalBookAwardwinners,permanentoccupantsofthebetterairportbookstores(andalsoalltheotherairportbookstores),literarydarlingsofthecognoscentiandstarsofyesteryearwhoneverneededtowriteanotherword.
“But?”hesaidnow.
“ButIhadacallfromWendy.SheandthegangatMacmillanarewonderingifyou’regoingtomakethedeadlineforthenewbook.Theydon’twanttopressureyou.It’smoreimportanttogetitrightthantogetitfast.Butrightandfastwouldbebestofall.”
“Yeah,”Jakesaidmiserably.
“Because,youknow,honey,rightnowitseemslikeitcanneverhappen,butithasto,atsomepoint.Maybeonlybecausethere’llbenooneleftinthecountrywhohasn’treadCrib.Butthere’sgoingtocomeamomentwhenallthosepeoplewillwanttoreadanotherbook.Wejustwantthatbooktobebyyou.”
Henodded,asifshecouldseehim.“Iknow.I’mworking,don’tworry.”
“Oh,I’mnotworried.Justinquiring.Didyouseewe’regoingbackforanotherprinting?”
“Uh…yeah.That’sgood.”
“It’sbetterthangood.”Shepaused.Jakeheardherbreakawaytosaysomethingtoherassistant.Thenshewasback.“Okay,hon.Ihavetotakethis.Noteveryone’sashappywiththeirpublisherasyouare.”
Hethankedherandtheyhungup.Andthen,foranothertwentyminutes,heremainedwherehewasontheoldcouch:eyesshut,dreadcoursingthroughhimlikeareversemeditationdesignedtoeradicateserenity.Thenhegotupandwentintothekitchen.
TheformerownerofJake’snewapartmenthaddoneasterileupgrade,withgraygranitecountertopsandagleamingsteelstovesuitableforsomeoneaboutfivelevelsabovehisowncookingabilities.Sofar,infact,hehadn’tcookedathing(unlessyoucountedreheatingascooking)andhisfridgecontainedonlyanassortmentoftakeoutclamshellcontainers,someofthemempty.Hiseffortstofurnishtheapartmenthadwitheredsoonafterbringinginwhathealreadyowned,andwhateverintentionshe’dhadtoaddressafewofthemoreobviousneeds—aheadboardforthebed,anewcouch,asetofcurtainsforthebedroomwindow—hadfurtherdepartedinthewakeofTalentedTom’sarrivalinhislife.
Unabletorememberwhathadbroughthimintohisownkitchen,hepouredhimselfaglassofwaterandwentbacktohiscouch.Inthebrieftimehe’dbeenaway,Annahadtextedtwice.
Hiyou.
Then,afewminuteslater:
Areyouthere?
Hi!hetypedback.Sorry.Wasonthephone.Whatareyouupto?
LookingatExpedia,shewrote.FlightstoNYCsurprisinglycheap.
Goodtoknow.I’vebeenthinkingofgoingthere.Theysaytheneonlightsarebright.
Foramomentnothing.Then:IwouldlovetoseeaBroadwayshow.
Jakesmiled.Theyactuallydon’tletyouleavethecitywithoutseeingone.I’mafraidyou’llhavenochoice.
Shehadsomevacationdays,apparently.Shecouldtakethemanytime.
Butreally,Annawrote,howdoyoufeelaboutmyvisiting?Iwanttobesurethisisn’tjustme,hurlingmyselfatyoufromtheothersideofthecountry.
Jaketookagulpofhiswater.HowIfeelis:hurlaway.Please.Iwouldlovetohaveyouhere,evenforacoupleofdays.
Andyoucantakethetimefromwork?
Actually,hecouldn’t.
Yesofcourse.
Theyarrangedforhertoarriveattheendofthemonth,andstayforaweek,andaftertheystoppedtextingJakewentonlineandorderedaheadboardandapairofbedroomcurtains.Itactuallywasn’tdifficultatall.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
SomethingoutofaNovel
AnnaarrivedonaFridayinlateNovember,andJakewentdowntomeethercab.TherewerestillpolicebarriersinfrontofhisWestVillageapartmentbuilding,andasshegotoutofthecarhesawherlookatthemrathernervously.
“Filming,”hesaid.“LawandOrder.Lastnight.”
“Well,that’sarelief.Iwasthinking,IjustgottoNewYorkandI’malreadyatacrimescene?”Afteramomenttheyhuggedawkwardly.Thentheyhuggedagain,lessawkwardly.
Shehadcutherhairacoupleofinches,andjustthatsmallchangecarriedwithitahintoftransformation:SeattlegrungetosomeversionofGothamchic.Sheworeatrenchcoatoverblackjeans,andagraysweateracoupleofshadeslighterthanthatsilverhair,andasinglemisshapenpearlonachainaroundherneck.Afterweeksofwonderinghowhe’dfeelwhenhesawheragain,hewaspowerfullyreassured.Annawasbeautiful.Andshewashere.
HetookherouttoaBrazilianrestaurantheliked,andafterwardshewantedtowalk:downtowheretheWorldTradeCenterhadbeen,easttoSouthStreetSeaport.Heledbyvaguesenseofdirectiononly;hedidn’tknowtheseneighborhoods,whichstruckherashilarious.InChinatowntheystoppedatadessertbarandsharedsomethingmadeofshavedicewithabouteighttoppings,includingactualgoldleaf.Heofferedtogetherahotel.
Shelaughedathim.
Backattheapartmenthemadethegestureofdepositingaspareblanketandpillowonthatpatheticoldcouch.“Forme,”he’dsuggested,whenAnnacametostandbesidehim.“Imean,Idon’twanttoassume.”
“You’readorable,”shesaid,beforetakinghimintohisownbedroom,whereatleasttherewerenowcurtainsonthewindow.Andagoodthing,too.
Thenextday,theydidn’tleavetheapartment.
Thedayafterthat,theymanagedtogetoutforlunchatRedFarm,butwenthomeimmediatelyafterwardsandstayedfortherestofthatday,too.
Onceortwice,heapologizedformonopolizinghertimeinthecity.Surelyshe’dwantedmorefromhervisittoNewYorkthaneventhisintimacyand—asfarashecouldtell—mutualpleasure?
“ThisisexactlywhatIwantedfrommyvisit,”saidAnna.
Butthefollowingmorningshelefthimtoworkandwenttoexplore,andthatbecamethewaytherestoftheweektookform.Hedidhisbesttogetafewhoursinaftershe’dgone,andlateintheafternoonhewenttomeetherwherevershe’dwoundup:theMuseumoftheCityofNewYork,LincolnCenter,Bloomingdale’s.Shecouldn’tdecidewhichBroadwayshowtosee,andonherfinalnightinthecitytheyendedupatsomestrangethingwhereeveryoneranaroundahugewarehouseinthedark,wearingmasks,anditwassupposedlybasedonMacbeth
“Whatdidyouthink?”heaskedherastheyemergedintotheChelseanight.Herflightwasearlyinthemorningandhewasalreadydreadingthemomentofherdeparture.
“Well,itwasalongwayfromOklahoma.”
TheywalkeddowntothenewlyfabulousMeatpackingDistrictandlookedattherestaurantsuntiltheyfoundonethatwasquiet.
“Youlikeithere,”Jakeobservedafterthewaiterhadtakentheirorder.
“Itlooksgood.”
“No,no,Imeanhere.NewYork.”
“I’mafraidIdo.Thisplace,Icouldfallforaplacelikethis.”
“Well,”saidJake,“I’llbehonest,thatdoesnotmakemeunhappy.”
Shesaidnothing.Thewaiterbroughttheirwine.
“So,thiswomanyoumetonce,foranhour,andwholivesontheothersideofthecountry,comestovisityouforacoupleofdaysandstartsmakingnoisesabouthowmuchshelikesNewYork,andyou’renotevenslightlyfreakedout?”
Heshrugged.“Alotofthingsfreakmeout.Butoddly,notthat.I’mjustgettingusedtotheideathatyoulikedmeenoughtogetonaplane.”
“Soyou’reassumingIgotonaplanebecauseIlikedyouandnot,forexample,becauseIgotacheapflight,andI’dalwayswantedtorunaroundawarehouseinamask,pretendingI’mtwenty-twoandnotmyactualage.”
“Youcouldtotallypassfortwenty-two,”hesaidafteramoment.
“ButwhywouldIwantto?Thatwholethingtonightwastheemperor’snewclothes.”
Jakethrewhisheadbackandlaughed.“Okay.You’vejustturnedinyourcoolmillennialcard.Youknowthat.”
“Icouldn’tcareless.Idon’tthinkIwasyoungevenwhenIactuallywasyoung,andthatwasn’tyesterday.”
Thewaiterarrived.Theyhadeachorderedthesamething:roastchickenandvegetables.Lookingatthetwoplates,Jakewonderediftheyweren’t,infact,eatingbothhalvesofthesamebird.
“Sowhyweren’tyouyoungwhenyouactuallywereyoung?”Jakesaid.
“Oh,it’salongandtorturedstory.Somethingoutofanovel.”
“Iwishyou’dtellme.”Helookedather.“Isithardtotalkaboutthis?”
“No,nothard.Butit’sstillkindofathingthatI’mdoingit.”
“Okay.”Henodded.“Iamappropriatelyhonored.”
Shetookamomenttobeginhermeal,anddrinkfromherglass.
“Sothelongandshortofitis,mysisterandIendedupinIdaho,inthetownwhereourmothergrewup.Wewerebothprettyyoung,sowedidn’trememberalotabouther.Shecommittedsuicide,unfortunately.Shedrovehercarintoalake.”
Jakeletoutabreath.“Oh,I’msosorry.That’sterrible.”
“Andafterthatourmother’ssistercametotakecareofus.Butshewasverystrange.Shenevermasteredtheartoftakingcareofherself,letaloneanyoneelse,letalonetwolittlekids.Ithinkwebothunderstoodthat,mysisterandIdid.Butwehandleditdifferentways.AfterwestartedhighschoolIcouldfeelthetwoofthemmovingfartherandfartherawayfromme.Mysisterandmyaunt,”sheclarified.“Mysisterprettymuchstoppedgoingtoschool.Iprettymuchstoppedgoinghome.Andmyteacher,MissRoyce,whenshefiguredoutwhatwashappeninginmyhouse,shejustaskedifI’dliketolivewithher,andIsaidyes.”
“But…wasn’tthereanykindofintervention?Imean,socialservices?Police?”
“Thesheriffcameoutacoupleoftimestotalktomyaunt,butitneverquiteconnectedwithher.Ithinkshereallywantedtobecapableofparentingus,butitwasjustbeyondherabilities.”Annapaused.“Ibearherabsolutelynoillwill,bytheway.Somepeoplecanpaintorsing,otherscan’t.Thiswasapersonwhojustcouldnotbeintheworldthesamewaymostofuscan.ButIdowish…”Sheshookherhead.Shereachedforherglass.
“What?”
“Well,Itriedtogetmysistertocomewithme,butsherefused.Shewantedtostaywithouraunt.Andthenonedaythetwoofthemjustlefttown.”
Jakewaited.Ashedid,hegrewmoreuneasy.
“And?”
“And?Nothing.Ihavenoideawheretheyare.Theycouldbeanywhere,now.Theycouldbenowhere.Theycouldbeinthisrestaurant.”Sheglancedaround.“Well,they’renot.Butthat’sjusthowitis.Istayed,theyleft.Ifinishedhighschool.Iwenttocollege.Myteacher—Igotintothehabitofcallinghermyadoptivemother,buttherewasneveranyformalprocess.Shedied.Sheleftmealittlemoney,whichwasnice.Butmysister,Ihavenoidea.”
“Didyouevertrytofindher?”Jakeasked.
Annashookherhead.“No.Ithinkouraunthadbeenlivingaprettymarginallifebeforeshecametotakecareofus.Ortrytotakecareofus.Ithink,ifthey’restilltogether,they’renotgoingtobepayingrentorusinganATM,letaloneonFacebook.ButI’monFacebookandalsoInstagram,mainlyforthatreason.Iftheywanttofindme,I’mafewclicksawayfromanypubliccomputerinanylibraryinthecountry.IftheyreachouttomeI’llgetanalertthroughmyemail.Itrynottothinkaboutit,ever,butevenso…everysingletimeIturnonmycomputerormyphone,somepartofmeiswondering:Istodaytheday?Youcan’timaginewhatthat’slike,waitingforsomemessagethat’sgoingtototallyupendyourlife.”
Infact,Jakeabsolutelycouldimagineit.Buthedidn’tsayso.
“Didit…Imean,didallofthismakeyoufeeldepressed?Asateenager?”
Sheseemednottotakethequestionallthatseriously.“Isuppose.Mostteenagersgetdepressed,don’tthey?Idon’tthinkIwasallthatintrospectiveasakid.AndfranklyIalsowasn’tveryambitiousbackthen,soit’snotlikeIfeltIwasbeingkeptfromsomethingIreallywanted.Andthenonemorning,thefallofmysenioryear,Ipickedupanapplicationoffabenchoutsidetheguidancecounselor’sofficeatmyschool,fortheUniversityofWashington.IthadthesepinetreesonthecoverandIjustthought…youknow,thatlookssonice.Itlookedlikehome.SoIfilleditoutrightthereintheoffice,ontheircomputer.ThreeweekslaterIgotmyletter.”
Thewaiterreturnedandtooktheirplates.Theybothdeclineddessert,butaskedformorewine.
“Youknow,”Jakesaid,“ifyouthinkaboutit,you’reamazinglywell-adjusted.”
“Oh,right.”Sherolledhereyes.“Ihidawayonanislandforthebetterpartofadecade.Igottomymid-thirtieswithouteverhavingaseriousboyfriend.ForthepastthreeyearsI’vedevotedmyselftomakingacompleteimbecilesoundsemi-cogentandsemi-informedontheair.Doesthatsoundamazinglywell-adjustedtoyou?”
Hesmiledather.“Givenwhatyou’vegonethrough?Ithinkyou’resomekindofWonderWoman.”
“WonderWomanwasafiction.IthinkI’dprefertobeanordinaryrealperson.”
Shecouldneverbeordinary,hethought.Thesheerfactofher,thislovely,gray-hairedwomanoutoftheforestsoftheNorthwestyetseamlesslypresent,here,inathrummingrestaurantinthecity’sbuzziestneighborhood,wassimplynorm-defying:athunderboltoutoftheblue.Butwhatstunnedhimmost,herealized,wasthefactthathewassoentirelyatpeaceaboutallofit.ForaslongasJakecouldrememberhe’dbeentorturinghimselfaboutthebookshewaswriting,andthentheoneshewasn’twriting,andthepeoplesurgingpasthiminline,andthedeepandterriblefearthathewasn’tgoodenough—orgoodatall—attheonlythinghe’deverwantedtobegoodat,nottomentionthefactthatallaroundhimpeoplehisownageweremeetingandpairingoffandpledgingtheirallegiancetooneanotherandevencreatingentirelynewbabypeopletogether,whilehehadn’tevenfoundawomanhelikedenoughtodatesincebreakingupwiththepoet,AliceLogan.Now,allofthatwasdone:suddenly,peacefully,done.
“Firstofall,”saidJake,“makingyourbosssoundsmarterthanheis—that’swhatmostpeople’sjobsare.AndWhidbeyIslandseemstomelikeaprettyniceplacetospendthebetterpartofadecade.Andasfarasnothavingaseriousboyfriend,obviously,youwerewaitingforme.”
Shehadn’tbeenlookingathimthroughthis.She’dbeenlookingdownintoherownhandsandtheglasstheyheld.Now,though,shelookedup,andafteramoment,shesmiled.“MaybeIwas,”shesaid.“MaybeIthought,whenIreadyournovel,NowthisisabrainIcouldstandtogettoknow.MaybewhenIwenttoyoureventinSeattleandIsawyou,Ithought,That’sapersonIwouldn’tbemiserablelookingatacrossthebreakfasttable.”
“Breakfasttable!”Jakegrinned.
“AndmaybewhenIgotintouchwithyourpublicistIwasn’tjustthinkinghowweshouldbetryingtogetsomerealauthorsontheshow.MaybeIwasthinking,Youknow,itwouldn’tactuallybehorribleifIcouldgettomeetJakeBonner.”
“Wellnow.Soitcomesout.”
Evenintherestaurant’sinadequatelighthecouldseeshewasembarrassed.
“Look,it’sfine.I’mgladyoudid.I’mincrediblyglad.”
Annanodded,butshewasn’tlookinghimintheeye.
“Andyou’repositivethisisn’tfreakingyououtatall.IactedunprofessionallybecauseIhadacrushonafamousauthor.”
Heshrugged.“IoncecontrivedtositnexttoPeterCareyonthesubway,becauseIhadthisfantasythatIcouldstrikeupaconversationwithAustralia’sgreatestlivingnovelist,andwe’dstarthavingweeklySundaybrunchestogetherwherewe’ddiscussthestateoffiction,andthenhe’dgivemynovel-in-progresstohisagent…yougettheidea.”
“Well,didyou?”
Jaketookasipofhiswine.“DidIwhat?”
“Sitnexttohim.”
Henodded.“Yeah.ButIcouldn’tbringmyselftosayaword.Andhegotoffliketwostopslater,anyway.Noconversation,nobrunch,nointroductiontohisagent.Justanotherfanonthesubway.Thatcouldhavebeenus,ifyou’dbeenasmuchofawussasIam.Butyouactuallyreachedoutforsomethingyouwanted.Justlikeyoupickedupthatapplication,offthebench,andfilleditout.Iadmirethat.”
Annasaidnothing.Sheseemedoverwhelmed.
“Likeyouroldprofessorsaid,nobodyelsegetstoownyourlife,right?”
Shelaughed.“Nobodyelsegetstoliveyourlife.”
“ItsoundslikethatpabulumweusedtoserveupintheMFAprogram.Onlyyoucantellyoursingularstorywithyouruniquevoice.”
“Andthat’snottrue?”
“Thatisabsolutelynottrue.Anyway,ifyou’relivingyourlife,morepowertoyou.Ican’tthinkofanyoneyouoweathingto.Youradoptivemomisgone.Yoursisterandaunttookthemselvesoutoftheequation,fornowatleast.Youdeserveeverybitofhappinessthat’scomingtoyou.”
Shereachedacrossthetableandtookhishand.“Icompletelyagree,”shesaid
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages36–38
Herdecisionwas:shewantedanabortion.Itshouldhavebeenstraightforward,giventhefactthatherparentsseemedtowantanadditiontotheirfamilyaboutaslittleasshedid.Buttherewasanunfortunatecomplication,namelythathermotherandfatherwereChristians,andnottheJesus-is-lovekindofChristiansbuttheHell-has-a-special-room-waiting-for-youkind.Also,thelawsofthestateofNewYorkgavethemvetopoweroverSamantha(whowasverymuchnotaChristianofeitherkind,despiteherhundredsofSundaymorningsinthepewsoftheFellowshipTabernacleofNorwich)andovertheblastocystinchessouthofhernavel.Didtheyregardsaidblastocystasabelovedgrandchild,oratleastabelovedchildofGod?Samanthasuspectednot.Shesuspected,tothecontrary,thatthepointherewastoteachhersomekindof“lesson”aboutthewagesofhersin,somethingalongthelinesofInpainyoushallbringforthchildren.Itwouldallhavebeensomuchsimplerifthey’djustagreedtodrivehertotheclinicinIthaca.
Ithadn’tbeenpartoftheplanforhertodropoutofschoolaswell,butthepregnancymadethatdecisiononitsown.Samantha,itturnedout,wasnotoneofthosegirlswhocouldcarryon,attendtheprom,throwthejavelinintotheninthmonth,andgenerallypowerthrougheverysinglequiz,test,assignment,andtermpaper,withonlytheoccasionalhallpassforthepurposeofupchuckinginthegirls’bathroom.No,shegotdiagnosedinmonthfourwithupwardlytrendingbloodpressure,wasorderedtobedforthesakeofherbaby’shealth,andforcedtosummarilyforfeitherpositionasatenthgraderwithoutasinglecomplaintfromeitherparent.Andnotoneofherteachersliftedafingertoatleasthelpherfinishouttheyear.
Forthefivebrutalmonthsthatremained,shegestateduncomfortably—mainlyhorizontallyinherchildhoodbed,anoldcannonballfour-posterthathadbeenhermother’sfather’s,orherfather’smother’s—andgrudginglyacceptedthefoodthathermotherbroughtuptoherroom.Shereadwhateverbookswereinthehouse—firstherownbooks,thenhermother’sfromtheChristianbookstoreoutsideOneonta—butalreadySamanthawasnotingadisruptioninthehardwareofherbrain:sentencesfoldinginonthemselves,meaningdrainingawaybythemidpointofaparagraph,asifeventhatpartofherbodyhadbeenscrambledbytheunasked-fortenant.Bothofherparentshadgivenupontryingtoferretoutthenameoftheimpregnator;maybethey’ddecidedSamanthadidn’tknow.(Howmanyboysdidtheythinkshe’dsleptwith?Alltheboys,probably.)Herfatherwasn’ttalkingtoheranymore,thoughittookSamanthasometimetofigurethatout,giventhathe’dneverbeenallthatmuchofatalker.Hermotherwasstilltalking—or,moreaccurately,screaming—onadailybasis.Samanthawonderedhowshehadtheenergy.
Butatleasttherewasgoingtobeanendpointtoallofit,becausethisthing,thisordeal,wasgoingtobefinite.Asin:itwasgoingtoend.Andwhy?
Shedidnotwanttobeasixteen-year-oldmotheranymorethanshe’dwantedtobeafifteen-year-oldpregnantperson,andhere,atleast,shedaredtobelievethatherparentsfeltexactlythesame.Therefore,inthefullnessoftime,thebabywouldbegivenupforadoption,andthenshe,thegestationalhost,wouldbereturningtohighschool,albeitinthecompanyofthosedullclassmatesshe’dpoweredpastbackinsixthgrade:ayearfurtherfromhergoalofgoingtocollegeandgettingawayfromEarlsville,butatleastbackontrack.
Ah,thenaivetyofyouth.Orhadshedaredtobelieveherparentsmightonedayrecognizethatasentienthuman,withherownplansandprioritiesandaspirations,hadlivedalongsidethem,lothesefifteenyears?Shedweltinthepossibilitiesandeventookthestepofreachingouttooneofthose“abortioncounselors”(notreallyan“abortioncounselor,”asshewellknew)whoadvertisedinthebackoftheObserver-Dispatch:“AlovingChristianhomeforyourbaby!”Buthermotherwouldn’tevenlookatthepamphlettheysenther.
Thewagesofhersin,itturnedout,hadashelflifeofforever.
Waitaminute!sheyelledatthem.Idon’twantthisbabyandyoudon’twantthisbaby.Let’sletsomebodywhodoeswantithaveit.What’stheproblemwiththat?
Theproblem,apparently,wasthatGodwanteditthisway.He’dtestedher,she’dfailed,andthus,thiswaswhatwassupposedtohappen.
Itwasmaddening,infuriating.Worse:illogical.
Butshewasfifteen.Sothat’swhatwasgoingtohappen.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
WhyWouldSheChangeHerMind?
TheTwitteraccounthadbeenmercifullydormantsinceitsinception,butsuddenly,inmid-December,thetweetsbegan—notwithabangbutwithawhimperintothevoid:
@JacobFinchBonnerisanottheauthorof#Crib.
Therewasnoengagementatall,Jakewasrelievedtosee,probablybecausetherewasnoonetoengagewith.Initssixweeksonthesite,theTwitteruserknownas@TalentedTomwasstilldepictedasaneggwithnobiographyandfromanundeclaredlocation.Hehadmanagedtoattractonlytwofollowers,bothlikelybotsfrompointsfareast,butthelackofanaudiencedidnotseemtodeterhimatall.Forthenextfewweekstherewasasteadydrip,dripofcausticlittledeclarations:
@JacobFinchBonnerisathief.@JacobFinchBonnerisaplagiarist.
AnnawentbacktoSeattletosettlesomethings.Whenshereturned,JakedroveherouttoLongIslandforthetraditionalBonnerHanukkahwithhisfather’ssiblingsandtheirchildren.Hehadneverbeforebroughtaguesttothisevent,andtherewasacertainamountofderisoryattentionfromhiscousins,buttheplank-roastedsalmonAnnacontributedtothemealwasmetwithstunnedgratitude.
Technically,shestillhadn’tentirelytakenleaveofherpriorlife—theapartmentinWestSeattlehadbeensubletandherfurnituremovedtoastoragefacility—butshestraightawayfoundajobatapodcastingstudioinMidtownandanotherasaproduceronaSiriusshowcoveringthetechindustry.Inspiteofthefactthatshe’dgrownupinasmallIdahotown,ittookhernotimeatalltorampuptothespeedwithwhicheveryotherNewYorkerwalkedthestreets,andwithindaysofherreturntothecitysheseemedtobecomeyetanotheroverworkedGothamite,perpetuallyrushingandwithabaselinelevelofambientstressthatwouldprobablyhavealarmedanyoneoutsidethefiveboroughs.Butshewashappy.Seriouslyhappy,expressivelyhappy.Shebeganeverydaybywrappingherselfaroundhimandkissinghisneck.Shelearnedwhathelikedtoeatandseamlesslytookoverthetaskoffeedingthemboth(agreatrelief,asJakeneverhadlearnedtoproperlyfeedhimself).ShedoveintotheculturallifeofthecityandbroughtJakealongwithher,andsoonitwasararenighttheywerehomeandnotataplayoraconcert,orpokingaroundFlushinginsearchofsomedumplingstallshe’dreadabout.
@JacobFinchBonner’spublisherhadbettergetreadytoissuearefundforeverycopyof#Crib.Somebodyneedstotell@Oprahshehasanotherfakeauthoronherhands.
Annawantedacat.Shehadwantedacatforyears,apparently.Theywenttothepoundandadoptedanonchalantfellow,allblackbutforasinglewhitefoot,whodidaquickcircuitoftheapartment,stakedoutachairJakehadoncelikedtoreadin,andsettledinforthelonghaul.(HewastobeknownasWhidbey,aftertheisland.)ShewantedtoseeaBroadwayshow—arealone,thistime.HegotthemHamiltonticketsthroughaclientofMatilda’swhowasconnected,andaRoundaboutsubscription.ShewantedtogoonfoodtoursoftheLowerEastSide,guidedhistorywalksinTribeca,GospelbrunchesinHarlem,allofthosethingsnative(oratleast“established”)NewYorkerstendedtoturnuptheirnosesat,preferringtomaintainasmugignoranceabouttheircity.Shestartedtoaccompanyhim,asherownworkallowed,whenhegavereadingsortalks—Boston,Montclair,VassarCollege—andoncetheystayedoninFloridaforacoupleofdays,followinghisappearanceattheMiamiBookFair.
Hebegantonoticeabasicdifferencebetweenthem,whichwasthatheperceivedtheapproachofastrangerwithdread,andshewithopencuriosity.Henoticed,too,thatpeopleseemedmorerelaxedaroundhimwhenhewaswithAnna,andnotjustsincehehadbecomea“famouswriter”—anoxymoronifthereeverwasone,orsohewasinthehabitofsayingtointerviewersasameansofconveyingmodesty—butevenbeforethat,whenhecarriedthatringofpersonalfailurearoundhimselflikearadioactiveHula-Hoop.WithAnnahewashavinghisfirstconversationsinyearswithpeoplewhowerenotwriters,orinpublishing,orevenavidreadersoffiction,andthoseconversationswentsofarbeyondwhosebookhadbeenboughtbywhomandforhowmuch,whosesecondnovelwasasalesdisappointment,whicheditorwasoutafteroverspendingonanoverratednovelist,andwhichbloggershadtakenwhichsidesinanaccusationof“unwantedovertures”atasummerwriter’sconference.Therewas,itturnedout,astunningvarietyofstufftodiscussbeyondthewritingworld:politics,thingstoeat,interestingpeopleandwhatthey’ddoneintheworld,andthegoldenagesofcomedy,television,foodtrucks,andactivismthatwerecurrentlyunderway,allaroundhim,andwhichhe’dbeenonlyperipherallyawareoftillnow.
Henoticed,ashisownwriterfriendsbegantomeetherforasecondorthirdtime,thattheygreetedherwithwarmth,sometimesreachingforherwithakissorevenahugbeforetheyturnedtohim.Annarememberedtheirnames,theirpartners’names,theirpets’names(andspecies),theirjobsandtheircomplaintsabouttheirjobs,andsheaskedabouteverything,evenasJakelookedon,smilingtightly,wonderinghowshe’dmanagedtofindoutsomuchabouttheminsoshortatime.
Becauseshe’dasked,itonlybelatedlyoccurredtohim.
Withhismotherandfathertheyestablishedamonthlybrunchinthecity,andaftertheyfollowedanAdamPlattreviewtoadimsumrestaurantnestledbeneaththeManhattanBridgethatbecametheirregulardestination.Hewasseeingmoreofhisparentsnow,withAnna,thanhehadwhenhe’dbeensingleandtheoreticallyunencumberedbyanotherperson’sscheduleandcommitments.Asthewintermonthspassed,hewatchedherforgeadeepfamiliaritywiththetwoofthem,hismother’sworkatthehighschool,hisfather’stravailswithapartnerinhisfirm,thesadsagaoftheneighborstwohousesdownontheothersideofthestreet,whoseteenagetwinswerebothinfreefallandtakingtherestofthefamilydownwiththem.AnnawantedtogoyardsaleshoppingwithJake’smother(anactivityhehimselfhadtakenpainstoavoidsincehewasachild)whentheweathergotwarmer,andshesharedhisfather’sapparentlylong-heldpenchantforEmmylouHarris(beforehisveryeyesthetwoofthemlookedupHarris’stourscheduleandmadeplanstoseeherthatsummerattheNassauColiseum).InAnna’spresencehisparentstalkedmoreaboutthemselves,theirhealth,andeventheirfeelingsaboutJake’ssuccess,thantheyeverhadwhenhe’dbeenalonewiththem,whichunsettledhimevenasheunderstoodthatthiswasgood,agoodthingforthemall.Hehadalwaysacceptedthebaldfactthattheylovedhim,butitwasmoreofadefaultpositionthananexpressionoforganicpreference.Hewastheirchild,ergo,andlater,whenhegavethemsuchunmistakablereasonstobeproud,thatpositionwasunderstandablysubstantiated.ButAnna,whowasnottheirchild,andwhowasnotabestsellingauthorofworldwidestature,theyliked—no,loved—forherself.
Oneday,afteradimsumfeastonaSundayattheendofJanuary,ashismotherandAnnaduckedintoastoreonMottStreet,hisfatheraskedhimwhathisintentionswere.
“Isn’titthegirl’sfatherwho’ssupposedtoaskthat?”
“Well,maybeI’maskingonbehalfofAnna’sfather.”
“Oh.That’sfunny.Well,whatshouldtheybe?”
Hisfathershookhishead.“Areyouserious?Thisgirlisfantastic.She’sbeautifulandkindandshe’scrazyaboutyou.IfIwasherdadI’dgiveyouakickinthepants.”
“Youmean,grabher,beforeshechangeshermind.”
“Well,no,”hisfathersaid.“Morelike,whatareyouwaitingfor?Whywouldshechangehermind?”
Hecouldn’tsaywhy,notoutloud,obviouslynottohisfather,buthewasonlythinkingaboutiteverysingledayas@TalentedTomcontinuedtohurlcontemptintothevoid.JakespenteachmorningtogglingthroughhisGooglealertsandtorturinghimselfwithnewwordcombinationstocastovertheinternet:“Evan+Parker+writer,”“Evan+Parker+Bonner,”“Crib+Bonner+thief,”“Parker+Bonner+plagiarize.”Hewaslikeanobsessive-compulsiveatthemercyofhiscleaningrituals,orunabletoleavehisapartmentuntilhehadcheckedthestoveexactlytwenty-onetimes,andittooklongerandlongereachdaytofeelsafeenough,andthencalmenough,toworkonthenewnovel.
Whothinksit’sokfor@JacobFinchBonnertostealanotherwriter’sbook?Whyis@MacmillanBooksstillselling#Crib,anovelitsauthorliftedfromanotherwriter?
Whywouldshechangehermind?
Becauseofthis.Obviously.
SincethatdayinSeattleandespeciallysinceAnnahadcrossedthecountrytojoinhiminNewYork,JakehadbeenbracinghimselfforthedayhisgirlfriendfinallymentionedtheTwitterposts,perhapswithanentirelyunderstandabledemandtoknowwhyhehadn’talreadytoldherwhatwasgoingon.AnnawasnoLuddite,obviously—sheworkedinmedia!—buthavingestablishedherFacebookandInstagramoutpostsasawayforhermissingsisterandaunttoreachher,thosetwoaccountshadprettymuchossifiedfromlackofuse.TheFacebookprofilelistedabouttwentyfriends,alinktoAnna’sUniversityofWashingtonclasspage,andapinnedendorsementforRickLarson’s2016Congressionalrun.TheInstagramaccount’sfirstandonlypostdatedto2015andfeatured—ah,theclichéofit—alatteartpinetree.OneofherjobsatthepodcaststudiowastomanageitsownInstagramaccount,postingphotographsofthevarioushostsandguestsusingthefacility,butsheapparentlyhadnowishtochasepersonallikes,shares,retweets,orfollowers,andshecertainlywasn’tmonitoringthepeaksandvalleysofhisonlinereputation.Anna,itwasobvious,preferredtherealworld,andthereallifeface-to-faceinteractionsthattookplaceinit:eatinggoodfood,drinkinggoodwine,sweatingonayogamatinaroomcrowdedwithphysicalbodies.
Still,therewasalwaystheuncomfortablepossibilitythatsomeone,knowingshelivedwiththeauthorofCrib,mightmentionanaccusationoranattackthey’dseenfloatingbyontheirownfeed,orpolitelyaskhowJakewasholdingupgiven,youknow,thatthingthatwashappening.Everydaymightbeadaytheinfectionof@TalentedTomcrossedthemembraneintohisactuallifeandhisactualrelationship.Everynightmightbeanightshesuddenlysaid:“Ohhey,somebodysentmethisweirdtweetaboutyou.”Sofarithadn’thappened.WhenAnnacamehomefromwork,ormethimfordinnerafteryoga,orspentthedaywithhimwanderingthecity,theirtalkwasaboutanythingandeverythingbutthemostconsequentialthinginJake’slife.Apartfromher,ofcourse.
EachmorningaftersheleftforworkhesatparalyzedathisdeskclickingbackandforthfromFacebooktoTwittertoInstagram,Googlinghimselfeveryhourorsotoseeifanythinghadbrokenthrough,takingthetemperatureofhisownalarmtoseewhetherhewasafraid,ormerelyafraidofbeingafraid.Eachchimeannouncinganewemailinhisin-boxmadehimjump,asdideachbeepofhisTwitteralertandthebellInstagramrangwhensomeonetaggedhim.
IknowI’mthelastpersonontheplanettoread#Crib@JacobFinchBonner,butIwannathankeveryoneforNOTTELLINGMEWHATHAPPENSCOSIWASLIKEWHAAAAAA????!RecommendedbySammy’smom:#Pachenko(sp?),#TheOrphanTrain,#Crib.WhichdoIreadfirst?Finishedcribby@jacobfinchbonner.Itwuzeh.Next:#thegoldfinch(manitsloooooong)
Hethoughtmorethanonceofhiringaprofessional(ormaybejustsomebody’steenagekid)totrytofigureoutwhoownedtheTwitteraccount,orTalentedTom@gmail.com,oratleastwhatgeneralpartoftheworldthesemessageswerecomingfrom,buttheideaofbringinganotherpersonintohispersonalhellfeltimpossible.HethoughtoffilingsomekindofcomplaintwithTwitter,butTwitterallowedapresidenttosuggestfemalesenatorsweregivinghimblowjobsinexchangeforhissupport—didhereallythinktheplatformwouldliftafingertohelphim?Attheendofthedayhecouldn’tbringhimselftodoanythingatall:direct,indirect,orevenjustevasive.Instead,heretreatedagainandagainintoabaselessideathatifhecontinuedtoignorethisordealitwouldoneday,somehow,ceasetobereal,andwhenthatcametopasshewouldseamlesslyreturntoaversionofhislifeinwhichnoone—nothisparents,orhisagent,orhispublishers,orhisthousandsuponthousandsofreaders,orAnna—hadanyreasontosuspectwhathe’ddone.Eachmorninghewokeintosomeutterlyirrationalnotionthatitmightalljust…stop,butthenanewspeckofdarknesswouldemergefromhiscomputerscreenandhewouldfindhimselfcrouchingbeforesometerribleapproachingwave,waitingtodrown.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
OnlytheMostSuccessfulWriters
Then,inFebruary,JakenoticedthattheTwitterbioincludedanewlinktoFacebook.Withanowfamiliarsurgeofdread,heclickedonthelink:
Name:TomTalentWorksat:TheRestorationofJusticeinFictionStudiedat:RipleyCollegeLivesIn:Anytown,USAFrom:Rutland,VTFriends:0
Hismaidenpostwasshort,definitelynotsweet,andthoroughlytothepoint:
BlindsidedbythatbigtwistinCrib?Here’sanotherone:JacobFinchBonnerstolehisnovelfromanotherwriter.
AndforsomereasonJakewouldneverunderstand,thiswasthepostthatbegan,atlast,tometastasize.
Atfirst,theresponsesweremuted,dismissive,evenscolding:
WTF?Dude,Ithoughtitwasoverrated,butyoushouldn’taccusesomebodylikethat.Wow,jealousmuch,loser?
Butthen,acoupleofdayslater,Jake’sTwitteralertpickeduparepostontheaccountofaminorbookblogger,whoaddedaquestionofherown:
Anybodyknowwhatthisisabout?
Eighteenpeopleresponded.Noneofthemdid.Andforacoupleofdayshewasabletomaintainadesperatehopethatthis,too,wouldpass.Then,thefollowingMonday,hisagentcalledtoaskifhewasfreelaterintheweekforameetingwiththeteamatMacmillan,andtherewassomethinginhervoicethattoldhimthiswouldnotbeaboutthesecondroundofthepaperbacktouroreventhenewnovel,whichhadnowbeenscheduledforthefollowingautumn.“What’sup?”hesaid,alreadyknowingtheanswer.
Matildahadaverydistinctivewayofdeliveringterriblenewsasifitwereaninterestinginsightthathadjustoccurredtoher.Shesaid:“Oh,youknowwhat?Wendymentionedthatreaderservicesgotaweirdomessagefromsomebodywhosaysyou’renottheauthorofCrib.Whichmeansyou’vereallymadeitnow.Onlythemostsuccessfulwritersgetthesewackos.”
Jakecouldn’tmakeasound.Helookedatthephone;itwasinfrontofhim,onthecoffeetable,withthespeakeron.Finally,hemanagedastrangled:“What?”
“Oh,don’tworryaboutit.Everybodywhoaccomplishesanythinggetsthis.StephenKing?J.K.Rowling?EvenIanMcEwan!SomecrazyguyonceaccusedJoyceCarolOatesofflyingazeppelinoverhishousesoshecouldphotographwhathewaswritingonhiscomputer.”
“That’sinsane.”Hetookabreath.“But…whatdidthemessagesay?”
“Oh,somethingreallyspecificlikeyourstorydoesn’tbelongtoyou.TheyjustwantedtobringLegalintohavealittlechataboutit.Getusallonthesamepage.”
Jakenoddedagain.“Okay,great.”
“Tentomorrowokaywithyou?”
“Okay.”
Ittookeveryfiberofhiswillnottoimmediatelyreplicatehisself-quarantineofthepreviousfall:unpluggedphone,fetalposition,cupcakes,Jameson.Butthistimeheknewhe’dshortlyhavetopresenthimselfinsomequasi-responsiblecondition,andthatimpededfreefall,oratleastoutwardfreefall.WhenhemetMatildainthelobbyofhisvenerablepublisherthefollowingmorninghestillfeltimpaired:woozyandmalodorous,inspiteofthefactthathe’dforcedhimselfintotheshoweronlyanhourearlier.Thetwoofthemwentupintheelevatortogethertothefourteenthfloor,andJake,ashefollowedhiseditor’sassistantdownthecorridor,couldn’thelpthinkingabouthispreviousvisitstotheseoffices:foracelebrationintheaftermathoftheauction,fortheintense(butstillthrilling!)editorialsessions,forthemind-blowingfirstmeetingwiththePRandmarketingteams,atwhichhe’dfirstunderstoodthatCribwasgoingtobegiveneveryspeckofthemagicpublishingfairydusthisearlierbookshadbeendenied.Latervisitsherehadbeenfortheobservationofotherastonishingbenchmarks:thefirsthundredthousandsold,thefirstweekontheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlist,theOprahselection.Allgood.Sometimesonlyreassuringlygood,othertimeslife-changinglygood,butalwaysgood.Untiltoday.
Todaywasnotgood.
InoneoftheconferenceroomstheysatdownwithJake’seditorandpublicist,andwiththein-houseattorney,amannamedAlessandrowhoannouncedthathehadjustcomefromthegym,somethingJakeabsurdlytooktobeahopefulsign.Alessandrowascompletelybaldandtheoverheadfluorescentsmadethetopofhisheadshine.Unless—Jakepeered—wasthatsweat?Itwasn’tsweat.Jakewastheonlyonesweating.
“So,honey,”Matildabegan,“likeItoldyou,andImeanthis,it’snotuncommonatalltobeaccusedofsomethingnastybyatroll.Youknow,evenStephenKing’sbeenaccusedofplagiarism.”
AndJ.K.Rowling.AndJoyceCarolOates.Heknew.
“Andyou’llnoticethisguy’sanonymous.”
“Ihaven’tnoticed,”Jakelied,“becauseI’vebeentryingnottothinkaboutit.”
“Well,that’sgood,”saidWendy,hiseditor.“Wewantyouthinkingaboutthenewbook,notthisridiculousness.”
“Butwe’vebeentalkingaboutit,”saidMatilda.“WendyandIhave,andtheteam,andwethoughtitmightbetimetobringinMr.Guarise—”
“Alessandro,”saidtheattorney.“Please.”
“Togothroughitwithus.Seeifthereareanystepsweshouldbetaking.”
Alessandrowashandingaroundaspreadsheet,andJake,tohisutterhorror,sawthatitwasaverycomprehensivedisplayofTalentedTom’sonlineactivitiesthusfar:everytweetandFacebookpostneatlydatedandappallinglyreproduced,displayedinorderoftheirappearance.
“WhatamIlookingat?”saidMatilda,staringatthepage.
“Ihadoneofmyparalegalsdoabitofdiggingonthisguy.He’sbeenactive,atleastinasmallway,sinceNovember.”
“Wereyouawareofanyofthis?”Wendyasked.
Jakefeltawaveofillness.Hewas,itwasclear,abouttotellhisfirstoutrightuntruthofthemeeting.Itwasunavoidableanditwasnecessary,butitwasalsoexcruciating.
“Noidea.”
“Well,that’sjustaswell.”
Theassistantstuckherheadintotheroomandaskedifanyoneneededanything.Matildaaskedforawater.Jakedidn’tthinkhecouldgeteventhatdownhisthroatwithoutspillingiteverywhere.
“Solisten,”saidWendy.“AndIknowyou’llforgivemeforaskingthis,butit’skindofabaselinethingandwejustneedtohearyousayit.Asfarasthisbullshitgoes,andIunderstandthatwhathe’sactuallysayingiscompletelyvagueandnonspecific,butdoyouhaveanyideawhatthisjoker’stalkingabout?”
Jakelookedaroundatthem.Hismouthhadgoneaboutasdryassandpaper.Hewishedhe’daskedforthewater.
“Uh,no.Imean,likeyousaid,it’s…what,I’mathief?Ofwhat?”
“Well,exactly,”saidMatilda.
“Hedoesusetheword‘plagiarist’insomeposts,”saidAlessandrohelpfully
“Yeah,lovethat,”Jakesaidbitterly.
“ButCribisn’tplagiarized,”Matildasaid.
“No!”Jakenearlyshouted.“IwroteeverywordofCribmyself.OnadyinglaptopinCobleskill,NewYork.Winter,spring,andsummerof2016.”
“Good.Andnotthatitwillevercometothis,butIassumeyouhavedrafts,notes,andthelike?”
“Ido,”saidJake,buthewasshakingashesaidit.
“I’mstruckbythefactthathereferstohimselfas‘TalentedTom,’”saidWendy.“Shouldweinferhe’sawriterhimself?”
“Atalentedone,”saidMatilda,withextravagantsarcasm.
“WhenIreadthat,”saidthepublicist,whosenamewasRoland,“Ijustautomaticallythought,youknow:Ripley.”
Jake,caughtunawares,felttheheatrushtohisface.Theattorneysaid:“Who’sthat?”
“TomRipley.TheTalentedMr.Ripley.Youknowthatbook?”
“Isawthemovie,”Alessandrosaid,andJake,slowly,letoutabreath.Apparentlynooneintheroomseemedtoassociate“Ripley”withathird-rateMFAprogramwherehe’dtaughtforacoupleofyears.
“Ithinkit’skindofcreepy,actually,”Rolandwenton.“Like,evenashe’scallingyouaplagiaristhe’ssaying:I’mcapableofalotworsethanthat,sodon’tfuckwithme.”
“Well,butit’sonlysometimeshesaysplagiarist,”Wendysaid.“Theothertimesit’sjustthestoryheaccusesyouofstealing.‘Thestorydoesn’tbelongtoyou.’Whatdoesthatevenmean?”
“Peopledon’trealizeyoucan’tcopyrightaplot,”Alessandrosaidfinally.“Youcan’tevencopyrightatitle,andthatwouldbealoteasiertomakeanargumentabout.”
“Ifyoucouldcopyrightaplottherewouldn’tbeanynovelsatall,”saidWendy.“ImaginejustonepersonowningtherightstoBoymeetsgirl,boylosesgirl,boygetsgirl.OrHeroraisedinobscuritydiscovershe’sincrediblyimportanttoanepicstruggleforpower.Imean,it’sabsurd!”
“Well,this,tobefair,isaverydistinctiveplot.Ithinkyousaidyourself,Wendy,thatyou’dnevercomeacrossthisbefore,notonlyinsubmissionsbutinyourownexperienceasareader.”
Wendynodded.“That’strue.”
“Whataboutyou,Jake?”
Anotherdizzyingbreath,anotherlie.
“No.NevercameacrossitinanythingI’veread.”
“AndIthinkyou’dremember!”Matildasaid.“IfamanuscriptwiththisplothadcomeintomyofficeatanytimeI’dhaverespondedthewayIdidwhenJakesentushismanuscript.ButevenifIweren’ttheagentthiswriterchosetosenditto,Idoubtverymuchanyagentwouldhavelookedatitwithoutgreatinterest.Eventually,I’dhaveheardaboutthebook,justliketherestofus.Allofwhichonlymeansthatnosuchbookexists.”
“Maybeunwritten,”Jakeheardhimselfsay.
Theotherslookedathim.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Alessandrosaid.
“Well,Isupposeit’spossiblesomewriterhadtheidea,butneveractuallywroteit.”
“Crymeariver!”Matildathrewupherhands.“We’regoingtogivecredittoeveryoneouttherewhohasanideaforanovelandjusthasn’tgottenaroundtowritingitdown?Doyouknowhowmanypeoplecomeuptomeandsaytheyhaveagreatplotforanovel?”
“Imight,”Wendysighed.
“AndyouknowwhatIsaytothem?Isay,‘Fantastic!Onceyou’vewrittenit,sendittomyoffice.’Andguesshowmanyofthemeverhave?”
I’mgoingwithzero,Jakethought.
“Notone!Inalmosttwentyyearsasanagent!Solet’ssaythere’ssomebodyouttherewhocameupwiththesameplot.Justsay!Onlyhedidn’tgetaroundtoactuallywritinghisowndamnnovelandnowhe’sannoyedbecauseanotherperson,arealwriter,did!Andprobablyalotbetterthanheevercouldhave.So,tough.Nexttimemaybedothework.”
“Matilda,”Wendysighed.(Despitetheircurrentfrustration,thetwowereoldfriends.)“Icompletelyagree.That’swhywe’rehere.We’regoingtoprotectJakeandwe’regoingtoprotecttherightsofallartiststousetheirimaginations,howevertheywant.”
ButJake’sagentwasn’tassuaged.“Youknowwhatthisis?”Sheleanedforward,herpalmsflatontheconferencetable.“Thisisthatappropriationcrapagain.You’renotallowedtohaveaBlackcharacterifyou’renotBlack.You’renotallowedtowriteaboutKansasifyougrewupinLA.Ihaveaclientwhosebookgotcanceledlastfall,whensomebodyonGoodreadsgotupsetaboutacharacter.”
Foramomenttherewassilence.ThenWendysaid:“Whatwasitaboutthecharacter?”
“Hewasanasshole.Andhewasgay.Youknow?Somepeopleareassholesandsomeassholesaregay—thisshouldn’tbenews,youknow?Buttheauthoridentifiesasstraightandthat’snotallowedanymore.Sothiskid—it’sabrilliantnovel,bytheway—getshislegscutoutfromunderhim,twomonthsbeforepublication.Thegalleysarealreadyout,it’salreadygettinggreatearlyreviews.Nowhe’sapariah,toodemoralizedtowriteanythingelse.I’mtellingyou,thisbullshitisgoingtokillfiction.Howcanwriterswriteifthey’renotallowedtousetheirimaginations?”
“Ithink,”saidWendycarefully,“thegistoftheargumentisthatyouarethepossessorofyourownstory,andotherpeopleshouldn’ttellitforyou.WhitepeopleinterpretingBlackexperience,straightpeopleinterpretinggayexperience…”
“Well,thatsoundsterrific,”Matildasaid.“Andwhenwe’refinishedscrubbingthehistoryofAmericanliteraturecleanwe’regoingtohavelotsofemptybookshelvestofill.Butallofthenewbookshadbetterbepopulatedbycharacterswhoarejustliketheirauthors,becauseifnot,they’regoingtobelabeledappropriators,too,justlikemyauthor.”
Foramoment,nobodysaidaword.ThenAlessandroquietlysuggestedtheyreturntothematterathand.“Wemaynotbeabletosolvethemacroprobleminthisroom,muchaswe’dallloveto.Butweshouldbeabletotakesomestepsinthecurrentsituation.”
“Well,wecan’tstoppeoplefromsayingcrapontheinternet,”Jakesaidbravely.“Therewouldn’tbeaninternetifwedid.Shouldn’twejustignoreit?”
Thelawyershrugged.“We’veignoreditsofar,andthedudedoesn’tseemtobestopping.Maybenotignoringitwillworkbetter.”
“Well,whatwouldnotignoringitlooklike?”Jakesaid.Itcameoutsoundingalittleharsh,asifhewasangry.Wellofcoursehewasangry!“Imean,wedon’twanttopokethebear,right?”
“Ifitisabear.Frankly,alotofthetime,theseguysaremoreofadeerintheheadlightsthanabear.Youshineabitofalightonthemandtheyrunaway.Someunderachievermighthavekeyboardcouragebutifhestatesorimpliesaprovablyfalsestatementoffact,notjustanopinion,that’sdefamation.Theydon’twanttogettheirnamespublished,andtheydefinitelydon’twanttobesued.Wedon’thearfromthemagain.”
Jakeexperiencedafaintpulseofhope.
“Howwouldyoudoit?”
“We’dwritesomethingofficial-soundinginthecomments.Defamation,invasionofprivacy,portrayalinafalselight—allviablebasesforalawsuit.AtthesametimewecontactthehostwebsitesandtheISPsandaskthemtoremovethepostingsvoluntarily.”
“Andthey’lldothat?”Jakesaideagerly.
Alessandroshookhishead.“Usuallytheydon’t,no.TheCommunicationsDecencyActof1996saystheycan’tbeheldliablefordefamationmadebythirdparties.They’reconsideredavectorforotherpeople’sfreespeech,technically,sothey’reintheclear.Buttheyallhavecontentstandardsandnoneofthemwanttogobrokestandingupforsomeanonymousloserwhoprobablyisn’tpayingadimefortheirservices,sosometimeswegetluckyanditstopsthere.Weliketogetthehostonoursideifwecan,becausewe’llstillwanttocleanupthemetadata,evenifwegetthepoststakendown.RightnowifyouGoogle‘JacobFinchBonner’plustheword‘thief,’thiscomesrightupatthetopoftheresults.IfyouGoogleJake’snameand‘plagiarism,’samething.Searchengineoptimizationtechniquescanmitigatesomeofthat,butit’smucheasierifwehavethehosthelpingout.”
“Butwait,”saidRoland,thepublicist.“Howcanyouevensuggestthatyou’regoingtosuehimifyoudon’tknowwhoheis?”
“Wefilealawsuitagainst‘JohnDoe.’Thatgetsussubpoenapower.WecanalsoserveontheISPstotrytogettheguy’sregistrantinformation,orevenbetter,hisIPaddress.Ifit’sasharedcomputer,likealibrary,we’llbeoutofluck,butitcanstillbeusefulinformation.IfthisiscomingfrombumfucknowheremaybeitturnsoutJakeknowssomebodywholivesinbumfucknowhere.Maybeyoustolehisgirlfriendincollegeorsomething.”
Jaketriedtonod.Hehadneverstolenanyone’sgirlfriendinhislife.
“Andifit’saworkcomputer,that’sthebestnewsofall,becausethenwecanamendthecomplaintnotjusttoaddtheperson’snamebutalsothenameofhisemployer,andthat’squitethepowerfulleverrightthere.He’sbraveenoughwhennobodyknowsit’shim,butifhethinkswe’regoingtosuehisemployers,youbetterbelievehe’sgoingtoshutupandgoaway.”
“Icertainlywould!”saidRolandcheerily.
“Well,that’s…encouraging,”Matildasaid.“Becauseitisn’tfairthatJakeshouldhavetobedealingwiththis.Anyofus,butJakeespecially.AndIknowit’sbeenworryinghim.Hehasn’tsaidso,butIknow.”
ForamomentJakethoughthemightcry.Heshookhisheadquickly,asifdisagreeing,buthedidn’tthinktheywerefooled.
“Ohno!”saidWendy.“Jake,we’reonthis!”
“Right,”saidtheattorney.“I’mgoingtodomything.Thatsoundyou’reabouttohearisadeerintheheadlights,runningawaythroughthewoods.”
“Okay,”Jakesaidwithablatantlyfalseheartiness.
“Honey,”hisagentsaid,“likeIsaid.It’spathetic,butit’sapointofhonor.Anyonewhoaccomplishesanythinginthislifehassomeoneouttheredyingtotearhimdown.You’vedoneabsolutelynothingwrong.Youarenottothinkofthisasyourproblem.”
Buthehad.Anditwas.Andthatwastheongoinghellofit.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages43–44
Samantha’sfatherdroveherasfarasthefrontdoorofthehospital.Hermotherwalkedherintothelobbybutdeclinedtogofarther.ItwasallaregularABCAfter-SchoolSpecial,exceptfortheabsurdamountofphysicalpainshewasin.She’dbeenhopingforsomedrugs,buttherewasadistinctlypunitiveaspecttothewaythenurses,inparticular,seemedtohandleherlabor.Intheend,shegotnothinguntilsomebodytoldheritwastoolate,atwhichpointshegotmorenothing.Tomakemattersworse—andworsewashardlywhatsheneeded—themotherofoneofherclassmateswasinlaboratthesametime,whichmeantthattheboy,awrestlerwithragingacne,wasonsite,inandoutofhismother’sroom,walkingherdownthecorridor,andsneakingfascinatedlooksinSamantha’sdirectioneverytimehepassedheropendoorway.
Itwasalongandinterestingday,punctuatedbyindignitiesandagonyandtheverynewandfascinatingattentionsofthehospitalsocialworkers,whoseemedespeciallyinterestedinthequestionofhowshe’dbefillingouttheBaby’sFatherlineontheforms.
“CanIsayBillClinton?”sheaskedbetweencontractions.
“Notifitisn’ttrue,”saidthewoman,whodidn’tevensmile.Shewasn’tfromEarlville.Shelookedlikeshecamefrommoney.Cooperstown,maybe.
“Andyouplantoremaininthefamilyhomeafteryourchildisborn.”
Itwasastatement.Coulditbeaquestion?
“DoIhaveto?Imean,couldIleave?”
Thewomanputherclipboarddown.“CanIaskwhyyouwouldwanttoleavethefamilyhome?”
“It’sjustthat,myparentsdon’tsupportmygoals.”
“Andwhatareyourgoals?”
Tohandthisbabyofftosomeoneelseandfinishhighschool.Butshenevergotthatout,becausethenextcontractionhitherlikeaboulder,thensomethingstartedbeepingonthemonitorandtwonursescameinandafterthatshecouldn’tremembermuch.Whenthepainstoppedshewasjustwakingup,itwasthemiddleofthenightoutside,andnexttoherbedwassomethingthatlookedlikeaportableaquarium,insideofwhicharedandwrinkledcreaturewassqualling.Thatwasherdaughter,apparently.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
AnUnfortunateSideEffectofSuccess
Aboutaweekaftertheirmeeting,theattorneysrepresentingJake’spublisherinsertedthefollowingnoticeinthecommentssectionafterseveralofTalentedTom’sknownappearances:
TothepersonpostinghereandelsewhereasTalentedTom:IamanattorneyrepresentingtheinterestsofMacmillanPublishinganditsauthor,JacobFinchBonner.Yourmaliciousspreadingofinaccurateinformationandunfoundedsuggestionofbadactionsonthepartoftheauthorareunwantedandunwelcome.UnderthelawsoftheStateofNewYorkitisunlawfultomakedeliberatestatementswithintenttoharmaperson’sreputationwithoutfactualevidence.Thisservesasapre-suitdemandthatyouimmediatelyceaseanddesistallverbalattacksonallSocialMediaplatforms,websites,andviaallformsofcommunication.Failuretodosowillresultinalawsuitagainstyou,thissocialmediaplatformorwebsite,andanyrelatedorinvolvedresponsibleparty.Representativesofthissocialmediaplatformhavebeencontactedseparately.Sincerely,AlessandroF.Guarise,Esq.
Forafewdaystherewasblessedsilence,andthedreadeddailytrawlofhisGooglealertforJacob+Finch+Bonnerproducednothingbutreaderreviews,gossipaboutcastingfortheSpielbergfilm,andanactualPageSix“sighting”ofhimselfataPENfundraiser,shakinghandswithanexiledjournalistfromUzbekistan.
Then,inthespaceofaThursdaymorning,itallwenttoshit:TalentedTomproducedacommuniqueofhisown,thisonesent—again,viaemail—toMacmillan’sReaderServicesbutalsopostedonTwitter,Facebook,andevenabrand-newInstagramaccount,accompaniedbylotsofhelpfultagstoattracttheattentionofbookbloggers,industrywatchdogs,andthespecificreportersatTheTimesandTheWallStreetJournalwhocoveredpublishing:
IregrettoinformhismanyreadersthatJacobFinchBonner,the“author”ofthenovelCrib,isnottherightfulownerofthestoryhewrote.Bonnershouldnotberewardedforhistheft.Heisadisgraceanddeservingofexposureandcensure.
Somuchforthedeerintheheadlightstheory.
Andsothedayunfolded.Itwasaterribleday.
Withinmomentsthecontactformonhisauthorwebsitewasforwardingcommentrequestsfromhalfadozenbookbloggers,aninterviewqueryfromTheRumpus,andanastyifillogicaldispatchfromsomebodynamedJoe:Iknewyourbookwascrap.NowIknowwhy.TheMillionstweetedsomethingabouthimbymid-afternoonandPage-Turnerwashotonitsheels.
Matilda,forone,remainedsanguine,orsoshewasatpainstoconvey.Thiswasallanunfortunatesideeffectofsuccess,shesaidagain,andtheworld—theworldofwritersinparticular—wasfullofbitterpeoplewhobelievedtheywereowedsomethingorother,bysomeoneorother.Thelogicofthisbeingsomethinglike:
Ifyoucouldwriteasentenceyoudeservedtoconsideryourselfawriter.
Ifyouhadan“idea”fora“novel”youdeservedtoconsideryourselfanovelist.
Ifyouactuallycompletedamanuscriptyoudeservedtohavesomeonepublishit.
Ifsomeonepublishedityoudeservedtobesentonatwenty-citybooktourandhaveyourbookfeaturedinfull-pageadsinTheNewYorkTimesBookReview
Andif,atanypointonthisladderofentitlement,oneoftheaforementionedthingsyoudeservedfailedtocometopass,theblameforthatmustrestatwhateverpointyou’dbeenunfairlyobstructed:
Yourdailylife—fornotgivingyouanopportunitytowrite.
The“professional”oralready“established”writers—who’dgottentherequickerbecauseofunspecifiedadvantages.
Theagentsandpublishers—whocouldonlyprotectandburnishthereputationsoftheirexistingauthorsbykeepingnewauthorsout.
Theentirebookindustrialcomplex—which(followingsomeevilalgorithmofprofit)doubleddownonafewname-brandauthorsandeffectivelysilencedeveryoneelse.
“Inshort,”Matildasaid—andnotbeinganaturalsoother,itcameoutsoundingstrainedandwrong—“please,donotworryaboutthis.Also,you’regoingtogetatonofsympathyfromyourpeers,andpeoplewhoseopinionyouactuallycareabout.Justwait.”
Jakewaited.Shewasright,ofcourse.
Therewasakeep-your-chin-up!emailfromWendy,andanotherfromhiscontactatStevenSpielberg’sWestCoastoffice,andstillothersfromsomeofthewritershehadoncehungoutwithinNewYork(theoneswho’dmadeitintothefamousMFAprogrambeforehehad).HeheardfromBruceO’ReillyinMaine(Man,whatisthismoronictrash?)andfromanumberofhisformercoachingclients.HeheardfromAliceLoganatHopkins,whohelpfullylistedanumberofplagiarismscandalsfromthelandofpoetryandmentionedthatsheandhernewhusbandwereexpecting.Heheardfromhisparents,whowereoffendedonhisbehalf,andseveralofhisMFAclassmates,oneofwhomcounteredwithhisownstalker:Shedecidedmysecondnovelwasacodebookaboutourrelationship.Whichdidn’texist,incidentally.Don’tworry,theygoaway.
AtaroundfourthatafternoonheheardfromMartinPurcellinVermont.
SomeoneposteditonourRipleyFacebookgroup,hewroteinanemail.Doyouhaveanyideawho’ssayingthisstuff?
Iwasthinking,maybe,you?Jakethought.Butnaturallyhesaidnosuchthing.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages71–73
Almostexactlytwoyearslater,Samantha’sfathercollapsedintheparkinglotofthecentralmaintenanceofficeatColgateUniversityandwasdeadbeforetheambulancearrived.ThebiggestchangeinSamantha’slife,followingthisevent,wasanabruptdeclineinfinancialsecurityandthefactthathermotherstartedobsessingoversomewomanherfatherhadbeensleepingwith,apparentlyforyears.(Whyshe’dwaiteduntilherhusbandwasdeadtorevealallthismadenosense,atleastnottoSamantha.Itwastoolatetodoanythingaboutitnow,wasn’tit?)Ontheotherhand,Samanthagotherlatefather’scar,aSubaru.Thatwasabighelp.
Maria,bythen,wasdoingallofthenormalthings,likewalkingandtalking,andoneortwothingsSamanthaconsiderednotnormal,likesayingthenamesofletterseverywhereshewentandpretendingnottohearhermotherwhenhermotherwasspeaking.Shehadbeen,fromherfirstdaysoflife,amalcontent,ablusterer,apusher-awayofotherpeople(mainlySamantha,butalsohertwograndparentsandthepediatrician).Shebegankindergartenasasurlychildinacornerwithbooks,decliningtoparallelplay(letalonecooperativeplay),interruptingtheteacherwithcommentarywhenitwasstorytime,refusingtoeatanythingbutjellyandcreamcheeseontheheelofthesupermarketloaf.
Bythen,allofSamantha’sformertenth-gradeclassmateshadpassedoutofthecrepe-paper-decoratedgymnasiumholdingtheirrolled-updiplomas,andthey’dscattered—afewtocollege,otherstowork,theresttothewind.IfsheranintooneoftheminthesupermarketorattheFourthofJulyparadealongRoute20shefeltsuchasurgeoffurythatitrushedupwardintohermouthandburnedhertongue,andshehadtogritherteethtogetherwhenshemadepoliteconversation.Ayearafterthoseclassmatesmovedon,heroriginalclassmates—theonesshe’dleapfroggedpastasasixthgrader—alsograduated,andallthatangerseemedtogowiththem.Whatwasleftafterthatwasakindoflow-gradedisappointment,andastheyearscontinuedtopassshelosteventhepowertorememberwhatitwasshewasdisappointedabout.Herownmotherwashomelessandless;DanWeybridge—inthegoodnessofhisheartorperhapssomefesteringsenseofpaternalresponsibility—haduppedherhoursattheFamily-owned-for-three-generations!CollegeInn,andshe’dalsojoinedagroupatherchurchthattraveledtowomen’shealthclinicstoharassthepatientsandstaff.Samanthaspentmostofhertimeinthesolecompanyofherdaughter,andthecareofaninfant,thenatoddler,thenayoungchildexpandedtofilleverycornerandmomentofherdays.ShetendedMarialikeanautomaton:feeding,bathing,dressingandundressing,losinggroundwitheverypassingday.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
AnotherDay’sLies
Thereweredayswhenhecouldmanageanhourortwoofworkonthenewnovel,butmanymorewhenhecouldnot.Generally,afterAnnalefttheapartmentinthemorning,Jakeremainedonthenewkilim-coveredcouchAnnahadchosentoreplaceitsrattypredecessor,bouncingbackandforthbetweenhisphone(Twitter,Instagram)andhislaptop(Google,Facebook),checkingandrecheckingfornewpostsandtrackingthemalevolentricochetsofthosepostshe’dalreadyseen,trappedandtorturedandutterlyincapableoffindinghiswayout.
WhentheMacmillangroupreconvenedacoupleofweekslater,thistimeviaconferencecall,therewasacertainamountofchagrinatTalentedTom’sresponsetotheceaseanddesist,andageneraldearthofotherideastotry.Ontheotherhand,Rolandthepublicistreportedthatthebookwebsitesandbloggersseemedtohaveletthestorypass,mainlybecausetherewasn’tmuchforthemtowritewithoutanydetailsatall,andalso,frankly,becausetheanonymousposterdidsoundlikejustthekindofpersonwhocomesoutofthewoodworkwhensomeonewritesamassivelybestsellingbook.(Jake’scircumstanceswerealsohelpedbyagloriouslywell-timedwarbetweentwonovel-writingexesinWilliamsburg,whosebooks—herfirst,histhird—hadbeenpublishedwithinweeksofeachother,andtogetherformedamutuallypunitiveindictmentoftheirfailedmarriage,albeitwithdifferentvillains.)
“OfcourseIwishwe’dhadabetterresponse,”saidtheattorney,“oratleastaprivateresponse.Butthere’salwaysthepossibilitythatthiswashislasthurrah.Heknowshe’sbeingwatchednow.Hedidn’thavetobeallthatcarefulbefore.Maybehe’lldecideit’sjustnotworthit.”
“I’msurethat’sthecase,”saidWendy.ToJake’searssheseemedtobestrainingforoptimism.“Andanyway,there’sabouttobeabrand-newbookbyJacobFinchBonner.What’sthisdickwadgoingtodothen?AccuseJakeofstealingeverybookhewrites?Thebestthingforallofthisnonsenseistogetthenewnovelintoproductionassoonaspossible.”
Everyoneagreedwiththat,andnoonemoresothanJake,whohadn’tbeenabletowriteawordsincewhathehadprivatelythoughtofastheregret-to-informmessagehadmaterializedonline.Butafterhegotoffthephonehepulledhimselftogether.Thesepeoplewereinhiscorner.Evenifthey’dknownJake’sprecisehistorywithhislatestudent,they’dprobablystillbeinhiscorner!Afterall,peoplewhoworkedwithwriterswerefullyawareofthemany,myriad,andfrequentlybizarrewaysinwhichaworkoffictioncantakerootinanauthor’simagination:fragmentsofoverheardconversations,repurposedbitsofmythology,Craigslistconfessions,rumorsatthehighschoolreunion.Maybethepuntersouttherebelievednovelsfollowedavisitfromthemuse—perhapsthesesamepeoplethoughtbabiesfollowedavisitfromthestork—butsowhat?Writers,editors,peoplewhothoughtaboutitformorethanananosecondunderstoodhowbookstrulybegin,andattheendoftheday,thoseweretheonlypeoplehereallycaredabout.Basta!Itwastimetoturndownthenoiseandgettotheendofhisowndraft.
Andthis,somewhattohisownastonishment,heactuallymanagedtodo.
LessthanamonthlaterheturnedagoodfirstdraftofhisnewnovelintoMatilda.
Aweekafterthat,withrequestsforonlyminorrevisions,Wendyformallyacceptedit.
Thenewbookconcernedaprosecutorwhohadonce,atavulnerablemomentearlyinhiscareer,acceptedabribetosabotageoneofhisowncases,aseeminglyinsignificantmatterinvolvingatrafficstopandanopenglassofrosébeingenjoyedinthebackseat.Thatsmalldecision,however,returnstoassailthecharacterinhislatersuccessandcomplacency,andbringsunanticipatedharmtohimselfandhisfamily.ThenovellackedthethunderboltofCrib’splottwist,butitdidhaveanumberofcoursecorrectionsthathadkeptWendyandherteamatMacmillanguessing,andwhileJakeknewthisworkcouldnotbringarepeatofthephenomenonCribhadbeen(itwastellingthatnoonefromWendyondownsuggesteditwould),thebookstilllookedlikeaviablefollow-up.Wendywashappywithit.MatildawashappywithWendy’shappiness.BothofthemwerehappywithJake.
Jakewasnothappywithhimself,obviously,butthiswaslifeashehadmainlylivedit,notjustduringthelongyearsofprofessionalfailurebutduringthepasttwoyearsofdizzyingsuccess,inwhichhehadmerelytradedoneformofdreadandself-castigationforanother.EachmorninghewoketoAnna’swarmandtactilepresence,andthen,almostinstantly,tothatotherpresence:spectralandunwelcome,remindinghimthattodaytheremightbeanewmessage,entirelycapableofdestroyingeverythinginhisworld.Then,allthroughthehoursthatfollowed,hewaitedfortheterriblethingtohappen,theonethatwouldforcehimtoexplainhimselftoAnna,toMatilda,toWendy,tositintheJamesFrey–designatedspotonOprahWinfrey’scouch,to“holdforStevenSpielberg,please,”torescindhisWriters’AdvisoryBoardpositionatPEN,tohanghisheadwhilehewalkeddownthestreet,desperatenottoberecognized.Eachnighthesankintotheexhaustionofsubterfuge:anotherday’sliescoilingaroundhim,pullinghimintosleeplessness.
“Iwonder,”Annasaidtohim,onenightinMay,“ifyou’re,youknow,allright.”
“What?OfcourseIam.”
Itwasaworryingnotetobestrikingonthatparticularevening,thedesignatedobservationofthesix-monthanniversaryofAnna’sarrivalinNewYork.TheywerebackattheBrazilianrestauranthe’dtakenhertothatfirstnight,andhadjustbeenbroughttheircaipirinhas.
“Well,you’repreoccupied,obviously.Ihavethisfeeling,whenIgethomeatnight,thatyou’remakinganeffort.”
“Makinganeffortisn’tabadthing,necessarily,”Jakesaid.Hewasgoingforalighttone.
“Imean,tobehappytoseeme.”
Hefeltasmallsurgeofalarm.
“Oh.Butthat’swrong.I’malwayshappytoseeyou.Just,youknow,intheweedsabit.Wendyaskedforsomerevisions,youknow.”Thiswasnotuntrue,ofcourse,buttherevisionswereminor,andwouldn’ttakemorethanacoupleofweeks.
“MaybeIcanhelp.”
Helookedather.Sheseemedserious.
“Iwalkalonelyroad,”hesaid,stilltryingtomakeajokeofthis.“Imean,notjustme.Allofuswriters.”
“Ifallofyouwritersarewalkingthesamelonelyroaditcan’tbeallthatlonely.”
Nowitwasimpossiblenottoheartherebuke.Annahadneverbeenthatperson,bangingonthedoor,demandingaccesstohisthoughtsandworries.Fromthemomentthey’dmet,infact,shehadquietlyofferedsomanyofthethingshe’dalreadyknownweremissing—companionship,affection,abetterclassoffurnitureandahigherdegreeofcleanliness—withouteveronceaskinghimthatfatalandsoul-crushingquestion:“Whatareyouthinking?”Now,however,evenAnnaseemedtobereachingthelimitsofhergoodwill.
Orperhaps,atlonglast,shehadenteredhisnameintoasearchengineduringsomeidlemomentatworkorgoneoutforapost-yogacoffeewithsomeacquaintancewho’dsaid:Hey,don’tyoulivewithJacobFinchBonner?Whatadrag,whatthey’redoingtohim.
Butsofar,ithadn’thappened.Andifitdidhappen—whenitfinallyhappened,becauseithadtohappenatsomepoint—wouldsheacceptsomeversionofMatilda’sreassurances(Yep,that’sme:accusedplagiarist!GuessI’vereallymadeitnow.)orsomepainedexcuseaboutsparingherthetraumaofit?
Hewasthinking:no,shewouldnot.Andthenshewouldtrulyseewhohewas,notjustapersonwho’dbeenaccusedofanawfulthing,butapersonwhohadhiddentheaccusationfromher.Fortheentirelengthoftheirrelationship.Andthatwouldbethat:offshewouldgo,thislovingandbeautifulwoman,backtothefarthestendofthecontinentfromwherehewas,andshewouldstaythere.
Sohecontinuedtonottellher,andtojustifynottellingher:
Howcouldshepossiblyunderstand?Itwasn’tasifshewasawriter.
“You’reright,”Jaketoldhernow.“Ishouldtrynottobesomuchofanartiste.Just,rightnow,I’mfeelingalittlebit—”
“Yes.Yousaid.Intheweeds.”
“Itmeans—”
“Iknowwhatitmeans.”
Thewaiterarrived,bringingJake’sfraldinhaandAnna’smussels.Whenhedeparted,shesaid,“Mypointis,whatever’smakingyoufeelalittlebit…ormaybeevenmorethanalittlebit,intheweeds,wouldyouconsidersharingitwithme?”
Jakefrowned.Theanswer,ofcourse,was:Nofuckingway.Buttherewereseveralexcellentreasonsnottosaythis.
Heliftedhisglass.Hewashopingtogetbackontoamoreanniversarialtrack.“I’dliketothankyou.”
“Forwhat?”sheasked,alittlesuspiciously.
“Youknow.FordroppingeverythingandmovingtoNewYork.Forbeingsobrave.”
“Well,”shesaid,“Ihadaprettygoodfeeling,fromthestart.”
“CheckingmeoutatSeattleArtsandLectures,”heteased.“Deviouslyarrangingformetocometoyourradiostation.”
“DoyouwishIhadn’t?”
“No!Ijustcan’tgetovertheideathatIwarrantedsomucheffort.”
“Well,”Annasmiled,“youdid.What’smore,youdo.Evenifyou’rewalkingalonelyroad.”
“IknowIcanbeabitofadownersometimes.”
“Thisisnotaboutyoubeingadowner.It’saboutyoubeingdown.Icantakecareofmyownmoods.ButI’vebeenalittleworriedaboutyours.”
Foraveryuncomfortablemoment,hewonderedifhewasabouttocry.Asusual,shesavedhim.
“Honey,it’snotmyintentiontopry.It’scleartomethatsomething’swrong.AllI’msayingis,canIhelp?OrifIcan’thelp,canIatleastshare?”
“No,nothing’swrong,”saidJake,andhepickeduphisforkandknife,asifthisprovedhispoint.“It’ssosweetofyoutobeconcerned.Butreally,mylifeisgreat.”
Annashookherhead.Shewasn’tevenpretendingtowanttoeat.“Yourlifeshouldbegreat.You’rehealthy.Youhaveanicefamily.You’resecure,financially.Andlook,you’resuccessfulattheonlythingyoueverwantedtodo!Thinkofthewriterswhohaven’taccomplishedwhatyou’veaccomplished.”
Hedid.Hethoughtaboutthemallthetime,andnotinagoodway.
“What’sthepointofallofthis,ifyou’renothappy?”sheasked.
“ButIam,”heinsisted.
Sheshookherhead.Hehadasudden,terriblethoughtthatshewassayingsomethingimportanthere.Somethingalongthelinesof:IcameallthiswayforsomeoneIthoughtwasavital,creative,appreciativeperson,onlytofindthismorosecreatureundercuttinghisownhappinessateveryturn.SoI’mgoingbackwhereIcamefrom.Hisheartwaspounding.Whatifshereallywasgoingback?Heretheyweretogether,andhewasafool,failingtoappreciatewhathesoobviouslyhad:success,health,Anna.
“Imean,I’msorryifitseemsIdon’tappreciate…allofthewonderfulthings.”
“Andpeople.”
“Yes.”Henoddedfervently.“BecauseI’dhateto…”
“What?”shesaid,eyeinghim.
“I’dhateto…notarticulatenowgratefulIam…”
Sheshookhersilveryhead.“Grateful,”shesaidwithdisdain.
“Mylife,”Jakesaid,stumblingintotheapparentlyforeignthicketoftheEnglishlanguage.“It’s…somuchbetterwithyouinit.”
“Oh?Well,Idon’tdoubtthat,fromapracticalstandpoint.ButIhavetoadmit,I’dbeenhopingforsomethingmore.Imean,”saidAnna,whowasn’tlookingathimanymore,“IfeellikeIknewmyownfeelingsrightaway.I’lladmit,leavingSeattlewasprobablyacrazythingtodo,butwe’velivedtogetherforsixmonthsnow.MaybenoteveryoneknowshowtheyfeelasquicklyasIdid,butIthinkit’sreallybeenenoughtimenow.AndImean,ifyoustilldon’tknowwhatyouwanttohappenhere,maybethat’sitsownanswer.Atleast,thisisthekindofthingI’mintheweedsabout,ifyouwanttoknowthetruth…”
Hestaredather,andasickfeelingsurgedthroughhim.Eightmonthssincetheirmeeting,sixofthemspentlivingtogetherasacouple,exploringthecity,adoptingacat,meetinghisfamilyandhisfriendsandbroadeningtheirsharedcircle…whatwasthematterwithhim?Washesodistractedbysomemalevolentpieceofshitontheinternetthathewasabouttomissthetrulylife-alteringandentirelyrealpersonontheothersideofthetable?Thisdinnerwasnot,ashe’dsimplyassumed,aroteacknowledgmentoftheirsix-monthanniversary,itwastheendofsomeprivatetrialperiodforAnna.AndJakewasblowingit.Oralreadyhadblownit.Orsurelywouldblowitifhedidn’t…what?
Heaskedhertomarryhim.
Ittookmeresecondsforhertobegingrinning,meresecondsmoreforhimtogrinback,aminuteatmostbeforetheideaofit,ofgettingmarriedtoAnnaWilliamsofIdaho,Seattle,WhidbeyIsland,Seattleagain,andnowNewYork,hadlostallofitsunfamiliarityandbecomeanexciting,cheerful,andaboveallsettledthing.Andthentheywereholdinghandsbesidetheirstillsteamingplates.
“Wow,”saidAnna.
“Wow,”Jakeagreed.“Idon’thavearing.”
“Well,that’sokay.Imean,canwegetaring?”
“Absolutely.”
Anhourlater,havingdispatchedseveraladditionalcaipirinhasandneveroncereturningtotheirprevioustopicofconversation,theylefttherestaurantaninebriatedandverymuchengagedcouple.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
TheOnlyPlaceLefttoGo
Annawasn’tinterestedinanythingelaborate,andneitherofthemsawanypointinwaiting.Theywenttothediamonddistrictandshechosesomethingcalledan“estate”ring(whichmeant“secondhand”withanicername,thoughitdidlookveryprettyonherfinger),andlessthanaweekafterthattheywereatcityhall,waitingonthehardbencheswithalloftheothercouples.AfterabespectacledofficialnamedRaynapronouncedthemmarried,theywalkedafewblockstoChinatownforwhatwouldserveastheirweddingparty.(OnJake’sside:hisparentsandacoupleofcousins,andtwoorthreeofhisWesleyanandMFAfriends.OnAnna’s:acolleaguefromthepodcaststudioandacoupleofthewomenshe’dmetatyoga.)TheyoccupiedtworoundtablesinthebackofaMottStreetrestaurant,eachwithalazySusanofdishesinthemiddle.JakeandAnnabroughtchampagne.
Thefollowingweek,MatildatookthemouttothenewUnionSquareCafetocelebrate,andJakearrivedafewminuteslatetofindhisagentandhisnewwifewiththeirheadstogether,gossipingoverpink-salt-rimmedmargaritasasifthey’dknowneachotherforyears.“Ohmygod,”heheardoneofthemsayashesatbesideAnnainthebooth.Hewasn’tevensurewhichonehadspoken.
“What?”
“Jake!”saidhisagentwithunprecedentedreprove,“youdidn’ttellmeyourwifeworkedforRandyJohnson.”
“Uh…no,”heconfirmed.“Why?”
“RandyJohnson!Soundtrackofmyadolescence.YouknowIgrewupinBellevue!”
Didheknowthat?Hedidn’t,actually.
“Imethimonce,”Matildawenton.“Iwentonhisshowwithafriendofmine,becausewewereorganizingafunrunforsomeworthycause.Actuallytheworthycausewasprobablygetting-the-two-of-us-into-Ivy-League-schools,butnevermindaboutthat.Mydaddroveustothestation.Idon’tthinkitwastheonehe’satnow.”
“ProbablyKAZK,”saidAnna.
“Yeah,maybe.Anyway,hehitonthebothofus,oneaftertheother.Ontheair!Weweresixteen!”
“Well-knownlech,”Annaobserved.
“Mydadwasrightthereinthestudio!”Sheheldupherbeautifullymanicuredhandsinshock.Shehadbutteryblondhair,expensivelytended,andlookedeveryinchthebusy,accomplished,andwell-compensatedManhattanwomanshewas.Besideher,Anna,withhersilverbraid,unpaintednails,andcasualworksweater,seemednotablyyoungerandimmeasurablylesssophisticated.
“Hewouldn’tdoittoday,probably,”Annawassaying.“He’dwaittillthedadwasinthebathroom.”
“Like,howhasthisguynotbeenMeToo’doutofhismiseryyet?”
“Well,Ithinkit’scomeup.Iknowithas,actually.EvenwhileIwasthere,therewassomeissuewithanintern.Butheslitheredthrough.Andanyway,he’saninstitution.Sorry,Jake.Youhavetoforgiveus,cacklingaway.”
“Ijustmetyourwife,”saidMatilda,“andIwanttocackleawaywithherinperpetuity.”
“That’ssokind,”saidAnna.“AndI’vealwaysbeentoldyou’reano-nonsensekindofperson.”
“Oh,Iam!”Matildasaid,asJakeaskedthewaiterforwhatevertheywerehaving.“Butonlyintheoffice.That’smysecret.They’dcallmetheJackal,butthenickname’salreadytaken.It’snotthatIlovetofight,perse;Ijustlovetofightformyclients.BecauseIlovemyclients.Andinthiscase,I’mhappytosay,Ialsolovetheirbrand-newspouses.”Sheliftedherglasstothetwoofthem.“Iamsodelighted,Anna.Idon’tknowwhereyoucamefrom,butI’mgladyou’rehere.”
Thetwoofthemclinked.Jakeliftedhiswatertojointhem.
“ShecomesfromIdaho,”hesaidhelpfully.“Asmalltown—”
“Yeah,veryboring,”saidAnna,touchinghislegunderthetable.“IwishI’dgrownupinSeattle,likeyou.TheminuteIgotthere,forcollege,Iwasjustso…Yes.Allthattechstuffcomingin,andtheenergywithit.”
“Andthefood.”
“Andthecoffee.”
“Nottomentionthemusic,ifyouwereintothat,whichIwasn’t.Icouldneverrockaflannelshirt.Buttherewasrealexcitementaroundit.”
“Andthewater.Andtheferries.Andthesunsetsovertheharbor.”
Thetwoofthemlookedateachother,evidentlysharingasinglerapturousmoment.
“Tellmeaboutyou,Anna,”Jake’sagentsaid,andformostoftheeveningtheytalkedaboutheryearsonWhidbey,andthenattheradiostation,whereshe’dmadeithermissiontogetsomeculturalcontent—literature,performingarts,ideas—intoRandyJohnson’smalodorousstudio.TheytalkedaboutthebooksAnnalikedtoreadandthewinesshepreferred,andwhatshehadalreadyaccomplishedinherfirstmonthsinNewYork.Matilda,Jakewasnotatallsurprisedtodiscover,followedatleasttwoofthepodcastsAnnawashelpingtoproduce,andhewatchedhiswifetakeoutherphonetorecordthenamesofseveralotherssheshouldbelisteningto,aswellasthecontactinformationforanotherofMatilda’sclientswho’dbeenmakingnoisesaboutapodcastofhisown,andwhowasgoingtoneedaverysmart,verystrong-willedproducertohelphim.
“I’llgetintouchwithhimtomorrow,”Annaconfirmed.“I’vebeenreadinghisbookssincecollege.Thisisathrill.”
“He’dbeunbelievablyluckytogetyou.Andyouwon’tputupwithhismansplaining.”
Annagrinned.“ThankstoRandyJohnson,kingofmansplainers,Iwillnot.”
Itwasnotunpleasant,listeningtothetwoofthem,butitwasalsonovel.Thisdinnerwasthefirsttimesincehe’dmetMatilda,threeyearsearlier,thatthesoleoratleastdisproportionatelydominanttopicoftheirconversationwasn’tJacobFinchBonner.OnlywhenitwastimefordessertdidMatildaappeartorememberhewasthere,andshemarkedthisrecognitionbyaskingwhenrevisionsonthenewnovelwouldbedone.
“Soon,”saidJake,immediatelywishingtheycouldgobacktotalkingaboutSeattle.
“He’sworkinghistailoff,”Annasaid.“Icantell,everydaywhenIgethome.He’ssostressedout.”
“Well,giveneverything,I’mnotsurprised,”saidMatilda.
Annaturnedtohimwithaquizzicalexpression.
“Secondnovels,”hesaidshortly.“Imean,fourthnovels,technically,butsincenooneeverheardofmebeforeCrib,it’ssortofmysecondact.It’sterrifying.”
“No,no,”Matildasaid,wordlesslyacceptinghercoffeefromthewaiter.“Don’tthinkaboutthat.IfIcouldonlygetmyclientstostopworryingabouttheircareersthey’dwritetwiceasmanybooksandbealothappieringeneral.Youwouldn’tbelievehowmuchtherapythereisintheserelationships,”shesaid,directingthistoAnnaasifJake—thesubjectofthetheoreticaltherapy—wasnotrightthereatthetablewiththem.“I’mnotlicensed!ItookIntroPsychatPrinceton,andIkidyounot,thatwastheextentofmytraining.ButthefragileegosI’mapparentlyresponsiblefor!Imean,notyourhusband,butsomeofthem…iftheysendmesomethingtoreadandIdon’tgetbacktothemforafewdaysbecauseit’sfivehundredpageslongorit’stheweekendorIhappentohaveotherclientswhoareinthemiddleofauctionsorwinningtheNationalBookAwardorleavingtheirspousesandrunningoffwiththeirresearchassistants,Godforbid!They’reonthephonetomewithaknifeatthewrist.Ofcourse,”shesaid,perhapshearingherself,“Iadoremyclients.Everyoneofthem,eventhetoughones,butsomepeoplemakethingssohardforthemselves.Why?”
Annanoddedsagely.“Iknowhowharditmusthavebeeninthebeginning,forJake.BeforeyouwereinvolvedandCribbecamesuchasuccess.Ittakescouragetokeepgoing.I’msoproudofhim.”
“Thanks,honey,”saidJake.Hefeltasifhewasinterruptingthem.
“I’mproudofhimtoo.Especiallytheselastmonths.”
Again,Annaturnedtohimwithaconfusedlook.
“Oh,it’sallfine,”heheardhimselfsay.“It’llpass.”
“Itoldyouso,”Matildasaid.
“I’llgetthebookdone.AndthenI’llwriteanotherbook.”
“Andanother!”shedeclared.
“Becausethat’swhatwritersdo,right?”
“That’swhatyoudo.Andthankgodforit!”
Henoticed,whentheylefttherestaurant,thatshegaveAnnaanevenlongerhugthantheoneshegavehim,buthewassorelievedthathe’dmanagedtoblockTalentedTomfrominvadingtheirdinnerthatitwasimpossibletoseetheeveningasanythingbutawin.Hisagent,itwasobvious,reallylikedhisnewwife,andinthisshehadalotofcompany.
Inpracticalterms,Jake’spost-marriagelifedidn’tchangeallthatmuch.Annahadoptedforamodifiedmodification,officiallybecomingAnnaWilliams-Bonnerafterfillingouttherequiredtwentyorthirtyformsandwaitingonvariouslinesatvariousagenciestoacquireanewdriver’slicenseandpassport.Theymergedbankaccountsandcreditcardsandhealthinsurancepoliciesandsawanattorneyabouttheirwills.AnnadispatchedthelastofJake’scollegiateandpost-collegiatefurnishings—arecliningchairoffauxleather,aframedPhishposter,ashagrugfromBedBath&Beyond,circa2002—totheirjustrewards,andrepaintedthelivingroom.TheywentforanabbreviatedhoneymoontoNewOrleans,wheretheygorgedthemselvesonoystersandlistenedtojazz(whichAnnaliked)andblues(whichJakeliked)andzydeco(whichneitherofthemliked)atnight.
Onthenighttheyreturnedtothecity,Annawenttodeliveraboxofpralinestoaneighborwho’dfedthecatwhiletheyweregone,andJakelethimselfintotheapartment,droppinganarmloadofmailontothekitchencounter.Hiseyefounditrightaway:anunremarkableenvelopeslippingoutontothegranitecountertopbetweenAnna’scopyofRealSimpleandhisownPoets&Writers,which,nonetheless,gavehimthedeepestchillofhislife.
Frontandcenter,hisaddress.Moreaccurately,theiraddress.
Andintheupperleft-handcorner,thenameTalentedTom.
Helookedatitforalong,terriblemoment.
Thenhepickeditupandrushedwithitintothebathroom,turningonthewaterinthesinkandlockingthedoorbehindhim.Heslitopentheenvelopeandextractedthesinglesheetofpaperinsidewithshakinghands.
Youknowwhatyoudid.Iknowwhatyoudid.Areyoureadyforeveryonetoknowwhatyoudid?Ihopeso,becauseI’mgettingreadytotelltheworld.Havefunwithyourcareerafterthat.
Sothis,hethought,listeningtothedinofhisownbreathovertherunningwater,waswhatworsefeltlike.Thispersonhadcomethroughthescreenintotheactual,tactileworld,andnowJakewasholdinginhishandsanobjectTalentedTom,too,hadheld.Therewasanewandsharphorrorinthat,asifthepaperitselfheldallofthemalevolence,alloftheoutrageJakedidnotdeserve.Thecumulativeweightofittookhisbreathawayandrenderedhimincapableofmovement,andhestayedwherehewasforsolongthatAnnacametothebathroomdoorandaskedifhewasfeelingallright.
Hewasnotfeelingallright.
Eventually,hecrammedthepieceofpaperintoapocketofhisDoppkit,tookoffhisclothes,andgotintotheshower.Hewastryingtothinkitthroughwithwhateverofhiscognitiveabilitiesremainedathisdisposal,butthisprovedimpossibleevenafterhalfanhourunderthehottestwaterhecouldstand.Norwasitpossibleoverthedaysthatfollowed,asheaddedthefurtivecollectionofthemailtohisalreadyobsessivemonitoringoftheinternet.Hesimplycouldnotthinkofhowtogoforward,andthat,ironically,waswhatmadehimrealizetheonlyplacelefttogowasback.
Ripleywaswhatheknew.Ripleywasallhecouldbesureof.SomethingrelevanttohispresentcrisishadtakenplaceatRipley,thatwasobvious,anditwasunderstandable;theheightenedcamaraderieoftheMFAprogram—even(perhapsespecially?)thelow-residencyMFAprogram!—actedpowerfullyuponpeoplewhocouldn’tbe“out”aswritersintheirordinary,dailylives,perhapsnoteventotheirownfriendsandfamilies.Gatheringonanotherwiseemptycollegecampustheywere,perhapsforthefirsttime,suddenlyenfoldedbytheirtribeandabletotalkstory!plot!character!withpeoplethey’donlyjustmetandwouldknowforonlyabrief,intenseperiod.EvanParkermighthavedeclinedtosharehisinfallibleplotwiththeotherstudentsinthemuchtouted“safety”ofJake’sformalworkshop,butitwasentirelypossiblethatsomebodyintheprogramhadmanagedtoconnectwithhim,maybeduringdrinksattheRipleyInn,maybelingeringafteramealinthecafeteria.Ormaybeafterward,atEvanParker’shouseortheotherperson’shouse,oroveremail,withpagesofactualmanuscriptsentbackandforthfor“critique.”
WhoeverTalentedTomwas,hisobvious(iffaulty!)graspofwhathadtranspiredbetweenJakeandhisformerstudentmeantthathe,too,wasconnectedtothatcommunity,oratleasthadcrossedpathswithsomeonewhowas.Andyet,JakehadallowedhisowninvestigationtolapsewithMartinPurcellofBurlington,Vermont.Nowthisassholehadcontactedhimathome,notthroughsomesocialmediaplatform,noteventhroughhisownwebsiteorpublisher,butathisactual,physicalplaceofresidence.Whichhesharedwithhiswife.Thiswaspainfully,powerfullyclose.Thissignaledanunprecedentedintensificationof@TalentedTom’scampaign.Thiswasunacceptable.
Defense,neverthebeststrategy,obviously,wasnolongeranoption,notafterthis.Hehadtoreturntowhatheknewforsure—Ripley—andstartagain,fromthere.
Hehadn’tbotheredtoopenthelargeenvelopecontainingMartinPurcell’smanuscriptpageswhenitarrivedbackinthefall.Sincethenithadbeengatheringdustinaboxunderhisbed,mixedinamongothermanuscripts(sentbyactualfriends,lookingforhis“thoughts”)andadvancegalleys(sentbypublishers,lookingforblurbs).NowJakepulledtheboxoutandwentdiggingthroughit.WhenhefoundPurcell’smailerheslitopentheendandextractedthecoverletter:
DearJake(ifImay),Iamsoincrediblygratefultoyouforagreeingtolookatthesestories!Thankyousomuch!I’dbedelightedtodiscussifyoueverhavetime.Nocommenttoosmall…ortoobig!I’vebeenthinkingofthisasanovelmadeupofshortstories,butmaybethatisbecausetheideaofwritinga“novel”issohugeandterrifying.Idon’tknowhowyounovelistsdoit!Anyway,feelfreetoemailorgivemeacallwhenyou’refinished,andthanksagain.MartinPurcellMPurcell@SBurlHS.edu
Therehadtobesixtypagesinthere,Jakethought.Hesupposedhewouldactuallyhavetoreadthem.Hereturnedtothelivingroom,satdownonthekilim-coveredcouch,andopenedhislaptop.Thecat,Whidbey,followedhim,uncoiledalongJake’sleftthigh,andbegantopurr.
HiMartin!(Hetyped.)I’vebeenreadingyourstuff.Wow—excellentwork.Lotstodiscuss.
Withinacoupleofminutes,Purcellwroteback:
Fantastic!Justsaywhen!
ItwaslateafternoonandthesunhadswungaroundGreenwichAvenueonitswaywest.Hewassupposedtoleaveheresoon,tomeetAnnaataJapaneseplacetheyliked,nearherstudio.
Hewrote:
I’mactuallyheadingtoVermontinacoupleofdays.Whydon’twemeetthere?Maybeeasiertogooverthepagesinperson.
You’rekidding!WhatareyouinVermontfor?
Tofindoutmorefromyou,duh.(Jakedidn’twrite.)
Areading.ButIwasthinkingofstayingforadayortwo.Needtogetsomeworkdone.AndImissVermont!
HesodidnotmissVermont.
Where’sthereading?I’llcome!
Ugh,hewould,wouldn’the?Wherewasthefictionalreading?
It’sactuallyaprivateevent,insomeone’shouse.InDorset.
Dorsetwasoneoftheswankiertownsinthestate.Justthekindofplacesomebodymightimportafamouswriterforaprivateevent.
Oh.That’stoobad.
Butwhydon’twemeetinRutland?Thatis,ifit’snottoofarforyoutotravel.
Heknewitwouldn’tbe.Evenwithouttheprospectofafreeprivatemanuscriptconsultationwithabestsellingauthor,JakehadlongobservedthatVermontersseemedwillingtodriveallovertheirstateatthedropofahat.
Notatall.Straightdown7.
TheyarrangedtomeetonThursdayevening,attheBirdseyeDiner.Thisissogoodofyou,saidMartinPurcell,andJakesaidno,itwasn’t,andthatwasnolie,notevenanexaggeration.MartinPurcellwashisbestwayintotheplacethathadsomehowproducedTalentedTom:endofstory.
Also,itwastimetotakeacloserlookatthetownthathadproducedEvanParker.Longpasttime,actually.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,page98
Samantha’smotherdidn’ttrustdoctors,soshefiguredoneofthemwouldtrytopersuadeherthegrowinglumpinherrightbreastwascancer.BythetimeSamanthasawthelumpherselfitwasactuallyprotrudingoverhermother’sbrastrapandthingshadgone,ofcourse,toofar.Maria,tenbythenandinfifthgrade,triedtopersuadehergrandmothertotrythescorchedearthradiation-plus-chemotheoncologistatCommunityMemorialinHamiltonwassuggesting,butSamantha’smotherfoundthechemounpleasant,andafterthesecondcyclesheannouncedthatshe’dtakeherchanceswithGod.Godgaveheranotherfourmonths,andSamanthahopedshewassatisfied.
Amonthafterthefuneralshemovedintoherparents’oldbedroom,thenicestone,andputMariaintotheroomsheherselfwasvacating,theroomwiththecannonballbedinwhichshehaddreamedofescapeandsulkedthroughpregnancy,allthewayattheotherendofthehall.Thatprettymuchsetthetonefortheirremainingyearstogether.Samanthahadapart-timejobbythen,processingbillsforabranchoftheBassettHealthcareNetwork,andafteratrainingcourseonacompanycomputershesetupinalittleroomoffthekitchen,shewasabletoworkfromhome.Maria,bythetimeshewassix,hadbeengettingherselfupinthemorning,andfromtheageofeightshewasfeedingherselfcerealandpackingherownlunches.Bynineshewaspullingtogetherherowndinners,maintainingtheshoppinglist,andremindingSamanthatopayhertaxes.AtelevenherteacherscalledSamanthainforaconferencebecausetheywantedtoskipMariaaheadagrade.Shetoldthemabsolutelynot.Shewouldn’tgiveanyofthosepeoplethesatisfaction
CHAPTERTWENTY
NobodyComestoRutland
Optingfordoubledutyfromasinglefalsehood,hetoldAnnathathewasgoingtoVermontforafewdaystodoaprivateeventandfinishtherevisionsWendywanted.Naturallyenough,shewantedtogowithhim.
“I’dlovetoseeVermont!”shesaid.“I’veneverbeentoNewEngland.”
Foramomentheactuallyconsideredlettinghercome,butofcoursethatwasaterribleidea.
“IthinkifIholeupsomewhereIcankindofpowerthroughwhatIneedtodo.Ifyou’retherewithme,I’mgoingtowanttospendtimewithyou.AndIjust…IwanttodothatafterIgetsomethingtoWendy.SoIcanenjoyit,andnotfeelIshouldbedoingsomethingelse.”
Shenodded.Sheseemedtounderstand.Hehopedsheunderstood.
JakedroveupthroughwesternConnecticutonRoute7,stoppingforlunchinManchesterandarrivingathisinninRutlandaroundfive.There,inhisrock-hardfour-poster,hefinallyacquaintedhimselfwithMartinPurcell’sstories,whichwereflaccidandpointless,populatedbyforgettablecharacters.Purcellseemedtohaveaparticularinterestinyoungpeopleastheyfalteredbetweenadolescenceandadulthood—notsurprising,perhaps,givenhisworkasahighschoolteacher—butheseemedincapableoflookingbeyondthesuperficial.Onecharacterhadaninjurythatpreventedhimfromfinishingapromisingtrackseason.Anotherfailedatest,puttinghercollegescholarshipinjeopardy.Aseeminglydevotedyoungcouple—devotedforteenagers,atleast—becamepregnantandtheboy,instantly,abandonedhisgirlfriend.(JakewonderedatPurcell’sclaimthatthiswas,orwasmeanttobe,a“novelinstories”—thesameconceithehimselfhadusedwithhissecondbook,Reverberations.Jakehadn’tfooledanyonethen,andPurcellwasn’tfoolinganyonenow.)Intheendhecameupwithafewpointstomakeandafairlyobvioussuggestionofhowtomoveforward—focusontheyoungcouple,letthecharactersintheotherstoriesmoveintothebackground—andthenhewenttomeetMartinPurcellatthediner.
InVermont,peoplewithmoneylivedinplaceslikeWoodstock,Manchester,Charlotte,Dorset,andMiddlebury,notinRutland,andwhileRutlandwasmuchlargerthanmostotherVermonttownsitfeltlikeasemi-depresseddrive-throughtodaywithmanyofitsgreatoldhousesrepurposedforbailbondsmen,abortion“counselors,”andwelfareagencies,andinterspersedwithstripmallsandbowlingalleysandthebusstation.Jake’sinnwaslessthanhalfamilefromtheBirdseyeDiner,buthedrovethethreeminutes,wishinghe’dthoughttolookupaphotographofMartinPurcelloverthecourseoftheafternoon.Assoonashegotinsidethedoor,though,amanstoodupinaboothhalfwaydownthelengthoftheroomandwaved.Jakewavedback.Asfarashecouldrecall,he’dneverlaideyesontheguybeforetonight.
“Wasn’tsureyou’drememberwhatIlookedlike,”saidMartinPurcell.“ThoughtI’dbettergetherealittleearly.”
“Oh,Irecognizeyou,”Jakelied,slidingintothebooth.“Though,youknow,asIwasdrivinghereIthought,Ishouldhavetriedtofindaphotoonline,justtobesureIdidn’tsitdownwithsomebodyelse.”
“MostpicturesofmeonlineI’mstandingbehindabunchofroboticsnerds.Icoachtheclubatmyschool.Statechamps,sixoutofthelasttenyears.”
Jaketriedtorustleupsomeenthusiasmtogoalongwithhiscongratulations.
“Reallyniceofyoutodrivedown,”hesaid.
“Hey,reallyniceofyoutolookovermystuff!”Purcellsaid.Hewasgreatlyexcited.“I’mstillinshock.I’vebeentalkingtomywifeaboutit.Idon’tthinkshebelievedmewhenIsaidyou’dagreedtodothatforme.”
“Oh,it’snotrouble.Imissteaching.”This,too,wasalie.
TheBirdseyewasaclassicspecimenofadiner,withaqua-and-black-checkeredtilesandashiningstainlessbarandstools.Jakeorderedaburgerandachocolateshake.Purcellwantedthechickensoup.
“Youknow,IwassurprisedyouwantedtomeetinRutland,though.NobodycomestoRutland.EverybodycomesthroughRutland.”
“Exceptthepeoplewholivehere,Iguess.”
“Yeah.Whoeverthegeniustownplannerwas,whodecidedoneofthestate’sbusiestroutesoughttorundownthemainstreet,heshould’vebeentarredandfeathered.”Purcellshrugged.“Maybeitseemedlikeagoodideaatthetime,Idon’tknow.”
“Well,you’reahistoryteacher,aren’tyou?Youprobablyseethingsfrommoreofabackward-lookingperspective.”
Theguyfrowned.“DidItellyouIwasahistoryteacher?Mostpeople,becausetheyknowIwritestories,assumeIteachEnglish.ButI’lltellyouadarksecret.Idon’tlovereadingfiction.Otherpeople’sfiction.”
That’snosecrettome,thoughtJake.
“No?Youprefertoreadhistory?”
“Iprefertoreadhistoryandwritefiction.”
“YoumusthavefoundthatchallengingatRipley.Readingyourclassmates’work.”
TheirwaitressbroughtJake’smilkshakeinafullglassandahalf-fullsteeltumbler.Ittastedamazingandsankstraighttothepitofhisstomach.
“Oh,notreally.Ithinkwhenyougointoasituationlikethatyouadapt.IfI’mgoingtobeaskingpeopleinmyworkshoptogivemeagenerousandclosereadingofmywriting,Ineedtodothesameforthem.”
Jakedecidedthismomentwasasgoodasany.“Sadly,myownstudentdidn’tfeelthatway.Mylatestudent.”
Purcell,toJake’sdismay,sighedatthis.“IwonderedhowlongitwouldtakeustogetaroundtoEvanParker.”
Jakeretreatedinstantly,butnotverypersuasively.
“Well,Irememberyoumentionedhewasfromthisarea.Rutland,right?”
“That’sright,”saidPurcell.
“Iguesshe’sbeenonmymindtoday.Hehadsomekindofabusinesshere,Ithink?Abarofsomekind?”
“Tavern,”saidPurcell.
Thewaitressreturnedandsetdowntheirplateswithaflourish.Hisburgerlookedmammoth,withfriespiledupsohightheyspilledontothetablewhentheplatelanded.Purcell’ssoup,despitethefactthatitwasbilledasanappetizer,wasalsoinameal-sizedbowl.
“Theycertainlyknowhowtoeatuphere,”Jakeobservedwhenshe’dgone.
“Havetosurvivethewinters,”saidPurcell,takinguphisspoon.
Foramoment,conversationtookabackseat.
“It’snicethatyoutwokeptupwitheachother.AfterRipley,Imean.It’sprettyisolated.”
“Well,Vermontisn’texactlytheYukon,”Purcellsaid,withadefiniteedgetohistone.
“No,Imean…forusaswriters.We’resoaloneinwhatwedo.Whenyougetatasteofthatfellowship,it’ssomethingyouwanttoholdonto.”
Purcellnoddedeagerly.“ThatwasjustwhatIwashopingtofindatRipley.Maybeevenmorethantheteachers,justthatconnectiontootherpeopledoingwhatIwantedtodo.Soyeah,Iabsolutelykeptupwithafewoftheothers,Evanincluded.HimandIsenteachotherstuffforacoupleofmonths,untilhispassing.”
Inwardly,Jakewincedatthis,thoughwhetheritwasduetothethoughtof“afewoftheothers”seeingParker’sworkinprogressortothe“himandI”wasn’timmediatelyclear.
“Weallneedareader.Everywriterdoes.”
“Oh,Iknow.It’swhyI’msoappreciative—”
ButJakedidn’twanttogothere.Atleast,notbeforeheabsolutelyhadto.
“Soyousenthimthesamestoriesyousentme?Andhesentyouhiswork,too?Ialwayswonderedwhathappenedtothatnovelhewasworkingon.”
Itwasarisk,ofcourse.He’dbeenprettysurethatifPurcellhadactuallyreadEvanParker’sworkinprogresshe’dhavementioneditscommonalitywithCribbynow.Andafterall,thiswaswhathe’dcomesofartofindout.
“Well,Isenthimmine,forsure.Hehadacoupleofmystorieswhenhepassed,thathewasgoingtosendbackeditson,buthekepthisownstuffprettyclosetothechest.Ionlyeversawacoupleofpages.Awomanwholivedinanoldhousewithherdaughterandworkedonapsychichotline?That’swhatIremember.YouprobablysawwaymoreofthatnovelthanIdid.”
Jakenodded.“Veryreticentintheworkshopitself,whenitcametohisproject.Thosesamepagesyoumentioned,thatwasallheeverturnedin.It’scertainlyallIeversaw,”hesaidpointedly.
Purcellwasdiggingintothebottomofhisbowlforthechicken.
“D’youthinkhehadotherfriendsintheprogramhemighthavebeentalkingto?”
Theteacherlookedup.HeheldJake’sgazeforabittoolong.“Doyoumean,washeshowinghisworktoanyoneelse?”
“Ohno,notspecifically.Ijustthought,youknow,it’sashamehegotsolittleoutoftheprogram.Becausehe’dhavebeenhelpedbyagoodreader,andifhedidn’twantmyhelp,maybehemanagedtoconnectwithoneoftheotherteachers.BruceO’Reilly?”
“Ha!Everybladeofgrasshasitsstory!”
“Ortheotherfictionteacher.FrankRicardo.Hewasnewthatyear.”
“Oh,Ricardo.Evanthoughtthatguywaspathetic.Nowayhewenttoeitherofthosetwo.”
“Well,maybeoneoftheotherstudents,then.”
“Look,nooffensetoyou,becauseobviouslyI’mnotarguingwithyoursuccess,soifbondingwithfellowwritershelpedyouout,that’sgreat,andI’mallforitmyselforIwouldn’thavewantedtogotoRipleyandIwouldn’thaveaskedyoutoreadmystuff.ButEvanwasneverintothecommunityofwritersaspect.Hewasagreatguytogotoaconcertwith,oroutforameal.Butthetouchy-feelythingsabout,youknow,writing?Thatstuffinthecatalogaboutouruniquevoicesandourstoriesonlywecouldtell?Thatwassonothim.”
“Okay.”Jakenodded.Hewasrealizing,withacertainextremediscomfort,thatheandEvanParkerhadsharedsomethingelse,quiteapartfromtheplotofCrib.
“Andallthestuffaboutthecraftofwriting,andtheprocessofwriting,andallthat?Nevertalkedaboutit.I’mtellingyou,Evandidn’tshare,notpagesandnotfeelings.Likethesongsays:Hewasarock.Hewasanisland.”
Itwasamassiverelieftohear,butofcourseJakecouldn’tsaythat.Whathesaid,instead,was:“Kindofsad.”
Theteachershrugged.“Hedidn’tstrikemeassad.It’sjusthowhewas.”
“But…didn’tyousayhiswholefamilywasgone?Hisparentsandhissister?Andhewassuchayoungguy.That’ssomeawfulluck.”
“Sure.Theparentsdiedalongtimeago,andthenthesister,I’mnotsurewhenthathappened.It’stragic.”
“Yes,”Jakeagreed.
“Andthatniece,theonementionedintheobituary,Idon’tthinksheevenshowedupatthememorialservice.Ididn’tmeetanyonetherewhosaidtheywererelated.Theonlyoneswhogotupandspokewerehisemployeesandhiscustomers.Andme.”
“That’sashame,”saidJake,pushingtheuneatenhalfofhisburgeraway.
“Well,theycouldn’thavebeenclose.Heneverevenmentionedhertome.Andthedeadsister,man,thatonehehated.”
Jakelookedathim.“Hate’saprettystrongword.”
“Hesaidshe’ddoanything.Idon’tthinkhemeantitinagoodway.”
“Oh?Whatwaydidhemeanit?”
Butnowtheguywaslookingathimwithfranksuspicion.Itwasonethingtospendabitoftimeonamutualacquaintance,maybeespeciallyamutualacquaintancewhohaddiedfairlyrecentlyandfairlycloseby.Butthis?CoulditpossiblybethatJakeBonner,theNewYorkTimesbestsellingnovelist,hadnotcometoRutlandforthesolepurposeofdiscussingacompletestranger’sshortstories?Becausewhatotherreasoncouldtherebe?
“Ihavenoidea,”Purcellsaidfinally.
“Oh.Sure.Hey,sorryaboutallthequestions.He’sjustbeenonmymindtoday,likeIsaid.”
“Right.”
AndJakethoughthe’dbetterleaveitthere.
“Soanyway,Iwanttotalkaboutyourstories.They’reverystrong,andIhaveacoupleofideasabouthowtomovethemforward.Imean,ifit’sallrightformetosharethemwithyou.”
Purcell,naturally,seemeddelightedwiththischangeofdirection.Jakespentthenextseventy-fiveminutespayingthepiper.Healsomadeapointofpickingupthecheck.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Boo-hoo,SoSad
Aftertheysaidgood-byeintheparkinglothewatchedMartinPurcellgetinhiscarandheadnorth,backtowardBurlington,thenhewaitedinhisowncarforafewminutes,justtobeonthesafeside.
TheParkerTavernwasjustoffRoute4,midwaybetweenRutlandandWestRutland,itsneonParkerTavernFoodandLiquorvisiblefromfardownthestreet.AsJakepulledintothelot,hesawtheothersignherememberedfromtheRutlandHeraldstory,thathand-paintedHappyHour3–6.Thelotwasveryfullandittookhimafewminutestofindaspot.
Jakewasn’tmuchofatavernguy,buthehadabasicideaofhowtobehaveunderthecircumstances.HewentinsideandtookaseatatthebarandaskedforaCoors,thenhetookouthisphoneandscrolledabit,soasnottoseemoverlyeager.He’dchosenastoolwithoutanyoneoneitherside,butitdidn’ttakelongforaguytomoveinbesidehim.HenoddedatJake.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Youwantanythingtoeat?”thebartenderaskedthenexttimehecameby.
“No,thanks.MaybeanotherCoors,though.”
“Yougotit.”
Agroupoffourwomenentered,allintheirthirties,heguessed.TheguyonJake’slefthadswiveledawayfromhim,andwasdefinitelykeepinganeyeonthewomenattheirtable.Adifferentwomantooktheseattohisright.Heheardherorder.Amomentlater,heheardhercurse.
“Sorry.”
Jaketurned.Shewasaroundhisownage,andbig.
“Begyourpardon?”
“Isaidsorry.’CauseIcursed.”
“Oh.That’sokay.”Itwasmorethanokay.Itrelievedhimofhavingtostarttheconversation.“Why’dyoucurse?”
Shegesturedatthetelevision.Itwasinthecornerofthebar,upneartheceiling.Trumpwastalkingwiththesoundoff.
“Youcantell,whenyoucan’thearhim,thathe’slying.I’vetriedit,likeanexperiment.Whenthesound’sonyoucan’talwaysbesure.Butwhenit’soff,it’ssoobvious.”
Jakelaughedinspiteofhimself.“Alotofpeoplesaywheneverhe’stalkinghe’slying.”
“‘Alotofpeoplesay.’That’ssomethinghe’dsay.”
“Oh.Sorry.”
“Nah,it’sokay.”
Herdrinkarrived,thoughJakehadn’theardheractuallyorder.Itwassomethingovertlytropical,withasliceofpineappleandalittlepaperumbrella.
“Thanks,doll,”thewomansaidtothebartender.Thensheputawayhalfofitinasinglelongswallow.Jakedidn’timagineitwasdoingheranygood.Thusfortified,sheturnedbacktoJakeandintroducedherself.“I’mSally.”
“Jake.Whatkindofdrinkisthat?”
“Oh,somethingtheyputtogetherforme,special.It’smybrother-in-law’splace.”
Score,thoughtJake.He’ddonenothingtodeserveit,buthe’dtakeit.
“Yourbrother-in-lawnamedParker?”
Thewomanlookedathimasifhehadjustinsultedher.Shehadlongandsuspiciouslybrightyellowhair,sothinherscalpshowedthroughinpatches.
“Parkerwasthenameoftheguywhohaditbefore.Hedied,though.”
“Oh,that’stoobad.”
Sheshrugged.“Notmyfavoriteperson.Grewuphere.Webothdid.”
JakedetouredtoaskSallyafewofthequestionssheplainlywantedhimtoask.HelearnedthatSallyhadmovedtoRutlandasakid,fromNewHampshire.Twosisters,onedead.Shewasraisingherlatesister’skids,shetoldJake.
“Thatmustbehard.”
“Nah.Goodkids.Butfuckedup.Thankstotheirmother.”Sheliftedheremptyglass,halfinsalute,halfasasignaltothebartender.
“Soyougrewupwiththeguywhoownedthisplacebefore?”
“EvanParker.Coupleyearsaheadofmeinschool.Datedmysister.”
Jakewascarefulnottoreact.“Really?Smallworld.”
“Smalltown.Also,hedatedprettymucheveryone.If‘date’isreallytheword.I’mnotsureheisn’tthefatherofmyoldernephewifyouwanttoknowthetruth.Notthatitmatters.”
“Well,that’s…”
“Thatwashisspot,behindthebar.”Sheheldupheralreadyhalf-drainedglassandtippedittowardthefarendoftheroom.“Kneweverybodywhocamein.”
“Well,theownerofabarhastobesocial.Partofthejob,listeningtopeople’sproblems.”
Shegrinnedathim,butitwasfarfromahappygrin.“EvanParker?Listentoanyone’sproblems?EvanParkerdidn’tgiveashitaboutanyone’sproblems.EvanParkerdidn’tgiveashitaboutanyonebuthimself.”
“Isthatright?”
“Isthatright,”Sallymockedhim.Shewasslurring,eversoslightly,henoticed.Itoccurredtohimthatthetropicalbeveragewasn’therfirstdrinkoftheevening.“Yeah,that’sright.Whydoyoucare,anyway?”
“Oh.Well,Ijusthaddinnerwithanoldfriend.We’rebothwriters.Andmyfriendsaidtheguywhousedtoownthisbarwasawriter,too.Hewaswritinganovel.”
Sallythrewbackherheadandlaughed.Shewassoloudthatacoupleofconversationsaroundthemstopped,andpeopleturnedtolook.
“Likethatassholecouldeverwriteanovel,”shefinallysaid,shakingherhead,decliningfurtheramusement.
“Youseemsurprised.”
“Comeon,theguyprobablyneverevenreadanovel.Didn’tgotocollege.Wait,maybecommunitycollege.”Sheleanedforwardonthebarandlookeddowntotheend.“HeyJerry,”sheyelled.“DidParkergotocollege?”
Aburlymanwithadarkbeardlookedupfromhisownconversation.“EvanParker?RutlandCommunity,Ithink,”heshouted.
“Thatyourbrother-in-law?”
Sallynodded.
“Well,maybehetookawritingclassorsomethinganddecidedtogiveitatry.Anybodycanbeawriter,youknow.”
“Sure.I’mwritingMoby-Dick,myself.Whataboutyou?”
Helaughed.“I’mdefinitelynotwritingMoby-Dick.”
Nowshewasslurringevenmore,henoted.“Dick”hadbeenrenderedas“deek,”and“myself”as“myshelf.”Afteramoment,hesaid:“Ifhewaswritinganovel,Iwonderwhatitwasabout.”
“Sneakingintogirls’bedroomsatnight,probably.”Hereyeswerehalfclosed
Hedecidedtotrysomethingelsebeforehelostherentirely.
“Youmusthaveknownhiswholefamilyifyougrewuptogether.”
Shenoddedglumly.“Yep.Theparentsdied.Wewereinhighschool.”
“Bothdied?”Jakeasked,asifhedidn’talreadyknow.
“Together.Inthehouse.Wait.”Sheleanedforwardonthebaragain.“HeyJerry?”sheyelled.
Downattheend,thebrother-in-lawlookedup.
“EvanParker’sparents.Theydied,right?”
Jake,whocouldhavedonewithoutallthisshoutingofParker’sname,wasrelievedtoseethebrother-in-lawliftuphishand.Amomentlaterhe’dendedhisconversationandmadehiswaytowherehisinebriatedsister-in-lawwasseated.
“JerryHastings.”HeextendedhishandtoJake.
“I’mJake,”saidJake.
“YouaskingaboutEvan?”
“No,notreally.JustaboutwheretheParkercamefrom.Inthename.”
“Oh.Oldfamilyaroundhere.TheyusedtoownthequarryinWestRutland.HundredandfiftyyearstogetfromamansiontoaneedleinthearmThat’sVermont,Iguess.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”saidJake,whoknewexactlywhathemeant.
Jerryshookhishead.“Don’tmeantobecavalier.Hewasinrecoveryforalongtime,butobviouslyhepickedupagain.Lotofpeopleweresurprised.Imean,someaddicts,everydayyouthink,Wonderiftoday’stheday.Others,they’regettingupandgoingtowork,takingcareofbusiness,soitseemsmorelikeoutofnowhere.Butthisplacewasn’tdoingallthatgreat,Ihappentoknow.Andhetoldsomepeoplehewastryingtosellhishouse,getsomemoneyintothebusiness.”Heshrugged.
“HeheardParkerwaswritinganovelwhenhedied,”Sallyinformedherbrother-in-law.
“Thatso?Fictionalnovel?”
Unfortunatelynot,thoughtJake.IfonlyEvanParker’snovelhadbeenfictional,butunfortunatelyitwasquitereal.
“Iwonderwhatitwasabout?”Jakesaidaloud.
“Whydoyoucare?”Sallysaid.Shehadturnedsomecornerintobelligerence.“Youdidn’tevenknowtheguy.”
Helifteduphismug.“You’reabsolutelyright.”
“Whatwereyouaskingabouttheparents?”Jerrysaid.“Theydied.”
“Iknowtheydied,”Sallysaidwithluxuriantsarcasm.“Wasn’titlikeagasleakatthehouseorsomething?”
“Notagasleak.Carbonmonoxide.Fromthefurnace.”OverSally’sheadhewasgivingthebartenderadiscreethandgesture,whichmeant—ifJakewasinterpretingitcorrectly—nomoreforthisone.“YouknowthehouseI’mtalkingabout?”heaskedJake.
“How’shesupposedtoknow?”Sallyrolledhereyes.“Youeverseenthisguybeforetonight?”
“I’mnotfromhere,”Jakeconfirmed.
“Right.Well,bighouseinWestRutland.Like,ahundredyearsold.RightnearthequarryonMarbleStreet.”
“AcrossfromtheAgway,”saidSally,obviouslyforgettingthepointshe,herself,hadjustmade.
“Okay,”saidJake.
“Wewerestillinhighschool.Wait,maybeEvanwasoutalready,butthesisterwasyourclass,wasn’tshe?”
Sallynodded.“Bitch,”shesaiddistinctly.
Jaketriedhardtostiflehisnaturalreaction.
ButJerrywaslaughing.“Youdidnotlikethatgirl.”
“Shewasapieceofwork.”
“So,wait,”saidJake,“theparentsdiedintheirhomebutthedaughterdidn’t?”
“Bitch,”saidSallyagain.
ThistimeJakecouldn’thelpstaringather.Weretheynotdiscussingayoungpersonwhoseparentshadbothdiedwhileshewasinhighschool?Andintheirownhome?Whichwouldalsohavebeenherownhome?
“LikeIsaid.”Herbrother-in-lawgrinnedatJake.“Shedidnotlikethatgirl.”
“Nobodylikedher,”Sallysaid.Shesoundedglumnow.Maybeithadgottenthroughtoherthatshe’dbeencutoffatthebar.
“Shediedtoo,”JerrytoldJake.“Parker’ssister.Afewyearsago.”
“Burnedup,”saidSally.
Hewasn’tsurehe’dheardthataccurately.Heaskedhertorepeatit.
“Isaid,sheburnedup.”
“Oh,”Jakesaid.“Wow.”
“WhatIheard.”
“That’shorrible.”
Anditwas,itobviouslywas,butevenso,Jakecouldn’tmustermorethanabaselinehumanempathyfortheseancillarymembersofEvanParker’sfamily,notjustbecausehedidn’ttrulycareaboutanyofthesepeople,butbecausenoneoftheeventsunderdiscussion—asister’sprematureandapparentlygrislydeath,acarbonmonoxidepoisoninginanoldhouse,decadesago,even,attheendoftheday,EvanParker’sownopiateoverdose—hadanyrealbearingonhisownverycurrent,verypressingconcerns.Andalso,noneofthiswasexactlynewinformation.PredeceasedbybothparentsandasisterhadbeenrightthereinEvanParker’sonlineobituary,whichhe’dreadyearsagoathisowndeskinCobleskill,NewYork,beforeasinglewordofCribhadbeenwritten.
Actually,hewasmorethanreadytoleavetheParkerTavern.Hewasexhausted,atinybitdrunk,andhissituationhadnotbeenhelped—norhislifeinanywayimproved—byanythingJerryorSallyhadtoldhim.Besides,thetwoofthemnowhadtheirheadstogetherandseemedtobediscussingsomeprivatematter,animatedlyandwithclearmutualantipathy.Jaketriedtoreachbacktothelasttopicthey’dshared—EvanParker’ssister,apieceofwork—justsohecouldsaysomethingvaguelyontopicbeforeheleft,butitallfeltverydistantandutterlyirrelevant.Slowlygottohisfeetandextractedhiswallet,thenheputatwentyonthecounter.
“Well,it’ssad,”hesaidtothebackofSally’shead.“Isn’tit?Thewholefamily’sgone.”
“Exceptforthesister’skid,”heheardhersay.
“What?”
“Yousaid,boohoo,sosad,thewholefamily’sgone.”
Hedoubtedhe’dusedtheseexactwords,butitdidn’tseemanimportantpointatthemoment.
“Thekid,”Sallysaidwithgreatexasperation.“Butshewaslike,outofhere.Shelefthometheminuteshecould.Whocouldblameher,withamotherlikethat?Idon’tthinksheevenwaitedtograduatefromhighschool.Don’tletthedoorhitya!”
Andthen,asiftoechothisdismissal,Sallyturnedaway.Hesawnowthatherbrother-in-lawhaddeparted,andthatshehadmadeanewfriendonthenextbarstoolover.Wait,hesaid,butactuallyhecouldn’thavesaidthatoutloudbecauseneitherofthemappearedtohavenoticed.Sohehadtosayitagain:“Wait.”
Sallyturnedbacktolookathim.Sheseemedtorequireamomenttogetherbearings,orpossiblytorememberwhohewas.“Waitwhat?”shesaid,withrealbelligerence.
Wait.EvanParker’sonlylivingrelative.Thatwaswhat.
“Wheredoeshisniecelive?”Jakemanagedtosay.
Shepinnedhimwithalookofextravagantcontempt.“HowthefuckwouldIknow?”shesaid.Andthatreallywastheendoftheirconversation.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages146–47
Theconventionalwisdomwasthattheywerealike,motheranddaughter:bothsmart,bothfeisty,bothhighlyintentonnotspendingtheirlivesinEarlville,NewYork,andincidentallysophysicallysimilar—narrowandtall,withthindarkhairandadefinitetendencytoslouch—thatSamanthastruggledtoseeDanWeybridgeanywhereatallinthegirl.ButwatchingMariagrowup—andSamanthadidwatch,thatwasprettymuchallshedid—afewkeydifferencesgraduallycameintofocus.Maria,inmarkedcontrasttohermother’sfervidplanningfordeparture,seemedtowafttowardthisgoalwithoutmuchobviouseffort,andevenlessinthewayofapparentconcern.ShelackedevenSamantha’ssmallinclinationtoplacate(letalonecapitulateto)others,declinedtogrubforfavorsofanykind,andcouldnothavecaredlessthattherewereadultsinherlife(notablythoseinherschoollife)whowantedtoencourageherandeaseherwayforward.WhereSamanthahadbeendiligentwithschoolworkandcarefulnottomessup(onesignificantexceptionthere!),Mariaturnedinhomeworkwhenshefeltlikeit,departedfromassignmentsiftheyfailedtointeresther,anddisparagedherteacherswhenshethoughtthey’dmisunderstood(translation:weretoostupidtounderstand)thematerial.
Also,Mariawasalesbian,whichmeantthatwhateverelsemighthappen,shewashardlygoingtodroptheballjustshortofthegoalpost,thewayhermotherhad
HerclassmatesincludedthechildrenofColgateprofessorsandthechildrenofColgategradswho’dsettledinthearea(mostlyorganicfarmingormakingart)alongsidethechildrenofthecounty’soldestfamilies(dairyfarmers,countyemployees,plainoldupstatehermits),buttheybrokedownalonganotherdivide:thosedeterminedtomakehighschoolthebesttimeoftheirlivesandthosewhoexpectedtomoveontofarmoreinterestingexperiences.Maria,itwasobvioustoall,wasjustpassingthrough.Shedriftedbetweencliques,unconcernedbyapartyshehadn’theardaboutorsomeriftinthesocialfabricofherclass,evenifshewasoneofthepartiesinvolved.Twicesheshedherentirefriendgroup,leavingpeoplemystifiedandwounded.(AboutthesesocialactsSamanthawascompletelyunaware,untilsomebody’smothercalledhertocomplain.)Andonceshestoppedspeakingtoagirlwho’dbeencomingaroundtothehouseforyears,arupturesoobviousthatevenSamanthaknewaboutitwithoutbeingtold.Maria,whenasked,simplysaid:“Ijustcan’tanymore,withapersonlikethat.”
WhenshewasthirteenshetaughtherselftodriveinthenewSubaru(areplacementforhergrandfather’swhichhadfinallygivenuptheghost),andinfactdroveherselftotheDMVofficeinNorwichtopickupherlearner’spermit.WhenshewasfifteenshemadeoutwithaseniornamedLarainthelightingboothduringarehearsalforLegallyBlonde.Itwasareliefandathrill.AndwhenLaragraduatedafewmonthslaterandimmediatelymovedtoFlorida,Mariaspentmostofthatsummermoping.OrshediduntilshemetGabatthebookstoreinHamilton.Shedidn’tmopeafterthat.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Hospitality
LatethenextmorninghedrovewestonRoute4withtheTaconicRangeaheadandtheGreenMountainsinhisrearviewmirror,intentonfindingthehousewhereEvanParker’sfamilyhadlived.Withoutanexactaddresshewasn’tsurehowdifficultitwasgoingtobe,butonceheturnedoffattheWestRutlandexithediscoveredthatthetowndidn’thavemuchofatherethere;certainlylessofatherethanmostNewEnglandtownswiththeirclassicsquaresandvillagegreens.JakeeasilyfoundMarbleStreetjustbeyondtheoldbricktownhall,andhedrovepastautomotiveshopsandsupermarketsandtheoldquarryitself,whichwasnowanartscenter.AmilelaterhespottedtheAgway,andsloweddown.Thehouse,justpastitontheright,turnedouttobeimpossibletomiss.Hepulledoverandleanedforwardinhisseattotakeitin.
Itwasamassivethree-storyItalianatewithamarblebase,setbackfromtheroadandfranklystunning:large,clean,freshlypaintedyellow,andsurroundedbyintentionalplantings,anencouragingoffsettosomeofthearchitecturaldecayhe’dseenovertheweekend.Whoeverlivedtherenowhadcarefullytrimmedthehedges,andJakecouldseetheoutlineofaformalgardenjustbehindthebuilding.HewasattemptingtoaligntherelativesplendorofwhathewasseeingwithEvanParker’sreportedmoneywoeswhenagreenVolvoslowedbesidehimandturnedintothedriveway.Jakegrabbedforthekeyandturneditintheignition,butalreadythedriverhadclimbedoutandwasgivinghimanunequivocallyfriendlywave.Shewasawomanabouthisownagewithalongandveryredbraiddownherback.Despitethebaggycoatshewore,itwasobviousthatshewasrailthin.Shewascallingsomethingasshewaved.Herolleddownhiswindow.
“I’msorry?”hesaid.
Nowshewaswalkingtowardhiscar,andtheNewYorkerinJakecringed:Whotookthiskindofachancewithatotalstrangerparkedoutsideyourhome?Evidently,aVermonterdid.Shecamecloser.Jakebegangraspingforsomeexplanationofwhyhewashere,buthecouldn’tthinkofanything,whichwasprobablywhyheendedupwithaversionofthetruth.
“I’msosorry.IthinkIknewsomebodywhooncelivedhere.”
“Ohyeah?HadtobeaParker.”
“Yes.Hewas.EvanParker.”
“Sure.”Thewomannodded.“Youknow,hepassedaway.”
“Iheard.Anyway,sorrytobotheryou.IwasjustdrivingthroughtownandIthought,youknow,I’dpaymyrespects.”
“Wedidn’tknowhim,”thewomansaid.“Sorryforyourloss.”
Theironyofthat,ofbeingofferedcondolencesforEvanParker,nearlymadehimconfessrightthere.Butheproducedtherequirednoises.“Thanks.Iwashisteacher,actually.”
“Ohyeah?”shesaidagain.“Inthehighschool?”
“No,no.Itwasawritingprogram.UpatRipley?IntheNortheastKingdom.”
“Ayuh,”shesaid,likeatrueVermonter.
“Myname’sJake.Yourhouseisgorgeous.”
Atthis,shegrinned.Shehaddistinctlygrayteeth,henoticed.Cigarettesortetracycline.
“I’mtryingtogetmypartnertorepaintthetrim.Idon’tlikethatgreen.Ithinkweneedtogodarker.”
Ittookhimamomenttounderstandthatsheactuallywantedhimtoweighinonthisissue.“Youcouldgodarker,”hesaidfinally.Itseemedtobetherightanswer.
“Iknow!Mypartner,shehiredthepainteroneweekendIwasoutoftown.Shepulledafastoneonme.”Thewomangrinnedatthis.Shewasn’tholdingmuchofagrudge,inotherwords.“Myname’sBetty.Youliketoseetheinside?”
“What?Really?”
“Whynot?You’renotanaxmurderer,areyou?”
ThebloodrushedtoJake’shead.Forthebriefestmomenthewonderedifhewas.
“No.I’mawriter.That’swhatItaughtupatRipley.”
“Yeah?Haveyoupublishedanything?”
Heturnedoffthecarandslowlysteppedout.“Acoupleofbooks,yeah.IwroteabookcalledCrib?”
Hereyeswidened.“Seriously?Igotthatoutofthelibrary.Ihaven’treadityet,butI’mgoingto.”
Heheldouthishandandsheshookit.“That’sgreat.Ihopeyoulikeit.”
“Ohmygod,mysister’sgonnalosehershit.ShesaidIhadtoreadit.ShesaidIwouldn’tseethetwistcoming.’CauseI’mthepersonwholeansoverinthemovieandtellsyou,fiveminutesin,what’sgonnahappen.It’slikeacurse.”Shelaughed.
“Thatisacurse,”Jakeagreed.“Hey,it’sreallyniceofyoutoinvitemein.Imean,I’dlovetoseeit.Areyousure?”
“Sure!IwishIdidn’tjusthavealibrarycopy!IfIhadmyowncopyyoucouldsignit.”
“That’sokay.I’llsendyouasignedcopywhenIgethome.”
Shelookedathimasifhe’dpromisedheraShakespeareFirstFolio.
Hefollowedherupthetidydrivewayandthroughthelargewoodenfrontdoor.Betty,assheopenedthedoor,preparedthewaybycalling:“Sylvie?I’vegotaguest.”
Hecouldheararadiogoingoffsomewhereinthebackofthehouse.BettyreacheddowntoscoopupanenormousgraycatandturnedbacktoJake.“Givemeasec,”shesaid,andwentdownthehall.Hewastryingtotakeitallin,greedilyrecordingdetails.Therewasawidewoodenstaircaseascendingfromaverygrandcentralhallwaythathadbeenpaintedafairlystomach-churningpink.Tohisright,alargeparlorvisiblethroughanopendoor,andtohisleft,anevenmoreformallivingroomthroughanopenarchway.Thedimensionsandthedetails—dentilcrownmolding,highbaseboards—wereahighlyintentionaldisplayofwealth,butBettyandSylviahadprettymuchbludgeonedanytraceofgrandeurtodeathwithfolksysigns:ALLYOUNEEDISLOVE…ANDACAT!andCRAZYCATLADYlinedthewallupthestairs,andvisibleabovetheparlormantelpiecewasLOVEISLOVE).Therewasalsoacacophonyoftoo-brightarearugs,allbutobliteratingthewoodenfloorboards,andeverywhereJakelooked,toomuchofeverything:tablescoveredwithknickknacksandvasesofflowerstoohealthyandbrighttobereal,andsomanychairspulledintoacircleitlookedasifagroupwasexpected,orhadrecentlyleft.Hetriedtoimaginehisformerstudenthere:descendingthisstaircase,followingBetty’sstepsintothekitchenheassumedwasattheendofthehall.Hecouldn’tdoit.Thewomenhadplacedakitsch-encrustedbarrierbetweenwhateverhadbeenherebeforeandwhatwasherenow.
Bettyreturned,withoutthecatbutwithastoutdarkwomaninabatikheadscarf.“Sylvia,mypartner,”shesaid.
“Ohmygod,”saidSylvia.“Ican’tbelievethis.Afamousauthor.”
“Famousauthorisanoxymoron,”saidJake.Itwashisgo-toassertionofpersonalmodesty.
“Ohmygod,”saidSylviaagain.
“Yourhouseisjustbeautiful.Insideandout.Howlonghaveyoubeenhere?”
“Justacoupleofyears,”saidBetty.“Itwassorun-downwhenwemovedin,youwouldn’tbelieveit.Wehadtoreplaceeverydamnthing.”
“Someofthemtwice,”saidSylvia.“Comeonback,havesomecoffee.”
Thekitchenhaditsowncomplementofsignage:SYLVIA’SKITCHEN(SEASONEDWITHLOVE)overthestove,HAPPINESSISHOMEMADEabovethetable,whichwasitselfcoveredwithabrightbluecat-festoonedglazedcloth.“Doyoulikehazelnut?It’sallwedrink.”
Jake,wholoathedallflavoredcoffees,attestedthathedid.
“Sylvie,where’sthatlibrarybook?”
“Ihaven’tseenit,”saidSylvia.“Cream?”
“Yes.Thanks.”
Shebroughthimthemug.Itwaswhitewithablacklinedrawingofacatonit,andthewords“FelineGood.”
“There’sdonuts,”saidBetty.“That’swhereIwascomingfrom.YouknowJones’Donutsintown?”
“Well,no,”hesaid.“Idon’tknowthetownatall.Iwasreallyjustdrivingthrough.Iwasn’texpectingallthisVermonthospitality!”
“Ihavetoadmit,”saidSylvia,whocamebearingaplateofoversizedglazeddonuts,“IsneakedalookatGoogleonmyphone.You’reobviouslywhoyousaidyouare.IfnotI’dbeoutbackcallingthetroopers.Incaseyouthoughtwe’reallhospitalityandnocommonsense.”
“Oh.”Jakenodded.“Good.”Hewasrelievedhehadn’tlied,outinthecar.Hewasrelievedthathisrecentproclivityforlyinghadn’tfullyreplacedadefaultinstincttotellthetruth.
“Ican’tbelievethisplaceusedtoberun-down.Youcouldnevertellthat,now!”
“Iknow,right?Buttrustme,thewholefirstyearwewerespacklingandpainting,peelingoffoldwallpaper.Therehadn’tbeenanyseriousupkeepinyears.Whichshouldn’thavesurprisedus.Peopleactuallydiedinthishousebecauseofbadmaintenance.”
“Nomaintenance,”Bettysaid.Shehadreturned,bringingherowncoffee.
“Whatdoyoumean?Likeafire?”
“No.Carbonmonoxideleak.Fromtheoilfurnace.”
“Really!”
TheenormousgraycathadtrailedBettyintothekitchen.Nowheleaptintoherlapandsettledhimselfdown.
“Doesthatweirdyouout?”ShelookedatJake.“Housethisold,itstandstoreasonpeoplehavediedinit.Homebirths,homedeaths.Justhowthingsweredonebackthen.”
“Itdoesn’tweirdmeout.”Hetriedasipofhiscoffee.Itwasvile.
“Idon’tliketosaythis,”saidBetty,“butyouroldstudentdiedhere,too.Upstairsinoneofthebedrooms.”
Jakenoddedsolemnly.
“Hey,soIhavetoask,”saidBetty,“whatwasitlike,meetingOprah?”
HetoldthemaboutOprah.TheywerebigOprahfans.
“Aretheygonnamakeamovieoutofyourbook?”
Hetalkedaboutthat,too.OnlythencouldhetrytobringtheconversationbacktoEvanParker,thoughevenashedidhewasn’tsureitwasworththeeffort.ThesetwomightliveintheParkerhouse,butsowhat?Itwasn’tasifthey’devermethim.
“Somyoldstudentgrewuphere,”hefinallysaid.
“Thatfamilywasinthishousefromthetimeitwasbuilt.Theyownedthequarry.Youprobablypassedthequarry,drivinghere.”
“IthinkIdid.”Henodded.“Musthavebeenawealthyfamily.”
“Backthen,sure,”saidBetty.“Butnotforalongtime.Wegotalittlegrantfromthestatetohelpwiththerestoration.WejusthadtoagreetoputitontheChristmashousetourwhenwewerefinished.”
Jakelookedaround.Therewasnothinghe’dseensincecominginsidethatmeritedtheword“restoration.”
“Thatsoundsfun!”
Sylviamadeanunhappynoise.
Bettysaid,“Sure,ahundredstrangersstompingthroughyourrooms,trailingsnow.Butwetookthemoney,sowekeptupoursideofthebargain.LotofpeoplearoundWestRutlandweredyingtoseetheinsideofthishouse,andthatwasnothingtodowiththeworkwe’ddone.Peopleknewthishousetheirwholelives.Andthefamily.”
Sylviasaid,“Thatfamilyhadtheworstluck.”
Thereitwasagain,thatphrase,onlybynowitdidn’tstrikeJakeasallthatsurprising.Bynowhehadtherelevantinformation:allfourofthemhaddied,EvanParkerandhissisterandtheirparents,threeofthefourofthemunderthisveryroof.Hesupposedtheywerecollectivelydeservingoftheterm“worstluck.”
“Ididn’tknowhe’ddied,tillrecently,”saidJake.“Actually,Istilldon’tknowhow.”
“Overdose,”Sylviasaid.
“Ohno.Iwasn’tawarehehadthatproblem.”
“Nobodydid.Oratleastthathestillhadtheproblem.”
“Ishouldn’tsaythis,”saidBetty,“butmysisterwasinacertainanonymousgroupwithEvanParker.ItmetinthebasementoftheLutheranchurchinRutland.Andhewasalongtimememberofthatgroup,ifyoutakemymeaning.”Shepaused.“Lotofveryshockedpeople.”
“Hewasintroublewithhisbusiness,weheard,”saidSylviawithashrug.“Thatkindofpressure,it’sprobablynotsurprisinghepickedupagain.Andowningabarwhenyou’resober,thatcouldn’thavebeenfun.”
“Peopledoit,though,”Bettysaid.“Hemanageditforyears.ThenIguesshestoppedmanaging.”
“Ayuh.”
Noonesaidanythingforamoment.
“SoyouboughtthehousefromEvan’sestate?”
“Notexactly.Hehadnowill,buthissister,theonewho’ddiedearlier,shehadakid.Herkidwastheheir.Notthesentimentaltype,thatone.”
“Ohno?”Jakesaid.
“Shemust’vewaitedallofaweekafterherunclediedtoputitonthemarket.Theshapetheplacewasin.”Sylviashookherhead.“Ifithadn’tbeenforthisone,nobody’dhavecomenearit.Fortunatelyforher,Bettyalwayslovedthisplace.”
“Iusedtothinkitwashaunted,whenIwasalittlekid,”Bettyconfirmed.
“Wemadeheranoffershecouldn’trefuse.”Sylviagotuptoliftanothercatoffthekitchencounter.“OrIguesswedid.Wenevermetherinperson.Justdealtwiththeattorney.”
“Thatwasnocakewalk,”saidBetty.“Hewassupposedtogetallthecrapdowninthebasementclearedout.”
“Andtheattic.Andhalftheroomshadstuffinthem.Idon’tknowhowmanytimeswewrotetothatjoker,Gaylord.”
“Gaylord,Esquire,”Bettyrolledhereyes.
“Thatguy,”saidSylvia,grinning.“HeputthatEsquireoneverything.Like,wegetit.Youwenttolawschool.Insecuremuch?”
“Finallywetoldhimwewerehavingitallsenttothedumpifshedidn’tcomeandtakeitaway.Noanswer!Sothat’swhatwedid.”
“Wait,soyoujustthreweverythingout?”
Hehadallowedhimselftoimagine,foronetantalizingmoment,thattherewasaboxofEvanParker’smanuscriptpages,stillsomewherebeneaththisroof.Butthatwasquicklydashed.
“Wekepttheoldbed.Beautifulfour-poster.Probablycouldn’thavegottenitoutifwewantedto.”
“Whichwedidn’t!”Bettysaidwithsatisfaction.
“Andtherewereacoupleofnicerugswesentouttogetcleaned.Probablyforthefirsttimeinacentury.Therest,wegotinahaulerandsentthebilltoMr.Gaylord,Esquire.Ibetyou’llbeshockedtolearnitnevergotpaid.”
“Imean,ifmyfamilyhadahouseforahundredandfiftyyearsI’dbegoingthrougheveryinchofit.Evenifshedidn’tcareabout,y’know,the‘antiques,’you’dthinkshe’dwantherownthings.Everythingyougrewupwith?Justthrowitallaway,sightunseen?”
“Wait,”saidJake.“Theniecegrewupheretoo?Inthishouse?”
Hewastryingtounderstandtheorderofevents,butitallseemedtoresisthim,somehow.Evan’sparentshadlivedanddiedhere,andthenhissisterhadlivedhereandraisedherowndaughterhere,andthen,afterthesister’sdeathandhisniece’sdepartureforcollege,Evanhadmovedbackin?Itmightbeslightlyconfusing,buthesupposednoneofitwasgreatlysurprising.Attheendoftheday,thishousegaveJakeavisualbackdropforEvanParker’sirrelevantchildhood,and,hesupposed,forthefinalyearsofhislife.Butitdidn’texplainanythingelse.
Hethankedthem.Hehadthemwritedowntheiraddressforthesignedbook.“ShouldIsendoneforyoursister,too?”
“Areyoushittingme?Yes!”
Theywerebehindhimwhenhewalkedbackdownthehall,towardthefrontdoor.Hestoppedtoputhiscoatbackon.Thenhelookedup.
Aroundtheinsideofthefrontdoorwasaclarioncallfromtheoldhouse’sdistantpast:afriezeoffadedpaintdepictingachainofpineapples.Pineapples.Itcaughthimandlethimgo,thenitcaughthimagain,andheld.Fiveabovethedoorframe.Tenatleastoneitherside,descendingalmosttothefloor.Theyhadbeenpreservedinastripofnegativespace,aroundwhichtherestofthewallhadbeenrepaintedthatPepto-Bismolpink.
“Ohmygod,”hesaidoutloud.
“Iknow.”Sylviawasshakingherhead.“Sotacky.Bettywouldn’tletmepaintoverthem.Wehadthebiggestfight.”
“It’sastencil,”saidBetty.“IsawthesamethingonceatSturbridgeVillage,justlikethis.Pineapplesallaroundthedooranduparoundthetopsofthewalls.Itgoesbacktowhenthehousewasbuilt,I’mpositive.”
“Wecompromised.Ihadtoleaveastripunpainted.Itlookscrazy.”
Itdidlookcrazy.Itwasalsooneoftheonlythingsleftunderthisroofthatmighthavedeservedtheword“restoration.”Haditbeen,inanysense,restored.
Sylviasaid:“I’mgoingtotouchitup,eventually.Imean,lookatthecolors.Sofaded!IfwehavetokeepitatleastIcanoverpaintthem.Honestly,everytimeIlookatmydoorIthink,whywouldanybodyputpineapplesontheirwalls?ThisisVermont,notHawaii!Whynotanappleorablackberry?Theyactuallygrowhere!”
“Itmeanshospitality,”Jakeheardhimselfsay.Hehadnotbeenabletolookawayfromthem,thefadedchainofthem,becausehewasreeling.Allofthosedisparatepiecesspunaroundhim,refusingtoland.
“What?”
“Hospitality.It’sasymbol.Idon’tknowwhy.”
Hehadreaditsomewhere.Heknewexactlywhere.
Foralongmoment,noneofthemsaidathing.Whatwastheretosay?Andwhyhadn’titoccurredtohim,waybackinhisofficeinRichardPengHall,thatParker’sfirstattemptatanovelwouldprobablydescribethepeoplehe’dknownbest,inthehousethey’donceshared?Itwasthebiggestclichéofallthatawriter’sfirstbookwasautobiographical:mychildhood,myfamily,myhorribleschoolexperience.HisownTheInventionofWonderhadbeenautobiographical,ofcourseitwas,andyetJakehaddeniedEvanParkereventhistokencourtesyinthefellowshipofwriters.Why?
Themistake,aproductofhisownarrogance,hadcosthimmonths.
Thishadneverbeenaboutanappropriation,realorimaginary,betweentwowriters.Thishadbeenafarmoreintimatetheft:notJake’satallbutoneEvanParkerhimselfhadcommitted.WhatParkerhadstolenwassomethinghemusthaveseenupcloseandverypersonal:themotherandthedaughterandwhathadhappenedbetweenthem,righthere,inthishouse.
Ofcourseshewasangry.Notforoneminutehadshewantedherstorytobetold,notbyhercloserelationandcertainlynotbyatotalstranger.Thatmuch,atlonglast,Jakefinallyunderstood.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages178–80
Gabhadparents:amomwho“struggled”andadadwhocameandwent.ShehadasisterwithCFandabrotherwhoseautismwassobadhesometimeshadtobetiedtohisbed.Shehad,inotherwords,ahomelifesodesperateandsadthatevenMaria’sdomesticcircumstancesmusthaveseemedlikesomethingoutofafamilysitcom.ShewasayearbehindMaria,allergictonutsandobligedtocarryanEpi-Peneverywhere,dullasdishwater,andheadedexactlynowhere.
Maria,atleast,wasmarginallynicertobearoundonceGabbecameafixture.Samanthacreditedherselfforbeingnotaprude,notareligiousfreaklikeherownparents,andnotacontrollingassholeingeneral,soshetendedtoseetheadventofherdaughter’srelationshipashavingapositiveimpactonthesefinalyears.Ithadallpassedsoswiftlythatsometimes,whenshewasfirstwakingupinthemorning,inherparents’oldbed,inherchildhoodhome,sheactuallythoughtofherselfasthepersoncountingdownthedaystodeparture,andthenshewouldencounterMariaandGabatthekitchentableeatingleftoverpepperonipizzasfromthenightbefore,andremembershewasanearlythirty-two-year-oldmomabouttosayapermanentsayonaratotheonlychildshewaslikelytohave.Hereandgoneasifnoneofithadeverhappened,andshewascatapultingbackward,tenyears,thirteenyears,sixteenyearstothissamekitchentablewithhermotherandherfatherandherownlosthopes,andtheclassroomwhereshehadoncevomitedonherproblemset,andtheverycleanroomintheCollegeInnwhereDanielWeybridgehadpromisedherhecouldn’tgetherpregnant,notevenifhewantedto.
OnemorninginthespringofwhatshouldhavebeenMaria’sjunioryear,shegotacallfromMr.Fortis,ofallpeople,lettingherknowthatshehadtocomeinandsignsomereleasesoherdaughtercouldgraduateearly.Thiswasmystifying,butshewentthatafternoon,findingtheoldmathteacher—hehadbeenmadeassistantprincipalyearsbefore—morebent,moregray,andsoaddledthathefailedtoacknowledgeherasapersonhehadevermetbefore,letaloneaformerstudent,letaloneagiftedformerstudenthe’dfailedtosupportwhenshe’dbeenforcedtodropoutofschool.AnditwasfromthismanshehadtolearnherdaughterhadgottenherselfascholarshiptoOhioState.
OhioState.SamanthaherselfhadneverbeentoOhio.She’dneverbeenoutofNewYork.
“Youmustbesoproud,”saidFortis,theoldfool.
“Sure,”shesaid.
Shesignedthepaperandwenthome,whereshewentstraighttoMaria’sroom,formerlyherownroom,andfoundthepapersinaneatfilemarkedOSUinthebottomdrawerofherdaughter’soldoakdesk,formerlyherownoldoakdesk.OnewasaformalacceptancetotheHonorsPrograminArtsandSciencesandanotherwasanotificationofsomethingcalledaNationalBuckeyeScholarshipandsomethingelsecalledaMaximusScholarship.SamanthasatthereforalongtimeatthefootofMaria’sneatlymadebed.Thiswasthesamecannonballfour-postersheherselfhadsleptinasachild,anddreamedofescapein,andbeenimprisonedinwhileincubatingthatbabyshehadn’twantedtocarry,orgivebirthto,orraise.Butshehaddoneallofthosethingswithoutanyoutwardcomplaint,simplybecauseapersonintemporarypoweroverherlifehadtoldhershehadto.Thatperson—herownmother—waslonggone,buthereSamanthastillwas,evenastheobjectofallofthissacrificewasherselfpreparingtofuckoffforever,withoutabackwardglance.
Naturally,shehadnotbeenunawareofthisexit,initself;MariawashardlygoingtomessupherchancethesamewaySamanthaherselfhad,oranyotherway.Fromherearliestyears,whenshe’dtoddledaboutreadinglettersoutloud,shewasheadedforcollegeifnotevenfarther,andsomelife—itwentwithoutsaying—beyondEarlvilleandprobablyupstateNewYorkitself.ButtherewassomethingaboutthatfinalyearSamanthahadbeenexpecting,inthatlifeasamother,perhapsholdinginsideitsomeslimpossibilityofreversal,evenredemption,whichnowwassuddenlynotthere.OrpossiblyitwasthewayMariahadmanagedtogetbackatherforthatskippedsixthgradeshehadn’tgivenpermissionfor.Thistime,underheroldcalculusteacher’sobliviouseye,shehadsignedthatrelease,toocowedandtooashamednottogivein.ItwasJunenow.Maria,shesupposed,wouldbegonebyAugust,ifnotbefore.
Shedidnotconfrontherdaughter.ShewaitedtoseeifMariawouldatleastinvitehertothegraduationceremony,butinfactMariahadnointerestinwalkingacrossthatcrepe-paper-decoratedbasketballcourt,andonthedayinquestionshewasoffwithGabinHamilton,possiblyatthebookstoreorevencluelesslyhangingoutontheporchoftheCollegeInn.(TheinnwasnowFamilyrunforfourgenerations!,DanWeybridgehavingdiedofpancreaticcancer.)Theonlythingshesaidwhenshegothomethatnightwasthatshehadendedthingswithhergirlfriend,anditwasforthebest.
Thesummer,ahotone,began.Mariasawnoone.Samanthastayedinherofficewiththefanon,doingthesamemedicalbillingjobshe’dbeendoingsinceMariawassmall,thejobthathadpaidforherdaughter’sfoodandclothinganddoctors’appointments.Junepassed,andJuly,andstillMariasaidnotonewordaboutthefactthatshewasabouttodepart,butSamanthadidbegintoseesomeincrementalmotion.Clothingwasbeingbaggedandtakentothedonationboxintown.BookswerebeingboxedanddroppedoffattheEarlvilleLibrary.Oldpapers,testsfrommiddleschool,crayondrawingsfromallthewaybacktoearlychildhoodwerebeingsortedandthenwedgedintothewastepaperbasketunderMaria’sdesk.Itwasacompleterout.
“Youdon’tlikethatanymore?”Samanthasaidonce,pointingtoagreenT-shirt.
“No.That’swhyI’mgettingridofit.”
“Well,Imightkeepit,ifyoudon’twantit.”
Theywere,afterall,thesamesize.
“Suityourself.”
ItwasearlyAugust.
Shewasn’tplanningit.Truly,shewasn’tplanninganything.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
SoleSurvivor
Afterwardheneededtothink.HedrovebackintotownandparkedoutsideaWalgreensfornearlyanhour,headbent,handsgrippinghisownknees,tryingtopeelawaythemanylayersofwhathe’dassumedheknewabout@TalentedTom,andthentoformsomesenseofwhatheneededmosttoknowrightnow.Therewasmuch,andhewasstartingfromaradicallydifferentplace,anditwassohardnottowanttoholdontohisearlierassumptionsaboutvengefulnovelistsandloyalMFAclassmates.Hehadtobehumblenow,Jakedecided,ifhewasgoingtostopthisperson—this,henowrecalibrated,woman—beforeshecausedhimirreparableinjury.
Onhisphonehehastilytypedalistofwhathedidn’tknow,moreorlessindescendingorderofpriority:
Whoisshe?Whereisshe?Whatdoesshewant?
Thenhestaredatthatforanothertwentyminutes,overwhelmedbythebreadthofhisownignorance.
BytwohewasattheRutlandFreeLibrary,tryingtolearnasmuchaboutEvanParker’sfamilyashecouldcramintooneafternoon.TheParkershaddeeprootsinRutland.They’darrivedinthe1850swiththerailroad,butonlytwentyyearslaterthefamilypatriarch,JosiahParker,ownedamarblequarryonthesameWestRutlandstreet—MarbleStreet—wherehewouldalsobuildBettyandSylvia’sItalianatemansion.Thehouse,obviously,hadbeenashowplaceforJosiahParker’swealthatthetimeofitsconstruction,butitsfortunes,alongsidethoseoftheParkerfamilyitself,hadmirroredthearea’sgeneraldecline,andthegradualextinctionofVermont’smarbleindustry.Onthe1990propertytaxrollsitsvaluewaslistedas$112,000,atwhichtimeitsownerswereNathanielParkerandJaneThatcherParker.
Evan’sparents.Or,moretothepoint,theparentsofEvanandhislatesister.
Abitchandapieceofwork,accordingtohisbarfriendSally(who,tobefair,couldhavepassedforboth,herself).
Hesaidshe’ddoanything,accordingtoMartinPurcell.
Iheardsheburnedup.
TherewasnointernettributepageforthisparticularmemberoftheParkerfamily,whichmighthavespokentoherdearthoffriends,orpossiblyjusttoEvanParker’sspecificlackofbrotherlylove(sincehe’dpresumablyhandledmattersafterhissister’spassing).Hername,apparently,wasDianna,whichwaspatheticallyclosetoDiandra,thenamehehadgivenherinhis“fictional”novel.Andherdeathnotice,onthesameRutlandHeraldobituarypagethatwouldhostEvanParker’sownamerethreeyearslater,wasbasicintheextreme:
Parker,Dianna(32),diedAugust30th,2012.LifelongresidentofWestRutland.AttendedWestRutlandHS.Predeceasedbyparents.Survivedbyabrotherandadaughter.
Nomentionofwhat,inparticular,hadcausedherdeath,notevenoneoftheusualbanalities(“sudden,”“unexpected,”“afteralongillness”)letaloneanythingpersonal(“beloved”)orblandlyregretful(“tragic”).Nomentionoftheplacewherethedeathhadtakenplace,orwherethedeceasedpersonwastobeburied.Nolistingofamemorialservice,notevenEvanParker’sown“burialprivate”or“memorialtobeannouncedlater.”Thiswomanhadbeenadaughter,sister,andaboveallmother,andshehadcertainlydiedyoungafteralifethatwasbyanymeasureconstrainedanddevoidofexperiences.DiannaParkerhadn’tevengraduatedfromhighschool,notifJakewascorrectlyinterpretingtheuseoftheword“attended,”andifshe’dneverleftWestRutland,Vermont,hereallydidhavetofeelsorryforher.Thiswasthemostbarrensendoffimaginableafternotmuchofalifeand—ifshereallyhad“burnedup”—anindisputablyhorribledeath.
AttemptingtofindbirthrecordsforDiannaand,moreimportantly,forherstillnamelessdaughter,presentedJakewithhisfirstseriousroadblock,sincethestateofVermont’spublicrecordswantedaformalapplication,andhewasn’tsurehewasentitledtoaccess,sohepurchasedamembershiptoAncestry.comonthespotandfoundtherestinamatterofminutes.
DiannaParker(1980–2012)RoseParker(1996–)
RoseParker.Hestaredatthename.RoseParkerwasthegranddaughterofNathanielandRuth,thedaughterofDianna,thenieceofEvan.Apparentlythesolesurvivorofherfamily.
Hewentstraighttooneofthesearchwebsitesandstartedlookingforher,butwhiletherewerenearlythirtyRoseParkerscurrentlyinthedatabases,noneofthem,tohisextremefrustration,hadtherightbirthyearapartfromoneinAthens,Georgia,andtheonlyVermonternamedRoseParkerwasanoctogenarian.HeaskedalibrarianaboutyearbooksfromWestRutlandHighSchoolandwasexcitedwhenshepointedtoacornerofthereferencesection,butthecollectionyieldedlittleofvalue.Dianna,havingmerely“attended”highschool,hadnograduationportraitinthe1997or1998yearbook,andafterJakelookedcarefullythroughtheyearsbeforethatwhenshemighthavebeenpicturedinclubsorteamsorheldclassofficeshehadtoconcludethatshe’dbeenremarkablyuninvolvedatWestRutlandHigh;therewasonlyhernameonadean’slistofscholarsandasinglecitationforaprizewinningessayonVermontduringtheRevolutionaryWartoshowshe’dmadeanymarkatallontheschool.RoseParkerpresentedanevenmorefrustratingabsence.Bornin1996,she’daccomplishedwhathermotherhadn’tbygoingawaytocollege—Sallyhadsaidso,andBettyhadsaidso—whichmeantthatshe’dalsoaccomplishedsomethingelsehermotherhadn’t:graduationfromhighschool.ButtherewasnoRoseParkeramongthegraduatingseniorsof2012.Hechecked,justtobesure,theyearbooksof2011and2013,butshewasabsentthere,aswell.InfacthefoundonlyasingleimageofRoseParkerfromwhatmusthavebeenhertenth-gradeyear:aspindlygirlinshortbangsandlargeroundglasses,holdingafieldhockeystickinateamphoto.Itwassmallandnotcompletelyinfocus,buthetookouthisphoneandsnappedapictureanyway.Hefeareditwasallhe’deverfind.
Afterthat,heturnedtothesaleofthehouseonMarbleStreet,fromEvanParker’sheirtoitsfirstownersnottobenamedParker.Asthewomenhadsaid,Rosewasn’tpresentforthetransactionitself,andwasapparentlyindifferenttothefateofacenturyandahalfworthoffamilypossessions,nottomentionherownchildhoodbelongings.Buttheattorney,WilliamGaylord,Esquire,wasrighthereinRutland,andifhedidn’tknowwhereRoseParkerwastodayhehadtohaveknownwhereshewasatthetimeofthesale.Thatwassomething.
HegatheredhisnotesandwalkedoutoftheRutlandFreeLibraryandthroughheavyraintohiscar.Itwasjustpastthreeintheafternoon.
TheofficesofWilliamGaylord,Esq.,occupiedoneofthoseformerhomesonNorthMainStreetwhichhadoncehousedthewealthiestcitizensofRutland.IthadgrayshinglesandaQueenAnneturret,andsatjustsouthofatrafficlightbetweenaforlorndancestudioandacharteredaccountancy.Jakeparkedbesidethesinglecarinthelotbehindthebuildingandwalkedaroundtothefrontporch.There,asignbesidethedoorreadLEGALSERVICES.Hecouldseeawomanworkinginside.
Hehadn’tgivenmuchthoughttohowhemightjustifyhisinterestinathree-year-oldrealestatetransactiontowhichhehadnoobviousconnection,buthedecidedhe’dhavebetterluckknockingonthedoorthantryingtoexplainhisbusinessoverthephone.WithMartinPurcellhehadpretendedtobeateacherinsomesmalldegreeofmourningforhisformerstudent,andwithSally-the-barflyhe’dbeenarandomguyreturningtoabarhe’donceliked.WithBettyandSylviahe’dbeennearlyhimself,a“famouswriter”payinghisrespectstothehomeofalateacquaintance.Noneofthishadbeenparticularlyeasyforhim.Unlikethedeviousfifteen-year-oldgirlinSaki’smostfamousstory,romanceatshortnoticewasnothisspecialty;hewasfarmorethanadeptatconstructinguntruthsonthepage,whenhehadallthetimeintheworldtogetthefabricationright.True,he’dbeenabletowalkawayfromeachofthesepreviousencounterswithinformationhehadn’thadbefore,andthathadbeenworththepersonaldiscomfort,butherehecouldn’tsimplyflounderthroughtheconversation,hopingtolearnsomethingrelevant.Hereheactuallyknewwhathewastryingtofindout,anditwashardlysomethinghecouldcomestraightoutandaskfor.
Heassembledhismostpleasantsmileandwentinside.
Thewomanlookedup.Shewasdark,southeastAsian—IndianorBangladeshi,Jakethought—andwearinganacrylicbluesweaterthatmanagedtobeloosearoundthechestandtightasacummerbundaroundherthickmiddle.Shesmiled,too,whenshesawJakeenter,buthersmilewasn’taspleasantashis.
“Goodafternoon,”shesaid.“MayIhelpyou?”
“Hello.Iapologizefornotcallingfirst.I’mwonderingifMr.Gaylordisavailableforafewminutes?”
Shewasgivinghimaverythoroughappraisal.Hewasgladhehadn’tgonefullVermontforthisvisit.HewaswearinghislastcleanshirtandoveritablackwoolsweaterAnnahadgivenhimforChristmas.
“MayIaskwhatthisisabout?”
“Certainly.I’minterestedinpurchasingsomerealestate.”
“Residentialorcommercial?”shesaid,stillplainlysuspicious.
Hehadn’tbeenexpectingthis.Hemighthavelingeredamomenttoolong.“Well,both,ultimately.Butthepriorityiscommercial.I’mthinkingofmovingmybusinesstothearea.I’vebeenoveratthelibrary,andIaskedoneofthelibrarianstorecommendanattorneywhospecializesinrealestate.”
This,apparently,waswhatpassedforflatteryinRutland,becauseithadanunmistakableeffect.“Yes,Mr.Gaylordhasanexcellentreputation,”sheinformedJake.“Wouldyouliketotakeaseat?Icanaskifhe’savailabletoseeyou.”
Jakesatinthenookoppositeherdesk.TherewasaloveseatfacingthefrontwindowandanoldtrunkwithapottedfernandastackofVermontLifeissues,themostrecentofwhichseemedtobefromtheyear2017.Hecouldhearhersomewherebehindhim,talkingtoaman.Hetriedtorememberwhathe’djustsaidaboutwhyhewashere.Commercialrealestate,movingabusinesstothearea.Unfortunatelyhewasn’tentirelysurehowtogetfromtheretowhereheneededtogo.
“Hellothere.”
Jakelookedup.Themanstandingoverhimwassturdyandtall,withabundant(butthankfullyclean)nostrilhair.Hewasneatlydressedinblackpants,awhitebutton-downshirt,andatiethatwouldhavebeenathomeonWallStreet.
“Oh,hi.Myname’sJacobBonner.”
“Liketheauthor?”
Stillasurprise.Alwayswouldbe,hesuspected.NowwhatshouldhesayaboutthebusinesshewassupposedlymovingtotheRutlandarea?
“Yes,actually.”
“Well,notoftenafamouswriterwalksintomyoffice.Mywifereadyourbook.”
Fivemonosyllabicwords,speakingvolumes.
“Iappreciatethat.I’msorrytocomeinwithoutanappointment.Iwasaskingatthelibrary,andtheyrecommended—”
“Yes,somywifesaid.Wouldyouliketocomein?”
HesteppedoutofthenookandpasttheapparentMrs.Gaylord,followingWilliamGaylord,Esq.,backtohisoffice.
Variouslocalcitationsandmembershipsframedonthewall.AdegreefromtheVermontSchoolofLaw.BehindGaylord,onthemantelpieceofablocked-upfireplace,afewdustyframedpicturesofhimselfandthewomanwiththelessthanpleasantsmile.
“WhatbringsyoutoRutland?”Gaylordsaid.Hischaircreakedashesettledintoit.
“Icameuptodosomeworkonanewbook,andseeaformerstudent.IusedtoteachinnorthernVermont.Untilacoupleofyearsago.”
“Oh,yes?Wherewasthat?”
“AtRipleyCollege.”
Heraisedaneyebrow.“Thatplacestillinbusiness?”
“Well,itwasalow-residencyprogramwhenIwasthere.NowIthinkit’sonlineonly.I’mnotsurewhat’shappenedtotheactualcampus.”
“That’sashame.DrovethroughRipleynotsomanyyearsago.Prettyplace.”
“Yes.Ienjoyedteachingthere.”
“Andnow,”saidGaylord,takingchargeoftheseguehimself,“you’rethinkingofmovingyourbusiness—asawriter—toRutland?”
“Well…notexactly.Icanwriteanywhere,ofcourse,butmywife…sheworksforapodcastingstudiointhecity.We’vebeenthinkingaboutmovingoutofNewYork,lettinghersetupastudioofherown.ItoldherI’dlookaroundwhileIwashere.Itseemedtomakesense.Rutlandissuchacrossroadsforthestate.”
Gaylordgrinned,showingcrowdedteeth.“Itisthat.Can’tsaythat’salwaysagoodthingforthetown.Butyes,we’reprettymuchonthewayfromanywhereinVermonttoanywhereelse.Notabadplaceatalltoputabusiness.Podcastingisquitethething,isn’tit?”
Jakenodded.
“Soyou’dwantsomethingzonedcommercial,Iimagine?”
Helethimselfbeled.Atleastfifteenminutesonthemultiple“downtowns”ofRutland,thevariousstateincentiveschemesandearmarkedloansfornewbusinesses,thewaiverssometimesavailableforcompaniesaimingtoemploymorethanfivepeople.Hehadtokeepnoddingandmakingnotesandpretendingtobeinterested,allthewhilewonderinghowhecouldgetthembothtothehouseonMarbleStreetinWestRutland.
“I’mcurious,though,”saidWilliamGaylord.“Imean,I’mfromthisarea,andI’mcommittedtothefuturehere,butmostfolks,comingupfromNewYorkorBoston,they’rethinkingMiddleburyorBurlington.”
“Yeah,sure.”Jakenodded.“ButIcamehereabunchoftimes,asakid.Ithinkmyparentshadsomefriendsinthearea.InWestRutland?”
“Okay.”Gaylordnodded.
“AndIremembervisitinginthesummers.Irememberthisdonutshop.Wait…”Hepretendedtosearchforthename.
“Jones’?”
“Jones’!Yes!Thebestglazeddonuts.”
“Apersonalfavoriteofmine,”Gaylordsaid,actuallypattinghisgut.
“Andthisoneswimminghole…”
Therehadbetterbeaswimminghole.InaVermonttown?Itseemedlikeasafebet.
“Plentyofthem.Whichone?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.Iwasprobablysevenoreight.Idon’tevenrememberthenameofmyparents’friends.Youknowwhatit’slikewhenyou’relittle,whatyouremember.Formeitwasthedonutsandtheswimminghole.Oh,andtherewasalsothisonehouseinWestRutland,rightdownfromthequarry.Mymothercalleditthemarblehouse,becauseitwasonMarbleStreetandithadamarblebase.Weknewwhenwepasseditwewerealmosttoourfriends’house.”
Gaylordnodded.“IthinkIknowthehouseyoumean.ActuallyIhandledthesaleofthathouse.”
Careful,thoughtJake.
“Itwassold?”heasked.Eventohimselfhesoundedlikeadisappointedchild.“Well,Iguessthatstandstoreason.Ihavetotellyou,IhadthiswholepipedreamgoingwhenIdroveuphereyesterday.We’dmovetoRutlandandI’dbuythatoldhouseIusedtolovewhenIwasakid.”
“Soldacoupleofyearsago.Butitwasamess,youwouldn’thavewantedit.Thebuyershadtoputineverythingnew.Heat,wiring,septic.Andtheypaidwaytoomuch.Notmyplacetotalkthemoutofit,though.Iwasactingfortheseller.”
“Well,you’dhavetoexpecttoputsomemoneyintoanoldhouselikethat.Irememberhowrun-downitlooked,”saidJake,recallingBetty’schildhoodassessmentoftheplace.“Ofcourse,toakiditdoesn’tsay‘run-down.’Itsays‘haunted.’IwasabigGoosebumpsreader,thosesummers.IwasdefinitelyintothathauntedhouseinWestRutland.”
“Haunted.”Gaylordshookhishead.“Well,Idon’tknowaboutthat.AlotofplainoldNewEnglandbadluckinthatfamily,maybe.ButIdon’tknowaboutanyactualghosts.Anyway,wecanfindyouanotheroldVermonthauntedhouseinthearea,noshortageofthem.”
HehadJakewritedownafewoftheagentsheworkedwith,thenhespentafewminutesrhapsodizingaboutaVictorianuptowardPittsfordthathadbeenonthemarketfornearlyadecade.Itsoundeddelightful.
“ButdoesithaveawraparoundporchlikethatWestRutlandhouse?”
Gaylordshrugged.“Don’tremember,tellyouthetruth.Isthatadealbreaker?Youcanalwaysaddaporch.”
“I’msureyou’reright.”
Hewasrunningoutofideasandonhislastnerve.Healsohadpagesofnotes,bynow,oncommercialpropertiesinRutland,Vermont,thathecouldn’thavecaredlessabout,andhewastheproudpossessorofafolderofstatepoliciesandprogramsandcompletelyunneededbrochuresabouthomebuying,andalsoauselesslistofRealtorswiththeWilliamGaylord,Esq.,sealofapproval,aswellasprintoutsoflistingsforoldhousesinandaroundRutland.Outsideitwasgettingdarkandstillraining,andhewasfacingalongdrivebacktothecity.Andhestillknewnothingmorethanwhenhe’dcomein.
“So,”saidJake,makingashowofgatheringupthepapersandrecappinghispen,“Isupposethere’snowayofbuyingbackthathousefromthenewowners?Iwouldn’tsaynotoupdatedsepticandelectricity,actually.”
Gaylordlookedathim.“You’vereallygotathingforthatplace,don’tyou?ButI’dsayno.Notafteralltheworkthosepeoplehaveputin.Ifyou’dcomealongthreeyearsagoIhadaverymotivatedseller,Icantellyou.Well,technicallyIdidn’thaveher.Iwasthein-statecounselforthesale,butIneverdealtwithherdirectly.ShehadrepresentationdowninGeorgia.”
“Georgia?”Jakeasked.
“Shewasgoingtocollegedownthere.Ithinkshejustwantedtostartoversomewhere,makeacleanbreak.Shedidn’tcomebackfortheclosing,noteventocleanoutthehouse.Witheverythingthatwentwronginthatfamily,Ican’tsayIblameher.”
“Sure,”saidJake,whoblamedherenoughforthebothofthem.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
TheBreakdownLane
AshewaspassingAlbanythephonevibratedontheseatbehindhim.Anna.Hepulledoffontotheshouldertotakethecall.Fromthemomentshespokeheknewtherewassomethingwrong.
“Jake.Areyouallright?”
“Me?Ofcourse.Yes.I’mallright.Whatisit?”
“Igotahorribleletter.Whydidn’tyoutellmethiswashappening?”
Heclosedhiseyes.Hecouldonlyimagine.
“Aletterfromwhom?”heasked,asifhedidn’tknow.
“SomejackholenamedTom!”Hervoicewasshrill.Hecouldn’ttellifshewasafraidorangry.Probablyboth.“Hesaysyou’reacrookandI’msupposedtoaskyouaboutsomebodynamedEvanParkerwho’ssupposedlytherealauthorofCrib.Imean,whatthefuck?Iwentonlineand…Jake,ohmygod,whydidn’tyoutellmethishasbeengoingon?IfoundpostsfrombackinthefallonTwitter.AndFacebook!Andtherewassomethingonabookblog,talkingaboutit.Whythehellhaven’tyoutoldmeaboutthis?”
Hefeltthepanic,pressinghardagainsthischest,liquifyinghisarmsandlegs.Hereitwas:thethinghe’dspentallthistimetryingdesperatelytoprevent,unfoldingonthebreakdownlane.Hecouldn’tbelieveitstillsurprisedhimthatanotherwallintohisprivatelifehadbeenbreached.Orthathehadn’tpreventeditfromhappening.
“Ishouldhavetoldyou.I’msorry.Ijust…Icouldn’tstandthinkingabouthowupsetyou’dbe.Youare.”
“Butwhatishetalkingabout?AndwhoisthisEvanParkerperson?”
“I’lltellyou,Ipromise,”hesaid.“I’mpulledoveronthesideoftheNewYorkStateThruway,butI’monmywayhome.”
“Buthowdidhegetouraddress?Hasheevercontactedyoubefore?Imeandirectly,likethis?”
Itappalledhim,theweightofwhathe’dhiddenfromher.
“Yes.Throughmywebsite.There’salsobeencontactwithMacmillan.Wehadameetingaboutit.And…”heespeciallyhatedtoadmitthispart,“Igotaletter,too.”
Foralongmoment,heheardnothing.Thenshestartedscreaming.“Areyoukiddingme?Youknewhehadouraddress?Andyounevertoldmeaboutanyofthis?Formonths?”
“Itwasn’tsomuchadecision.Itjustgotawayfromme.Ifeelawfulaboutit.IwishI’dsaidsomethingwhenitstarted.”
“Oranymomentsince.”
“Yes.”
Foralongmoment,silencefilledupthedistancebetweenthem,andJakelookedforlornlyatthecarsrushingpast.
“Whattimewillyougethome?”
Byeight,hetoldher.“Doyouwanttogoout?”
Annadidn’twanttogoout.Shewantedtocook.
“Andwe’lltalkaboutitthen,”shesaid,asifhethoughtshemightsomehowforget.
Aftertheyhunguphesatthereforafewmoreminutes,feelinghorrible.HewastryingtorememberhisownfirstdecisionnottotellheraboutTalentedTom,andtohissurpriseitwentback—allthewaybacktotheverydayheandAnnahadfirstmetattheradiostation.Overeightmonthsofthis,innuendoandthreatsandhashtagstospreadthepoisonasfarasitcouldgo,andnothinghadmadeitstop!Itwouldhavebeenonethingifhe’dmanagedtohandletheproblem,buthehadn’t,andinfact,ithadgottenbigger,likeanautiluscirclingfartherandfarther,ensnaringpeoplehecaredabout:Matilda,Wendy,now,worstofall,Anna.Shewasright.Hisworstmistakehadbeennottotellher.Hesawthatnow.
No.HisworstmistakehadbeentotakeEvanParker’splotinthefirstplace.
DiditevenmatteranymorethatCribwashis—everywordofit?Thatthebook’ssuccesswasinextricablyentwinedwithhisownskillinpresentingthestoryEvanParkerhadtoldhimthatnightinRichardPengHall?Ithadbeenanexceptionalstory,ofcourseithad,butcouldParkerhimselfreallyhavedonejusticetoit?Yes,he’dhadsomemoderatetalentatmakingsentences,thatmuchJakehadrecognizedbackatRipley.Butcreatingnarrativetension?Understandingwhatmadeastorytrackandgrabandhold?Forgingcharactersareaderfeltinclinedtocareaboutandinvesttheirtimein?Jakehadn’tseenenoughofEvan’sworktojudgewhetherhisformerstudentwascapableofdoingthat,butParkerhadbeentheonetellingthestorythatnight,andthatcamewithcertainrightsofpossession;Jakehadbeentheoneitwastoldto,andthatcamewithcertainmoralresponsibilities.
Atleastwhilethetellerwas…alive.
WasJakereallysupposedtothrowaplotlikethatintosomeotherwriter’sgrave?Anynovelistwouldunderstandwhathe’ddone.Anynovelistwouldhavedoneexactlythesame!
Andthusreacquaintedwithhisrighteousnessonthematter,hestartedhiscaragainandheadedsouthtothecity.
TherewasaspinachsoupAnnalikedtocook,sointenselygreenitmadeyoufeelhealthierjustlookingatit,andshehadthatwaitingforhimwhenhearrivedhome,alongwithabottleofwineandaloafofbreadfromCitarella.ShewassittinginthelivingroomwiththedisassembledSundayTimes,andhenoticed,asheacceptedherstiffhug,thatshehadthebooksectionunfurledonthecoffeetable,opentothebestsellerspage.HeknewfromMacmillan’sweeklydispatchthathewascurrentlyatnumberfouronthepaperbackfictionlist,somethingthatwouldhavethrilledandastonishedhimatanymomentinhislifeexceptforthepastmonth,whenitrepresentedanactualdescent.Butsuchwerenothismostpressingconcernsthisevening.
“Youwanttowashup?Areyouhungry?”
Hehadn’teatensincethatdonut,manyhoursearlierinWestRutland.
“I’mdefinitelyreadyforthatsoup.Evenmore,though,forsomewine.”
“Goputyourstuffdown.I’llpouryouaglass.”
Inthebedroomhefoundtheenvelopeshe’dreceived,leftforhimonthebed.Itwasidenticaltohisownwiththatsinglename,TalentedTom,asareturnaddressandtheirownaddress—withhername,thistime—frontandcenter.Hepickeditupandslippedthepageout,numbwithhorrorashereaditssinglesentence:
AskyourplagiaristhusbandtotellyouaboutEvanParker,therealauthorofCrib
Hehadtofighttheurgetocrumpleituponthespot.
Jakewenttoputhisdirtyclothesinthehamperandreturnhistoothbrushtoitsusualplace.Hetried,bysomefearfulinstinct,toavoidseeinghimselfinthemirror,butinevitablyhecaughthisowneye,andthereitplainlywas:theimpactoftheselastmonths,deeplyandunmistakablyetchedintodarkcirclesaroundhiseyes.Paleskin.Lankhair.Andaboveallanexpressionofintractabledread.Buttherewasnoquickfixforitnow,andnowayoutbutthrough.Hewentbacktothelivingroom,andhiswife.
AnnahadbroughtfromSeattleasetofwell-usedknives,a“Dutchoven,”anoldwoodencuttingboardshe’dhadsincecollege,andevenamasonjarhalffullofsomethingthatlookedlikedesiccatedtapiocapudding,whichturnedouttobesourdoughstarter.Withtheseshehadbeenproducingacontinuumofactualfoodformonths:balancedmeals,confections,casserolesandsoupsandevencondimentsthatnowfilledthefreezerandtherefrigeratorshelves.ShehadalsodispatchedJake’sexistingdishes(andsilverware,andglasses)totheGoodwillonFourteenthStreet,replacingthemwithnewsetsfromPotteryBarn,someofitnowonthediningtable.Shewassettingdownbowlsofthegreensoupashetookhisseat.
“Thankyou,”hesaid.“Thisisbeautiful.”
“Soupfortheraveledsleeveofcare.”
“Ibelievethat’ssleep,”hesaid.“Andsoupforthesoul.”
“Well,thisisforboth.Ifiguredweweregoingtobeneedingalotofit,soImadeadoublebatchandfrozeit.”
“Iloveyourpioneerinstincts.”Hesmiled,takinghisfirstsip.
“Islandinstincts.Notthatwedidn’thavesupermarketsonWhidbey.Butpeoplealwaysseemedtowanttoprepareforbeingcutoff.”
Shetoretheendoffthebreadandhandedittohim.Thenshewatchedhimbegin.
“So,howdoesthiswork?DoIhavetoaskyouquestionsorareyoujustgoingtotellmewhatthefuckisgoingon?”
Inthatinstant,anddespitethelongdaywithoutfood,helosthisappetite.
“I’mgoingtotellyou,”hesaid.
Andhetried.
“IhadastudentnamedEvanParker.BackwhenItaughtatRipley.Andhehadthisgreatideaforanovel.Aplotthatwas…well,striking.Memorable.Involvingamotherandherdaughter.”
“Ohno,”Annasaidquietly.Itlandedonhimlikeablow,buthemadehimselfgoon.
“Itsurprisedme,becausehehadnorealfeelingforfictionthatIcouldsee.Notmuchofareader,whichisalwaysanindicator.AndthefewpagesofhisworkIsaw,well,hecouldwrite,butitwasn’tanyone’sideaofagreatbookinprogress.Maybehisown,butnooneelse’s.Certainlynotmine.Butstill—hedidhavethisgreatstory.”
Jakestopped.Italreadywasn’tgoingwell.
“So…didyoutakeit,Jake?Isthatwhatyou’retellingme?”
Hefeltsick,suddenly.Heputdownhisspoon.“Ofcoursenot.Ididn’tdoanything,exceptmaybefeelalittlesorryformyself.Alittlepissedattheuniversethatthisguyhadcomeupwithsuchagreatideastraightoutofthegate.Hewasanightmareasastudent.Treatedeveryoneelseintheworkshopasiftheywerewastinghistime,andnotashredofrespectformeasateacher,ofcourse.SometimesIwonder,wouldIhavedoneitifhehadn’tbeensuchajerk.”
“Well,Iwouldn’tleadwithanyofthatifyou’reeverasked,”saidAnnawithheavysarcasm.
Henodded.Ofcourse,shewasright.
“Ithinkwemighthavespokenonce,outsideofclass.Inaconference.That’swhenhetookmethroughthisplot.Butneveranythingpersonal.Ididn’tevenknowbasicstufflikethathewasfromVermontorwhathedidforaliving.”
“Hewasfrom…Vermont,”Annasaidslowly.
“Yeah.”
“Whereyoucoincidentallyjustwere.Givingareadingandworkingonyourrevisions.”Shesetdownherglass.
Jakesighed.“Yes.Imeanno,itwasn’tacoincidence.AndIwasn’tworkingonmyrevisions.Orgivingareading,forthatmatter.IwasinRutland.Hishometown.MeetingwithoneofhisfriendsfromtheRipleyprogram.”
“YouwenttoRutland?”Sheseemedhorrified.
“Well,yes.I’vebeenkindofhidingawayfromthis.IfinallyfeltIneededtolookitintheeye.SeeiftherewasanythingIcouldfigureout,bybeingthere.Maybetalkingtosomepeople.”
“Whatpeople?”
“Well,theRipleyfriend,forone.AndIwenttoParker’splace.”
“Hishouse?”shesaidwithalarm.
“No,”Jakesaid.“Well,yes,thattoo.ButImeantthisbarheowned.Tavern,”hecorrectedhimself.
Afteramomentshesaid:“Fine.Whathappenedafteryouwerehisteacherandtalkedtohimonetimeoutsideofyourworkshop.”
Henodded.“Well,basically,Iforgotallabouthim,oralmostforgot.EveryyearorsoI’dthink,Hey,thatbookstillhasn’tcomeout.Or,youknow,maybehefoundoutitwasalothardertowriteabookthanhethoughtitwasgoingtobe.”
“Sofinallyyoudecided,He’snevergoingtowriteit,soI’mgoingtowriteit.AndnowEvanParker’sthreateningtoexposeyouforstealinghisidea.”
Jakeshookhishead.“No.That’snotwhathappened.Andwhoever’sthreateningme,it’snothim.EvanParkerisdead.”
Annastaredathim.“He’sdead.”
“Yeah.Andactuallyalongtimeago.Like,withinacoupleofmonthsofthatRipleyworkshop.Heneverdidwritehisbook.Oratleast,heneverfinishedit.”
Foramomentshesaidnothing.Then:“Howdidhedie?”
“Overdose.Awful,butabsolutelynothingtodowithhisstory,orme.AndwhenIheardaboutit…Ireallywrestledwiththis,ofcourse.ButIcouldn’tletitjustgooutofit.Theplot.Yousee?”
Annatookasipofherwine.Slowly,shenodded.“Okay.Keepgoing.”
“Iwill,butIneedyoutounderstandsomething.Inmyworld,themigrationofastoryissomethingwerecognize,andwerespect.Worksofartcanoverlap,ortheycansortofchimewithoneanother.Rightnow,withsomeoftheanxietieswehavearoundappropriation,it’sbecomedownrightcombustible,butI’vealwaysthoughttherewasakindofbeautytoit,thewaynarrativesgettoldandretold.It’showstoriessurvivethroughtheages.Youcanfollowanideafromoneauthor’sworktoanother,andtomethat’ssomethingIfindpowerfulandexciting.”
“Well,thatsoundsveryartisticandmagicalandallthat,”Annasaid,withadefiniteedgetohervoice,“butyou’llforgivemeifwhatyouwritersthinkofassomekindofspiritualexchangelookslikeplagiarismtotherestofus.”
“Howcanitbeplagiarism?”Jakesaid.“IneversawmorethanacoupleofpagesofwhatParkerwaswriting,andIabsolutelyavoidedeverydetailIcouldremember.Thisisn’tplagiarism,notremotely.”
“Allright,”sheconceded.“Somaybeplagiarismisn’ttherightword.Maybetheftofstorygetscloser.”
Thathurtterribly.
“LikehowJaneSmileystoleAThousandAcresfromShakespeareorCharlesFrazierstoleColdMountainfromHomer?”
“ShakespeareandHomerweredead.”
“Sowasthisguy.AndunlikeShakespeareandHomer,EvanParkerneveractuallywrotesomethinganotherpersoncouldstealfrom.”
“Asfarasyou’reaware.”
Jakelookeddownintohisrapidlycoolingsoup.Onlyafewspoonfulshadmadetheirwayintohismouth,andthatseemedlikealongtimeago.She’dmanagedtoputherfingeronhisworstfear.
“AsfarasI’maware.”
“Okay,”Annasaid.“SoEvanParkerisn’tthepersonwhowrotetome.Whodidit,then?Doyouknow?”
“IthoughtIknew.Ithoughtithadtobesomeonewho’dbeenwithusatRipley.Imean,ifhetoldmeabouthisbook,whywouldn’thehavetoldsomebodyelseintheprogram?That’swhatthestudentsweretherefor,tosharetheirwork.”
“Andbetaughthowtobecomebetterwriters.”
Jakeshrugged.“Sure.Ifthat’sevenpossible.”
“Saystheformerteacherofcreativewriting.”
Helookedather.Shewasclearlystillangryathim.Whichhedeserved.
“IthoughtIcouldmakeitgoaway.IthoughtIcouldspareyouthis.”
“Why?Becauseitwasgoingtobetoomuchforme,apatheticinternettroll?Ifsomeloserouttheredecidestogoafteryoubecauseyou’veactuallyaccomplishedsomethinginyourlife,that’shisissue,notyours.Pleasedonothidethiskindofthingfromme.I’monyourside.”
“You’reright,”hesaid,buthisvoicereallywascrackingnow.“I’msorry.”
Annagottoherfeet.ShetookherownnearlyfullbowlofcoldsoupandJake’shalf-fullbowl,andbroughtthemtothekitchensink.Jakewatchedherbackassherinsedthemandputthemintothedishwasher.Shebroughtthewinebottlebacktothetableandpouredmoreforeachofthem.
“Honey,”Annasaid,“Ihopeyouknow,Idon’tcareintheleastaboutthiscreep.Like,zerocompassionforsomebodywhodoeswhathe’sdone,nomatterhowjustifiedhethinksheis.Icareaboutyou.AndfromwhatIcanseeyou’vereallybeenharmedbythis.Youmustbedevastated.”
Well,that’sabsolutelytrue,hewantedtosay,butallhecouldmanagewas:“Yeah.”
Theysattogetherinsilenceforafewmoments.Hewonderedifitmadeherfeelbetterorworsetoknowhowrightshe’dbeen,alltheseweeks,abouthowbadlyhewasfeeling.ButAnnawasn’tavindictiveperson.Justnow,shemightbefrustratedattheextentofhissecrecyandhiswithholding,butalreadyempathywasgettingtheupperhand.Whatheneededtodonow,though,wastellhereverything.
Hetookasipofhiswineandtriedagain.
“So,likeIsaid,IthoughtitwassomeonefromRipley,butIwaswrong.”
“Okay,”Annasaidwarily.“Sowho?”
“Letmeaskyousomething.WhydoyouthinkCribgottheresponseitdid?I’mnotlookingforpraise,I’msaying…lotsofnovelsarepublishedeveryyear.Plentyofthemaretightlyplotted,fullofsurprises,wellwritten.Whydidthisoneblowup?”
“Well,”sheshrugged,“thestory…”
“Yes.Thestory.Andwhywasthisstorysoshocking?”Hedidn’twaitforheranswer.“Becausehowcouldthateverhappeninreallife,toarealmotheranddaughter?It’scrazy!Fictioninvitesusintooutrageousscenarios.That’soneofthethingsweaskittodo.Right?Sowedon’thavetothinkofthemasreal?”
Annashrugged.“Isuppose.”
“Okay.Sowhatifthiswasreal?Whatifthere’sarealmotheranddaughteroutthere,andwhathappensinCribactuallyhappenedtothem?”
Hewatchedthecolordrainfromherface.“Butthat’shorrible,”shesaid.
“Agreed.Butthinkaboutit.Ifit’sreal—realmother,realdaughter—thelastthingthatwomanwantsistoreadaboutwhathappened,letaloneinanovelthat’sbeingpublishedallovertheworld.They’dobviouslywanttoknowwhothisauthoris,right?”
Shenodded.
“Andit’srightthereonthebackflapthatIwasassociatedwithanMFAprogramatRipleyCollege.WhereIwouldhavecrossedpathswiththelateEvanParker.WhereIcouldhaveheardhisstory.”
“Well,butevenifthat’strue,whybeangryatyouandnotatParker,fortellingyouinthefirstplace?WhynotbeangryatwhoevertoldEvanParkerthestorytobeginwith?”
Jakeshookhishead.“Idon’tthinkanyonetoldParker.IthinkParkerwasclosetoit.Soclosehesawithappen,firsthand.Andwhenherealizedwhathe’dseen,maybehedecideditwastoogoodastorytowaste.Becausehewasawriter,andwritersunderstandhowridiculouslyrareastorylikethatis.”Jakeshookhishead.Hewasfeeling,fortheveryfirsttime,someactualrespectforEvanParker,hisfellowwriter.Andhisfellowvictim.
“Idon’tthinkthiswaseveraboutplagiarism,”Jakesaid.“Ortheftofstory,orwhateverelseyoudecidetocallit.It’sneverbeenaliteraryissueatall.”
“Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.”
“Itmeans,okay,evenifIdidtakesomethingthatwasn’ttechnicallymine,EvanParkertookitfirst,andthepersonhetookitfromwasfuriousaboutit.Butthenhedied.So:endofstory.”
“Obviouslynot,”Annaobserved.
“Right.Becausethen,acoupleofyearslater,alongcomesCrib,andunlikeParker’sattemptit’sactuallyafinishedbook,andsomebody’sactuallypublishedit.Nowthestory’soutthereinblackandwhite,inallitsglory,andtwomilliontotalstrangershavereadit—inhardcover,paperback,massmarket,audio,large-printeditions!Nowit’stranslatedintothirtylanguagesandOprah’sputtingastickeronthecoverandit’scomingsoontoatheaternearyou,andeverytimethispersongetsonthesubwaysomebody’sgotacopyopen,rightintheirface.”Hepaused.“Youknow,Iactuallyunderstandhowtheymustfeel.”
“Thisisreallyscaringme.”
I’vebeenscaredformonths,hedidn’tsay.
Thenshesatup.“Wait,”Annasaid.“Youknowwhoheis,don’tyou?Icanseethatyoudo.Whoishe?”
Jakewasshakinghishead.“She,”hesaid.
“Wait,”shesaid.“What?”Shehadalockofhergrayhaircoiledbetweenherfingers,andshewastwistingit.
“She.It’sawoman.”
“Howcanyouknowthat?”shesaid.
Hehesitatedbeforeansweringher.Itseemedinsane,nowthathewasabouttoactuallysayitoutloud.
“AtEvan’stavernlastnight,thewomansittingnexttomeknewParker.Sheloathedhim.Saidhewasacompleteasshole.”
“Okay.Butitsoundslikeyoualreadyknewthat.”
“Yes.Andthensheremindedmeaboutsomethingelse.Parkerhadayoungersister.Dianna.Iknewabouther,butInevergaveheranythought,becauseshe’salsodead.Shediedevenbeforeherbrother.”
Annaseemedrelieved.Sheevenattemptedasmile.“Butthenitisn’ther.Obviously.”
“Nothingaboutthisisobvious.Diannahadadaughter.Cribisaboutwhathappenedtoher.Doyouunderstand?”
Shestaredathimforthelongesttime,andatlast,shenodded.Andthen,forwhatitwasworth,thereweretwoofthemwhoknew.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages212–13
Forweeks,theydidn’tspeak,andevenafteralifetimeofnotspeakingsomethingaboutthisfeltdifferent:harder,colder,relentlesslytoxic.Whentheypassedinthecorridororonthestairsorinthekitchentheireyesslidpasteachother,andSamanthafelt,atcertainmoments,theactualphysicalvibrationofwhatwasaccumulatinginsideher.Shehadnointention,still,justagrowingideaofsomethingapproachingthatwouldnotbeaverted,evenwitheffort,sowhatpointcouldtherebeintryingtoavertit?Itwassomucheasiertojustgiveup,andafterthatshefeltnothingatall.
OnthenightMarialefthomeforever,sheknockedonthedoorofhermother’sofficeandaskedifshecouldborrowtheSubaru.
“Whatfor?”
“I’mmovingout,”saidMaria.“I’mleavingforcollege.”
Samanthatriednottoreact.
“Whataboutsenioryear?”
Herdaughter,maddeningly,shrugged.“Senioryearisbullshit.Iappliedearly.I’mgoingtoOhioState.Igotascholarshipforout-of-statestudents.”
“Oh?Whenwereyougoingtomentionallthis?”
Again,thatshrug.“Now,Iguess.IthoughtmaybeIcoulddrivemystuffoutthere,thenI’llbringthecarback.ThenI’lltakeabusorsomething.”
“Wow.Greatplan.Iguessyou’vegiventhisalotofthought.”
“Well,it’snotasifyou’regoingtotakemetocollege.”
“No?”Samanthasaid.“Well,howcanIifyouhaven’teventoldmeit’shappening?”
Sheturned,andSamanthacouldhearherstalkingbackalongthecorridortoherroom.Shegotupandfollowed.
“Whyisthat,bytheway?WhydidIhavetohearfrommyhighschoolmathteacherthatmydaughterisgraduatingearly?WhydoIhavetolookthroughyourdesktofindoutmydaughter’sgoingtocollegeoutofstate?”
“Ithoughtso,”Mariasaid,hervoicemaddeninglycalm.“Couldn’tkeepyourpawsoffmystuff,couldyou?”
“No,Iguessnot.SameasifI’dthoughtyouweredoingdrugs.Properparentaloversight.”
“Oh,that’shilarious.Nowyou’resuddenlyinterestedinproperparentaloversight?”
“I’vealways—”
“Right.Cared.Please,Mom,we’vegot,like,acouplemoredaystogetthroughtogether.Let’snotblowitnow.”
Shegotupfromthebedandsteppedinfrontofhermother,onherway,perhaps,alongthehalltothebathroom,whereSamanthahadonceconfirmedherpredicamentwithapregnancytestfromtheHamiltonThriftDrug,ordowntothekitchenwhereSamanthahadoncetriedtopersuadeherownmotherthatitmadenosense—nosense!—tohaveoratanyratetokeepthisbabyshehadneverwanted,neverforonemomentwanted,notthen,notsince,notnow,andasthatbodypassedbeforehershesaw,shockingly,herself:slenderandstraight,withthinbrownhairandthatfamilywayofslouching,bothasshewasnowandasshehadbeeninthatlong-agomoment,onlywanting,hoping,andwaitingforthemomentshecoulddowhatMariawasabouttodo.Andwithoutunderstandingwhatshewasdoingorknowingshewasgoingtodoitshereachedoutforherdaughter’swristandyankedithard,swingingthebodyattachedtoitpowerfullybackalonganinvisiblearc,andasshedidshehadanideaofherself,swingingalittlegirlupintotheairandsmilingintohersmileasthetwoofthemspunaroundandaround.Itwassomethingamothermighthavedonewithherdaughter,andadaughterwithhermother,inafilmoratelevisioncommercialfordressesorFloridabeachesorweedkillertomakethebackyardprettyforaninnocentchildtoplayin,onlySamanthacouldn’tremembereverhavingdonethisherself,whethershe’dbeenthespinningmotherorthespunlittlegirl,aroundandaroundinaperfectarc.
Maria’sheadswungintooneofthatoldbed’swoodencannonballs,andthecrackwassodeepandsolouditsilencedtheworld.
Shefelllikesomethinglight,barelymakingasound,onlythereshewas:halfonandhalfoffanoldbraidedrugthathadonce,whenSamanthaherselfwasyoung,beeninthehallwayoutsideherparents’bedroomdoor.Shewaitedforherdaughtertogetup,butthewaitingranalongaparalleltracktosomethingelse,whichwastheabsoluteandweirdlycalmunderstandingthatshewasalreadygone.
Off.Fled.Escaped,afterall.
Shemusthavesatthereforaminuteoranhour,orthebetterpartofthatnight,watchingthecrumpledthingthathadonce,longago,beenMaria,herdaughter.Andwhatawastethathadbeen.Whatanexerciseinpointlessness,bringingahumanbeingintotheworld,onlytofindoneselfmorealonethanbefore,morethwarted,moredisappointed,moreperplexedaboutwhatanythingmeant.Thischildwhohadneveroncereachedforherorexpressedlove,whohadnevershownthesmallestappreciationforwhathermotherhaddoneandwhatshe’dgivenup—notwillingly,sure,butresignedly,responsibly—andnowithadcometothis.Whatfor?
Shethought,atonepointinthedeepestpartofthenight,Icouldbeinshock.Butitdidn’tstick.Thatthoughtdroppedbehindher,andalsolaystill.
Samanthawas,asithappened,wearingMaria’sdiscardedgreenT-shirtthatnight.Itwassoft,andithungonherprettymuchexactlyasithadonherdaughter:samenarrowshoulders,sameflatchest.Sherubbedthecottonbetweenherfingersuntiltheyhurt.Therewasanothershirtofherdaughter’sshehadalwaysliked,ablack,long-sleevedT-shirtthatlookedslouchyandcomfortableandhadahood.Shethoughtofherselfwearingitandwonderedifanyonewouldseeherandask:Isn’tthatMaria’sshirt?Whatwouldshesay.Oh,Mariagaveittomewhensheleftforcollege.ButMariawasn’tgoingtocollegenow.Surelyeveryonewouldknowthat.Butwhowouldtellthem?
I’mnottellingthem,Samantharealized.Shewasn’ttellinganybody.
Itwasallsoobviousafterthat.Shefinishedpackingupherdaughter’sbelongings,andsomeofherown.Sheclosedupthehouseandputeverythingintothecaranddrovewest,asfarwestasshehadevertraveledbefore,andthenfarther.AtJamestownsheturnedsouthandatlastleftNewYorkstate,andbylatethatafternoonshewasdeepintheAlleghenyNationalForest,takingateachturntheroadthatlookedlesstraveled.InatowncalledCherryGroveshesawasignforarentalcabin,soremotetheownertoldhernottobotherifshedidn’thaveafour-wheeldrive.
“IhaveaSubaru,”shetoldhim.Shepaidcashforaweek.
Thefollowingdaywasspentlookingforthebestplace,andthatnightshedugtheholewithashovelshe’dbroughtfromEarlville.Thenextnightshebroughtherdaughter’sbodyandleftitthere,deepinthesoilandcoveredwithrocksandbrush,afterwhichshetookashowerandtidiedthecabinandleftthekeyonthefrontporch,asshe’dbeeninstructed.Thenshegotbackinheroldcarandputthat,too,behindher.
PARTFOUR
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Athens,Georgia
“IneedtogotoGeorgia,”hetoldher,adayafterhisreturnfromRutland.TheywerewalkingfromtheirapartmentuptoChelseaMarket,andimmediatelytheybegantoargue.
“Jake,thisiscrazy,yougoingaroundtalkingtopeopleinbarsandsneakingintopeople’shousesandoffices!”
“Ididn’tsneak.”
“Youdidn’ttellthetruth.”
No.Butithadbeenworthit.Hehadlearned,insideoftwenty-fourhours,morethanhe’dbeenabletofigureoutinmonths.Nowheunderstoodwhathe’dactuallybeendealingwith,oratleastwhathe’dbeenavoidingdealingwith,allthattime.
“Therehastobeanotherway,”shesaid.
“Sure.IcouldgobackonOprahlikemyspiritanimal,JamesFrey,andhangmyheadandwhineaboutmy‘process,’andeveryonewilltotallyunderstand,anditwon’tdestroyeverythingI’veaccomplishedorgetthemoviecanceled,nottomentionthenewbook,ormakemeapariahfortherestofmylife.OrIcouldaskMatildaorWendytosetupsomekindofpublicbreastbeating,andmakeEvanParkerintoatragicallylostGreatAmericanNovelist,andgivehimcreditforabookhedidn’twrite.Ormaybejustletthisbitchhavecompletecontrolovermylife,andthepowertoblowupmycareerandmyreputationandmylivelihood.”
“I’mnotsuggestinganyofthat,”Annasaid.
“Icanseehowtofindhernow,oratleastwheretostartlooking.It’sthewrongmomenttoaskmetostop.”
“It’stherightmoment.Becauseyou’regoingtogethurt.”
“I’mgoingtogethurtifIdonothing,Anna.Shedoesn’twanttobeexposedanymorethanIdo.Shewantstobeincontrol,andsofarshehasbeen.ButthemoreIfindoutabouther,themoreIcanredressthebalance.Franklyit’stheonlythingIhaveinmycorner.”
“Butwhyisitstill‘I’?Igotmyownnastyletterfromher,remember?Andevenifthatwasn’tthecase,weshouldbedealingwiththistogether.We’remarried!We’reapartnership!”
“Iknow,”Jakeagreedmiserably.
Maybehehadn’tfullyunderstoodtheimpactofhisownevasionsonAnna,oreventhedamagehe’dcausedtohisbrand-newmarriage,notuntilhe’dbeenforcedintothisconfession.SixmonthsofhidingtheexistenceofTalentedTom(nottomentiontheexistenceofEvanParkerhimself)hadwornawayathim—thatpartheunderstood—butnowhesawtheriskhe’dtakenwithher,andtheworstpartwasthatheprobablystillwouldn’thavetoldheraboutanyofit,notifhehadn’tbeenforcedtodoso.Itwasaterribleindictmentofwhatremainedofhischaracter,andshehadeveryreasontobefuriousathim,butevenasheacknowledgedthishehopedthepreviousnight’sconfessionswouldultimatelyservetomakethingsbetter.MaybelettingAnnaintohispersonalcircleoftheInferno,evenagainsthiswill,wouldbindthemclosertogether.Hehadtohopeso.Hewasdesperatetogettotheendofit,andwhenhedid,hevowedtostartclean—withAnnaandwitheverythingelse.
“IneedtogotoGeorgia,”Jakesaidagain.
Hehadtoldher,already,abouttheRutlandattorney,WilliamGaylord,Esquire,who’dactedinconjunctionwiththeseller’sout-of-staterepresentation.HehadtoldherabouttheRoseParkerwhowastherightage,andwho’dbeenassociatedwithanaddressinAthens,Georgia.Nowhetoldherwhathehadlearnedbyspendingfivedollarsonatwenty-four-hourpasstotheonlineVermontTownClerksPortal:thenameandaddressofthatotherattorney,anAndrewPickens,Esquire.AlsoofAthens,Georgia.
“So?”saidAnna.
“YouknowwhatelseisinAthens,Georgia?Anenormousuniversity.”
“Well,okay,butthat’shardlyasmokinggun.Morelikeabigcoincidence.”
“Okay,ifit’sacoincidence,thenI’llfindthatout.AndthenIcanjustresignmyselftolettingthiswomandestroyourlives.Butfirst,Iwanttoknowifshe’sstillthere,orifnot,thenIwanttoknowwhereshewentwhensheleft.”
Annashookherhead.TheyhadreachedtheNinthAvenueentrancetoChelseaMarket,andpeoplewerestreamingout.“Butwhycan’tyoujustcallthisguy?Whydoyouactuallyneedtoflydownthere?”
“IthinkI’llhaveabetterchanceofgettingintoseehimifIjustturnup.ThatseemedtoworkinVermont.Youcancomewithme,youknow.”
Butshecouldn’t.ShehadtogobacktoSeattletofinishdealingwithherstuffinstorageandtakecareofsomefinalbusinesswithWBIK.Alreadyshe’dputthatoffacoupleoftimes,andnowherbossatthepodcaststudiohadaskedAnnanottotravellaterinJune(whenhewasgettingmarriedandgoingtoChinaonahoneymoon)orJuly(whenhe’dbeattendingapodcastingconferenceinOrlando).Annawasplanninghertripfornextweek.
Jakecouldn’tpersuadehertochangeherplans,sohegaveuptrying,andthereremainedapalpabletensionbetweenthem.HebookedaflightforthefollowingMonday,and,inthemeantime,hespentthenextcoupleofdaysfinishinghisrevisionsforWendy.HesentoffthemanuscriptlateonSundaynightandwhenheturnedhisphoneonaftertheplanelandedinAtlantathefollowingafternoon,therewasanemaillettinghimknowthebookhadbeenputintoproduction.Sothatparticularweight,atleast,fellaway.
Atlantawasacityhehadpassedthroughacoupleoftimesonhisbooktoursbutneverreallyvisited.HepickedupacarattheairportandheadednortheasttoAthens,passingthroughDecatur,wheremanymonthsearlier,asCribfirstsurgedintothenationalconsciousness,he’dattendedabookfestivalandexperiencedhisfirst“entranceapplause”.Herememberedthatday—onlytwoyearsago—andthestrange,disembodiedfeelingofbeingknownbysomeone(inthiscase,bymanysomeones)hehimselfdidnotknow,andthesenseofwonderthathehadactuallywrittenabookstrangershadpaidmoneytobuy,andspenttimetoread,andlikedenoughtohavefiledintotheDeKalbCountyCourthousejusttoseehimandhearhimsay,presumably,somethingofinterest.Howfarfromthatheadymomenttothis,Jakethought,passingtheexitsignsforDecaturon285.Hewonderedifhewouldbepermittedtofeelprideinhisnewbookwhenitcameout,orwhetherhe’deverbeabletowriteanythingelseafterthisordeal,evenifhedid,somehow,managetobringittoapeacefulconclusion.Andifhedidn’t,ifthiswomansucceededinbringinghimtohisknees,shaminghimbeforehispeersandhisreadersandeveryoneelsewho’dplacedtheirownprofessionalreputationinsupportofhis,Jakewonderedhowhecouldcontinuetoholduphisheadintheworld,notjustasawriterbutasaperson.
Allthemorereasontogettheanswershe’dcomefor.
BythetimehereachedAthensitwastoolatetodoanythingbuteat,sohecheckedintohishotelandwentoutforbarbeque,markingupamapofthelocationsheneededtovisitashesatwaitingforhisribsandbeer.HewassurroundedbyblondyoungwomendressedinredUGAshirts.Theyhadmusical,inebriatedvoicesandwerecelebratingsomeplainlynonacademictriumphtogether,andhethoughthowunliketheseadmittedlyprettyyoungpeoplehisownwifewas,andhowfortunatehefelttobemarriedtoAnna,evenifAnnawasplainlydistressedaboutthechoiceshe’dbeenmakingandupsetwithhimingeneral.Hethoughtofhow,eachmorningafterhiswifeleftforwork,hefoundanestofherlonggrayhairscoiledinthedrainoftheshower,theextractionofwhichgavehimapowerful,ifadmittedlyodd,satisfaction.Hethoughtofhowtheirhomewaswarm,colorful,andcomfortable—notonefacetofwhichwasathinghe’dbeenabletoachieveonhisown—andhowtherefrigeratorandfreezerwerefullofherdeliciousfood:homemadesoupsandstewsandevenbread.Hethoughtofthecat,Whidbey,andtheparticularsatisfactionofcohabitingwithananimal(hisfirstactualpetsinceawoefullyshort-livedhamsterwhenhewasaboy),andthewaysinwhichtheanimaloccasionallydeignedtoexpressgratitudeforhisextremelypleasantlife.Hethoughtofthegradualadditionofnewandagreeablepeopletotheirlifeasacouple—somefromtheworldofwriters(whomhecouldenjoyaspeoplenowthathehadnoreasontoenvythem)andsomefromthenewmediaspheresAnnawasbeginningtomovein.Allofitunderscoredthepowerfulsensethathehadembarkeduponthebestperiodofhislife.
Now,sippinghisbeerandeatinghisbarbecuedribsasthesororitygirlsyelpedatthenexttable,hemarveledatthechanceofitall:thatlateadditiontohiscrammedbooktour,whichOtis(heactuallyhadtotrytorememberthenameofhistourliaison!)hadacceptedonhisbehalf,theirritating,borderlineinsultingon-airinterview,theutterlyspontaneousinvitationtohavecoffee,andabovealltheunanticipatedbraveryofsomeonewillingtoupendherlifeandjoinhis,leavingsomuchbehind.Andherehewas,lessthanayearlater,marriedtothiswiseandlovelywoman,withanewlifeandanewnovelthatcarriednotatraceofguiltinitsconception,lookingaheadtoeveryvarietyoffulfillment.
IfonlyhecouldputEvanParkerandhisappallingfamilybehindhim.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
PoorRose
InthemorninghewalkedtotheUGAcampusandfoundhiswaytotheregistrar’soffice,whereherequestedtherecordsofastudentnamedRoseParker,hometown:WestRutland,Vermont.Hehadastoryprepared—estrangedniece,dyinggrandparent—butnobodyaskedhimforanything,includingidentification.Ontheotherhand,hewasonlyofferedtheinformationallowedundersomethingcalledtheBuckleyAmendment,andifthatseemedsparsecomparedtoallofthequestionsJakehaditalsorepresentedabouquetofwonderfullyconcretefacts.First,thatRoseParkerhadenrolledattheUniversityofGeorgiaatAthensinSeptemberof2012withoutadeclaredmajor.Second,thatshe’drequestedandreceivedawaiverfortherequirementthatfreshmenliveinanon-campusdormitory(inawelcomebonus,theoff-campusaddressprovidedtotheuniversitymatchedtheonefromhisowninternetsearch).Third,thatherprojectedyearofgraduationwas2016,butthatonlyoneyearlater,inthefallof2013,therewasnolongeraRoseParkeramongthe37,000enrolledstudentsattheuniversity.Needlesstosay,theregistrarhadnoforwardingaddressorcontactinformationofanykind,andifRose’sacademicrecordshadbeensenttoanotherinstitutionofhighereducationinsupportofatransferapplication,thatinformationdidnotfallwithintheparametersofwhathewaspermittedtoknow.
HewalkedoutintotheJunemorningandtookaseatononeofthewoodenbenchesinfrontoftheHolmes-HunterAcademicBuilding.Itwasbothmarvelousandsomehowdisturbingtoimaginethispersonwalkingalongthecollegiatepathways,perhapssittingonthisverybenchinfrontofthedistinctlyplantation-esquebuildinghe’djustexited.CouldshestillbehereinAthens?Itwascertainlypossible,butJakesuspectedshewaslonggonetosomeothertowninsomeotherstate,doingwhoknewwhatasshekeptupanobsessivecampaignagainsthimandhiswork.
JakefoundtheofficesofAndrewPickens,Esquire,onCollegeAvenueandtookanoutdoortableatacaféafewstorefrontsupthestreettogatherhisthoughts.HewaslookingoversomeofthedistinctlyunsavoryinformationaboutPickenshe’dbeenabletogatheroverthedayssincehe’dvisitedthatotherEsquireinRutland,Vermontwhenhesawanobviouslyiratefatherusheringhiscollege-agedson,cladinthenowfamiliarUGAredattire,intotheattorney’soffice.Thepairstayedinsideforalongtime,andwhentheyfinallyemerged,Jakegotupfromhistableandenteredbythesamedoor,findinghimselfatthefootofasteepstaircase.Onthesecondfloor,theoffice’sglassdoorwasunlocked,andinside,aflorid-facedmanwasseatedatamassivemahoganydesk.Behindhim:shelvesoflawbooks,sopristinetheylookedasifthey’dneverbeenopened.Thatwasn’tinconsistentwithwhathe’dlearnedaboutAndrewPickens,Esquire.
Themanwasfrowning.Jake,also,wasfrowning.Thenherememberedthathehadthefirstline.
“Mr.Pickens?”
“Iam.Andyouare?”
“JacobBonner.”
Jakecrossedtheroomwithhishandextended.Hewasgoingforsoutherngenteel,theYankeeapproximation.“Sorrynottocallfirst.Ifyou’rebusyI’dbehappytocomeback.”
Pickens,however,remainedseated.Hedidnotextendhisownhand.HeseemedtobegivingJakemoredisapprovalthanevenanunexpectedwalk-indeserved.
“Idon’tbelievethatwillbenecessary,Mr.Bonner.Iwon’tbeabletohelpyou,evenifyoucomebackanothertime.”
Thetwoofthemstaredateachother.Jakelethishanddrop.Finally,hemanaged:“I’msorry?”
“I’msorryyou’resorry.Butattorney-clientprivilegemakesitimpossibleformetoansweryourquestions.”
“AreyousayingyoualreadyknowwhatI’vecometotalktoyouabout?”
“Iamnotatlibertytoanswerthat,”Pickenssaid.
“And,justtobeclear,youalsoknowwhichofyourclientsmyquestionspertainto.”
“Again,Iwon’tbeanswering.”
Jake,forallofhisanticipation,anddespite,inparticular,thehourhe’djustspentwaitingatthecaféupthestreet,hadnotconsideredthisparticularscenario.Asaresult,hewasfloored.
“SoIrespectfullyinviteyoutoleave,Mr.Bonner,”Pickensadded.Healsogottohisfeet.
Therewere,apparently,verylonglegsunderneaththatbigdesk,andtheyunfoldedastheattorneyrose.Athisconsiderableheighthelookedeveryinchtheflowerofsouthernmanhood,fromthatathleticframetotheredfaceandswept-backhair,amitetoouniformlybrowntobeentirelynatural.Hestood,leaningforward,armsbracedonhisdesk,wearinganoddlynot-unfriendlysmile,butclearlyexpectingJaketogowithoutfurthercomment.
Instead,Jakecrossedtheroomandtookoneofthechairsontheothersideofthedesk.
“I’vedecidedtohireanattorney,”hesaid.“I’mbeingharassedandthreatened,andIwouldliketofilesuitfordefamation.”
Pickensfrowned.Perhapswhathe’dbeentoldhadn’tincludedthepartsaboutharassment,threats,anddefamation.
“IhavereasontobelievetheharassmentoriginatedhereinAthens,andIneedalocalattorneytoactonmybehalf.”
“I’dbehappytoreferyoutosomebodyelse.IknowsomeexcellentattorneyshereinAthens.”
“Butyou’reanexcellentattorney,Mr.Pickens.Imean,youcertainlyappeartobe,ifyoudon’tlooktooclosely.”
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Pickenssaidsharply.
“Well,youobviouslyknowwhoIam.IassumethatmeansyoualsoknowI’mawriter.Writersresearch.AndofcourseI’veresearchedyou.”
Pickensnodded.“Happytohearit.Myonlineratingsareexcellent.”
“Absolutelycorrect!”Jakesaid.“DukeUniversityundergrad.VanderbiltLaw.Reallygoodstuff.Imean,therewasthatcheatingthingatDuke,butitwasyourwholefrat.Doesn’tseemfairtosingleyouout.Andthenyoudidhavethatoneincidentwithyourclient’sdaughter.AndyourownDUIs,ofcourse.Butwhodoesn’thaveDUIs,right?Also,I’msuretheClarkeCountycopsareouttogetasuccessfuldefenseattorneylikeyou.Still,thatwasacloseshavewiththeGeorgiabar.”
Pickenssatdown.Hewassolivid,hisfacehadslidintoanevendeepershadeofred.
“Anyway,IthinkmostpeoplejuststopwithFacebookorYelpwhenthey’relookingforalawyer.You’reprobablyokay.”
“Nowwho’sharassingandthreatening?”hesaid.“I’vealreadyaskedyoutoleave.”
“So,isRoseParkerthepersonwhosaidImightbecomingtoseeyou?”
Hedidnotrespond.
“Doyouknowwheresheisnow?”
“Mr.Bonner,I’veaskedyoutoleave,severaltimes.NowI’mgoingtophonethepolice.Thenyou,too,canhaveacriminalcomplaintfiledagainstyouhereinClarkeCounty.”
Jakesighed.Hegottohisfeet.“Well,I’msureyouknowwhatyou’redoing.I’mjustworriedthatwhentheycometalktoyouabouttheVermontcrimes,allthatoldstuffaboutyouisgoingtocomeout.ButIguessyou’vemadeyourpeacewiththat.”
“IknownothingaboutanyVermontcrimes.IhaveneversetfootinVermont.IhaveneverbeennorthoftheMason-DixonLine.”
Hesaidthiswithsuchprideheactuallysneered.Whatapatheticloser.
“Well,”Jakeshrugged,“that’sfine,thoughwhenthoseYankeeinvestigatorsarriveIdon’tthinkyou’llgetridofthemjustbyaskingthemtoleave.Myguessisyou’llneedtohirerepresentationofyourown.Maybeoneofthoseexcellentattorneysyouwereabouttorefermeto.MaybewhoeverhandledyourDUIsorthatbusinesswiththeteenager.AndI’llprobablybenamingyouinmyownlawsuit.Youknow,whenIsueyourclientfordamages.Somaybe,iftheyrepresentyouforthat,too,they’llgiveyouabreakontheprice.”
Mr.AndrewPickenslookedasifhemightblowapart.
“Youwanttowasteyourmoneyonafrivolouslawsuit,yougorightahead.AsIsaid,attorney-clientprivilegepreventsmefromprovidinganyinformationaboutmyclient.Pleaseleave.”
“Oh,you’veprovidedplentyofinformation,”Jakesaid.“Youconfirmedthatyou’restillincommunicationwithyourclient,RoseParker.IhadnowayofknowingthatwhenIwalkedinafewminutesago,soIappreciateit.”
“Ifyoudon’tleaveimmediatelyIwillcallthepolice.”
“Fine,”saidJake,languidlygettingtohisfeet.“Ifitdoesn’tcrossanethicalline,Ihopeyou’lltellyourclientthatifshedoesn’tknockitoffwiththeemailsandthepostsI’mgoingtotheVermontcopswitheverythingI’velearned.AndthatincludesacoupleofthingsthathavebeenbotheringmeaboutEvanParker’sdeath.”
“Ihavenoideawhothatis,”saidPickens,barelykeepingittogether.
“Naturally.Butifyourclientmurderedhim,andifyouwereinvolved,Icanpromiseyou’regoingnorthoftheMason-DixonLine,becausethat’swheretheykeeptheYankeecourthouses.AndtheYankeeprisons.”
AndrewPickens,Esquire,lookedasifhehadlostthepowerofspeech.
“Well,byethen.It’sbeenapleasure.”
Jakeleft,rageandadrenalinecoursingthroughhim.Oftheastonishingthingshe’djustsaidtoacompletestrangerinhisplaceofbusiness,approximately100percenthadbeenunplanned,thoughhe’dcertainlyhadalltherelevantfactsathisdisposalfordays.Pickens’smoralfailings,alongwiththoseofhisfraternitybrothers,hadbeendelineatedinnofewerthanfourarticlesintheDukestudentpaper,completewiththenamesandclassesofallinvolved.Thestickysituationwithhisclient’snineteen-year-olddaughter(legal,butgross)hadplayedoutoverFacebook,courtesyofthegirlandhermother,andtheDUIshadcomerightupinabasicinternetsearch.(Theyreallyoughttohavebeenexpunged,somehow,Jakethought.Maybehewasn’tallthatgoodanattorney.)
Hehadn’tplannedtospeakofEvanParker’sdeathatall,letaloneasanythingbutanaccidentallyself-administeredoverdose,andasforthelegaljeopardyPickensmightfaceasaresultofcrimeshisclienthadtheoreticallycommittedinVermont,heknewhewasonshakyground.Personally,JakehadnoideawhatwouldhappenifhewalkedintothelocalRutlandpolicestationwithhisconcernsaboutafive-year-olddrugoverdose,buthehadtoassumethatitwouldn’tbetakenallthatseriously,anditwashighlyunlikelythatthestateofVermontwouldsendinvestigatorstoWestRutland,letalonetoAthens,Georgia.Hestronglysuspected,moreover,thatAndrewPickenshadlittletofearfromanofficialinvestigation,andhisclientnotmuchmore,butithadbeensatisfyingbeyondbelieftoutterthewords“Yankeeprison”inthatoffice,andthefuryhe’dfeltbackthereonlyseemedtobecoalescingwitheverystephetook.
HewasactuallystunnedbywhathadjusthappenedbetweenhimselfandPickens,andsortofgratefulthathehadn’thadthechancetoconsiderandtemperhisresponsebeforehe’dreacted.Itwasn’tasifhe’dbeenespeciallyoptimisticwhenhe’denteredthelawyer’soffice,buthehadn’texpectedtobeblockedbeforehecouldevengethisfirstquestionout.Hethoughthe’dfeeltheguyout,maybesuggestthathewasinterestedinhiringanattorney,andwhenaskedfordetailsabouthiscomplainthewoulddescribeTalentedTom’sactivitiesandworkhiswayaroundtorevealingthenameRoseParker.Then,ifPickensdeclinedtogivehimameansofcontactinghisclient,hewouldleave,perhapswithsomeformofthemessagehe’dmanagedtodeliver,albeitnotatquitesohighapitch.Formonths,henowrealized,eversincethatdayinthecartotheSeattleairportwherehe’dreadthefirstofthoseterrifyingdispatches,he’dbeeninadefensiveposture,bracingforthenextcommunicationwhilehoping,againstalllogic,thatitwouldnevercome.Thathadtakenalotoutofhimandnow,forthefirsttime,hewasfeelingthesheerragehe’dmanagedtoaccrueoverthatsameperiod,thedeepresentmentagainstthispersonwhofeltitherbusinessandherrighttoharryandpersecutehim,justbecausehe’dfoundastoryandcrafteditintoafineandcompellingnarrative,preciselyaswritershadalwaysdone!Therehadbeensomethingaboutthatguy,though,withhisredfaceandhisdyedhairandhispretentiousEsquireandhispreemptivestonewall.SomethingthatgrabbedJakebythethroatandmadehimspeakinalanguagehemighthavelearnedfromTalentedTomherself.No,thesepeoplewerenotgoingtofuckwithhimanylonger.Oriftheydid,hewasgoingtofuckwiththemrightback.
BynowhehadturnedontoWestHancockStreetandwasdrawingclosertotheaddresshe’ddiscoveredattheRutlandFreeLibrary.Onlyalittleoveraweekhadpassedsincethatdayhe’dnaturallydismissedtheRoseParkerofAthens,Georgia,asirrelevanttotheunfoldingsagaofEvanParkerandhisavengingangel.Nowtheaddress,foranapartmentcomplexcalledAthenaGardensonDearingStreet,washisbestremaininghopeoffindingaconnectiontowherevershewasnow,notthathewasna?veenoughtoexpectaforwardingaddressoranongoingemailcorrespondencewithacurrentresident.InauniversitytownlikeAthens,thepassageofsixyearsmeantacompleteturnoveroftheundergraduatesinthetown’smanyapartmentcomplexes,buthesupposeditmightstillbepossibletofindsomeonewhorecalledthisparticularperson:adescription,amemory,anythingthatmightbringhimclosertofindingher.
TheAthenaGardensapartmentslookedlikeabare-bonesversionoftheluxeoptionshe’dalreadyseenaroundtown,housingcomplexesfrontedbycountryclubpavilionsandshowingglimpsesofpoolsandtenniscourtsthroughtheirirongates.Thisone,ontheotherhand,lookedlikearedbrickrehabilitationfacility,orasmallofficecomplexoccupiedbygentlyfailingbusinesses.TherewasasignoutfrontadvertisingAthenaGardens’samenities(pestcontrolandgarbageremovalincludedinthemonthlyrent,cleaningforanominalfee)andlayoutsfortheone-,two-,andthree-bedroomoptions.JakehadlittledoubtwhichtypeofapartmentRoseParkermighthavechoseninthefallof2012aftergoingoutofherwaytoavoidhavinganon-campusroommate.She’dhavelivedalonehereatAthenaGardens.
Therewasamanagementofficejustinsidethemainentrance,andhefoundawomanbehindadesk,workingatherlaptop.Shehadastiffpageboyhaircutthatonlyservedtoaccentuateherveryfullface,andadefaultexpressionthatsaid:Idon’tlikeyou,butI’mbeingpaidtopretendIdo.ShegaveJakeathoroughlydisingenuoussmilewhenheentered.Still,itwasafarwarmergreetingthanwhathe’dhadfromAndrewPickens,Esquire.
“Hi.HopeI’mnotinterrupting.”
ShelookedtobeaboutJake’sownage.Possiblyolder.“Notatall,”shesaid.“WhatcanIdoforyou?”
“Justlookingatafewoptionsformydaughter.She’sgoingtobeasophomoreinthefall.Can’twaittogetoutofthedorms.”
Thewomanlaughed.“Ihearthatalot.”Shestoodup.“I’mBailey,”shesaid,reachingoutherhand.
“Hi.Jacob.”Theyshook.“IsaidI’dtakealookatafewplaceswhileshewasinclass.I’llneedtobringherbackifIseeanythingthatgetsdadapproval.Iaskedmycousinforsomeadvice.Hisdaughterlivedhereafewyearsback.”
“HereatAthenaGardens?”
“Yes.Hesaiditwassafe.SafetyiswhatIcareabout,really.”
“Ofcourse!You’reherdad!”saidBailey,comingaroundthedesk.“Wegetplentyofdads.Theydon’tcarehowmanystationarybikesareintheworkoutroom.Theywanttoknowtheirgirlsaresecure.”
“Absolutelyright.”Jakenodded.“Don’twanttoknowwhatcolorthecarpetis.Iwanttoknow,dothedoorslock,isthereaguard,thatkindofthing.”
“Notthatwedon’thaveaveryniceworkoutroom.Andaveryprettypool.”
Jake,whohadseenthepoolashecamedownthestreet,couldnotagree.
“AlsoIdon’twantanythingtooclosetoWashingtonStreet.Somanybars.”
“Oh,Iknow.”Thewomanrolledhereyes.“AhundredindowntownAthens,didyouknowthat?It’swildonaSaturdaynight.Actually,it’swildmostnights.So.Wouldyouliketoseeafewapartments?”
Shehadadiretwo-bedroomthatstillborethestainedcarpetsofitsrecentlydepartedoccupants(verythirstypeople,ifthebottlecollectionatopthekitchencabinetswasanyindication).Shehadaone-bedroomthatsmelledofcinnamonpotpourri.Shehadanotherone-bedroomthatactuallyhadatenant.JakewasprettysureBaileywasn’tsupposedtobeshowingittoanyone.
“Yousaidyourdaughterwantsaone-bedroom?”
“Yes.She’shadanawfulroommatethisyear.Fromoutofstate.”
“Ah,”saidBailey.Apparently,nomoreneededtobesaid.
“Howlonghasthisplacebeenhere?”heasked,andshetoldhimnearlytwentyyears,thoughheknewthisalready,fromhisresearch.HealsoknewthatBlackneighborhoodsalloverAthenshadbeenbulldozedsothatapartmentcomplexesjustlikethisone(mostofthemmuchnicerthanthisone)couldbeoccupiedbymainlywhitestudents.Buthewashereformorespecifichistory.
“Andwhataboutyou?Howlonghaveyoubeenworkinghere?”
“Justacoupleofyears.BeforethatIwasmanagingoneoftheothersites.Wehavefourinourcompany,allinAthens.”
“Nice,”saidJake.“LikeIsaid,mycousin’sdaughterlivedhere.Shehadagoodexperience,Ithink.HernamewasRoseParker.Youprobablydon’trememberher.”
“RoseParker?”Baileyconsidered.“No,doesn’tsoundfamiliar.Carolemightremember.Carole’sthein-housecleaner.It’sanextracharge,”sheclarified
“Wow.Cleaningforabunchofcollegestudents.That’sgottobeatoughjob.”
“Carolelovesherjob,”saidBailey,abitdefensively.“She’slikethedenmother.”
“Oh,ofcourse.”
Hedidn’tknowwhattosay.Helethershowhimanotherone-bedroom,andthesadlittleexerciseroom,andthepool,whereacoupleofkidswerejustgettingsettledontocheaploungers.WhensheinvitedhimtoreturntotheofficeforabrochureandacopyofthecodeofconductherealizedhewasabouttoleaveAthenaGardenswithoutwhathe’dcomefor,whichwasanythingatall.Baileywastryingtosetupanappointmentforhimandhisimaginarydaughterfortomorrow,butbytomorrowhe’dbehomeinGreenwichVillagewithnotmuchtoshowaveryworriedAnna.
“Listen,”saidJake.“Ioweyouanapology.”
Shewasinstantlywary.Andwhocouldblameher?
“Oh?”Theyhadn’treachedtheofficeyet.Theywereononeofthewalkwaysbetweenthepoolandthecomplex’smainbuilding,wheretheofficewaslocated.
“Mydaughter,she’salreadyfoundaplaceshelikes.”
“Isee,”saidBailey,wholookedasifshe’dexpectedsomethingworse.
“Iwantedtolookatthisplacebecause—thatcousinImentioned?Heaskedmeto.”
Baileyfrowned.“Whosedaughterlivedhere.”
“Yes,2012to2013.Hehasn’theardfromherinacoupleofyears.He’sveryconcerned.Heaskedmetocome.Heknowsit’salongshot,but,youknow,sinceIwashereintown,anyway.Justonthechancethatshekeptintouchwithsomeonehere…”
“Isee,”saidBaileyagain.“Dotheyknow,”shehesitated,“isshestill…”
“She’sactiveon”—heprovidedsarcasticairquotes—“socialmedia.Theyknowshe’slivingsomewhereintheMidwest.Butshedoesn’trespondtoanykindofoverture.Theythought,ifImanagedtofindsomeoneshestayedintouchwith,youknow,theycouldgetamessagethrough.Personally,Ididn’tthinkitsoundedallthatpromising,but…ifitwasmydaughter…”
“Yes.Howsad.”
Foramomentshesaidnothing,andJakethoughteitherhisstoryorhisactingmusthavefallenshortofthemark,butthenBaileyspoke.“LikeIsaid,Iwasatoneofourotherpropertiestilllastyearmyself.Andasforourtenants,they’reabouteightypercentenrolledUGAstudents,mostlyundergrad,soifthey’dbeenherewhenyourcousin’sdaughterwashere,they’realreadylonggone.Acoupleofgradstudentsstaylonger,butIdon’tthinkwehaveanynowthatwereherein2013.”
“Thatwomanyoumentionedbefore,thecleaner?”
“Yeah.”Baileynodded.Shetookoutherphoneandsentatext.“She’sheretoday.Ihaven’tseenher,butshestartedatone.I’maskinghertomeetusoutfront.”
Hethankedher,perhapsabittoowarmly,andtheywalkedtogethertothereceptionareaoutsideheroffice.Whentheyreachedit,asolidwomaninafadedredBulldawgsweatshirtwasalreadythere.
“Carole,hi,”saidBailey.“ThisisMr.…”
“Jacob,”saidJake.
“CaroleFeeney,”saidCarole,obviouslyworried.
“Nothing’swrong,”Baileysaid.“Thismanisjusttryingtofindagirlwholivedhereawhileback.”
“Mycousin’sdaughter,”Jakeconfirmed.“Theyhaven’tbeenabletoreachher.They’reworried.”
“Ohmyyes,”saidCarole,everyinchthedenmothershe’dbeenbilledas.
“Beforemytime,”saidBailey.“ButIwassaying,youmightremember?”
“Couldwe…”Jakelookedaround.Ithadn’tescapedhimthatBaileywasn’tofferingherownofficeforthisinterview.NowthatJakewasn’taprospectsheclearlydidn’twanttogiveoverthespace,orperhapsshenolongercaredtobeinanenclosedroomwithhim.Buttherewereacoupleofchairsinadrearylittleloungenextdoor.Ontheirtour,Baileyhadcalleditthecommonroom.Hepointedinthatdirectionnow.“Doyouhaveafewminutes?”
“Sure,sure,”saidCarole.Shewaspalewithaforestofdarkmolesalongbothcollarbones.Jakewasfindingithardnottolookatthem.
“Well,goodluck,”Baileysaid.“Keepusinmindifyourdaughter’splacedoesn’tworkout.”
“Thankyousomuch,”Jakesaid.“Iwill.”
Hewouldn’t.Evensheknewthat.
Inthelounge,hetookoneoftheoldarmchairs,whichwasasuncomfortableasitlooked,andCaroleFeeneytookanotherone.Sheseemedalreadytobeinmourningforthisunnamedgirlfrom“awhileback”whosefamilycouldn’treachher,andafraidtofindoutwhoitwas.
“So,likeIsaid,mycousin’sdaughterlivedhere,herfreshmanyear.Thatwas2012to2013.”
“Freshmanyear?Usuallythey’reinthedormsuponcampus.”
“SoIunderstand.Shegotsomekindofawaiver.”
Hereyeswidened.“Wait,isitRose?AreyoutalkingaboutRose?”
Jakeseemedtolosehisbreath.Hehadn’texpectedittobesofast.Nowhewasn’tsurewhattosay.
“Yeah.RoseParker.”
“In2012,yousaid?Thatsoundsaboutright.She’smissing?PoorRose!”
PoorRose.Jakemanagedtonod.
“Ohmyword.That’ssosad.Hermotherdied,youknow.”
Jakenodded.Hewasstillnumb.“Yes.Itwasverytragic.IsthereanythingyourememberaboutRosethatmighthelpherdadfindher?”
Carolefoldedherhandsinherlap.Theywerebighands,andunsurprisinglyrough.
“Well,shewasmature,ofcourse.Didn’thavealotoffriendsover.Didn’tgoouttothebars.Sometimesshestudiedatthepool.Ididn’tcleanforher,soIwasn’tinherplaceexceptnowandthen.Ithinkshecamefromupnorth.”
“Vermont,”Jakeconfirmed.
“Thatso.”
Hewaitedforhertocontinue.
“Couldn’thavebeenmoredifferentfrommostofthesegirls.Theygottheirbedscoveredwithstuffedanimals,likethey’resixyearsold.Everyinchofthewallhasposters.Throwpillowsallovertheplace.Aminifridgeineveryroomsotheydon’thavetowalkmorethanafewstepstogetacanofpop.Someoftheseapartments,youcanbarelyturnaroundinforallthethingstheybring.Rosekepthersprettyplain,andshewasatidyperson.LikeIsaid,mature.”
“Didsheeverspeakaboutherfamily?”
Caroleshookherhead.“Don’trememberthat,no.Shenevermentionedafather.Yourcousin?”
“Theyweren’ttogether,theparents.NotformostofRose’slife,”Jakesaid,thinkingquickly.“That’sprobablywhy.”
Thewomannodded.Shehadtwothinbraidsofhighlydistressedorangehair.“Ionlyeverheardhertalkabouthermother.Butofcourse,thathorriblethingwithhermomhadjusthappened,rightbeforeshegothere.Probablythatwastheonlythingonhermind.”Sheshookherhead.“Sohorrible.”
“You’retalkingabout…thefire,right?”saidJake.“Wasitacarcrash?”
That’swhathe’dbeenimagining,herealized,eversincetheParkerTavern,andSally’sindeliblesheburnedup.Itobviouslyhadn’tbeenatthehouse;SylviaorBettywouldhavesaidso,foldingthatintothecarbonmonoxidepoisoningandtheoverdose,justanotherdreadfulthingthathadtakenplaceinanoldfamilyhomewherepeoplewerebornanddied.SincethatnightattheParkerTavernhe’dimagineditprettyconsistentlyascarhitsditch,carflips,carsomersaultsdownhill,carburstsintoflame,andhecouldseeahundredfilmandtelevisionvariationsonthatsequence,perhapswiththeadditionofatragic/luckypassengerwho’dmanagedtogetoutintime,screamingandcryingandstaringdownattheconflagrationfromtheroadabove.
“Ohno,”saidCaroleFeeney.“Poorthingwasinatent.AndRosejustbarelygotoutintime,hadtowatchithappen.Nothingatallshecoulddo.”
“Inatent?Theywere…what,camping?”
Itwasthekindofastonishingdetailacousinofanex-husbandofafatalaccidentvictimprobablyoughttohaveknown.Buthehadn’tknownit.
“DrivingdownheretoAthens,fromupnorth.Iguess,yousaid,Vermont.”Shefixedhimwithalook.“Noteverybodyhasthemoneytostayinahotel,youknow.Shetoldme,once,ifshehadn’tgonesofarawayfromhometogotoschool,hermotherwouldstillbeokay,notinsomeplotinnorthGeorgia.”
Jakewasstaringather.“Wait,”hesaid.“Wait,thishappenedinGeorgia?”
“Rosehadtoburyhermamainacemeteryupthere,inthetownnearwhereithappened.Canyouimagine?”
Hecouldn’t.Well,hecould,butthenagain,theproblemwasn’timaginingit,theproblemwasmakingsenseofit.
“Whywouldn’tshebringherhome,tobeburiedinVermont?ThewholefamilyisburiedinVermont!”
“Youknowwhat?Ididn’taskherthat,”Carolesaid,withabundantsarcasm.“Youthinkthat’saquestiontoasksomebodywhojustlosthermother?Shedidn’thaveanybodybacktherewhereshecamefrom.Itwasjustherandhermama,shetoldme.Nosistersorbrothers.AndlikeIsaid,Ineverheardasinglethingaboutyourcousin,”Carolesaidmeaningfully.“Maybeitmadesensetoher,tojusttakecareofitupthere.Butifyoufindher,youcandefinitelyaskher.”
Theinterview,suchasitwas,appearedtobedeteriorating.Jakefranticallytriedtothinkofwhathestillneededtoknow.
“Shelefttheuniversityafterherfreshmanyear.Doyouhaveanyideawhereshewent?”
Caroleshookherhead.“Didn’tknowshewasgoingtilltheytoldmetocleanupherplace,afterthefact.Iwasn’treallysurprisedshedecidedtogosomewhereelsetostudy.Thisisapartyschool.Shewasnopartygirl.”
Henodded,asifhe,too,wasawareofthis.
“Andthere’snooneelsewholivedherethen,whoshemighthavekeptintouchwith?”
Caroleconsidered.“No.LikeIsaid,Idon’tthinkshehadmuchincommonwiththeotherstudents.Eventhosecoupleofyears,itmakesabigdifferenceatthatage.”
“Wait,”saidJake.“Howoldwasshe,wouldyousay,whenshewaslivinghere?”
“Ineverasked.”Shestoodup.“SorryIcan’thelpyou.Ihatetothinkofherasmissing.”
“Wait,”hesaidagain.Hewasreachingintoabackpocketforhisphone.“Just…canIshowyouapicture?”Hewaslookingfortheblurrygirlonthefieldhockeyteam:shortbangs,largeroundglasses.Becausethatwasallhehad,theonlyproofoftheRoseParkerwho’dpoweredthroughhighschoolinthreeyearsandlefthomeatthestartofwhatwouldotherwisehavebeenhersenioryear,andwhoshouldhavearrivedhereinGeorgiaasamotherlesssixteen-year-old.“Ijustwanttomakesure,”hetoldCarolFeeney,holdingitouttoshowher.
Thewomanleanedcloser,andimmediatelyhesawtheconcernfallawayfromher.Shestraightenedup.
“NotRose.”CaroleFeeneyshookherhead.“You’retalkingaboutsomebodyelse.Well,that’sarelief.Thatgirl’sbeenthroughenough.”
“But…thisisher.ThisisRoseParker.”
Sheindulgedhimbylookingatitagain,butthistimefornolongerthanasecond.
“Noitisn’t,”shesaid.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,pages245–46
Shemadeapointofreturningacoupleoftimesthatfirstyear,andwhensheranintopeoplesheknewinEarlsvilleorHamilton,peopleshe’dknownherentirelife,sheletthemknowhowMariawasdoingatOhioState.
“She’sgoingtomajorinhistory,”shetoldthetelleratherbankasshearrangedatransferoffundstoherdaughter’saccountinColumbus.
“She’sthinkingoftransferring,”shetoldoldFortishimself,whenshesawhimgettingoutofhiscaratthePriceChopper.“Wantstoseemoreofthecountry.”
“Well,whocanblameher?”hesaid.
“Sheseemsreallyhappyoutthere,”shetoldGab,whoturnedupatthehouseoneday.
“Ijusthappenedtobepassingby.Isawyourcar?”Gabsaid,asifitwasaquestion.“Ineverseeyourcaranymore,whenIpassby.”
“IhaveaboyfriendjustoutsideAlbany,”Samanthasaid.“I’mspendingalotoftimeouttherewithhim.”
“Oh.”
Gab,itturnedout,hadbeenemailingMariasinceAugust,textingher,callingheruntilshegotamessagethatthenumberwasnolongerfunctional.
“Shewashopingyou’dgetthemessage,”Samanthatoldher.“I’msorrytobetheonetellingyouthis,butMariahasaseriousgirlfriendnow.It’ssomeoneinherphilosophyclass.Averybrilliantyoungwoman.”
“Oh,”thegirlsaidagain.Sheleftapainfulfiveminuteslater,sothatwastheendofthat.Orshouldhavebeen.
“I’mthinkingofmovingouttoOhio,tolivewithmydaughterthere,”shetoldthewomaninthelocalReMaxoffice.“I’mwonderinghowmuchyouthinkmyhouseisworth.”
Itwasworthalotlessthanshewantedforit,butshesolditanywaythatspring,andSamanthadrovetheSubaruwestagain,thoughthistimewithaU-HaulvanattachedandwithoutadetourtoPennsylvania.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Foxfire
Evenbeforehecalledher,heknewshe’dbeupset.HerownflighttoSeattlewascomingupsoonandJakehadbeenscheduledtoreturnthefollowingmorningaftertwodaysofatripshehadn’twantedhimtomakeinthefirstplace;insteadhewaschanginghisplans,extendinghisrentalcar,and,worstofall,drivingnorthtoaplacehe’dneverevenheardofbeforetoday,inapartofGeorgiahe’dneverhadanyreasontovisit.Untilnow.
“OhJake,no,”Annasaid,whenhetoldher.
Hewasbackinhisroomatthehotel,eatingaburgerhe’dpickeduponhiswalkbackfromthelibrary.
“Listen,IjustassumedshediedinVermont.IhadnoideatheaccidenthappenedinGeorgia.”
“Well,sowhat?”Annasaid.“Whydoesitmatterwhereithappened?Imean,forfuck’ssake,Jacob,whatisityouthinkyou’regoingtofindout?”
“Idon’tknow,”hesaid,honestlyenough.“IjustwanttodowhateverIcantogethertostopextortingme.”
“Butshehasn’tdonethat,”Annasaid.“Extortionimpliesademand.Shehasn’taskedyouforapenny.Shehasn’tevenaskedyoutocomeclean.”
Hehadtoletthatsitthereforamoment.Itwasanintenselypainfulmoment.
“Comeclean?”hefinallysaid.
“I’msorry.YouknowwhatImean.”
Buthedidn’t.That,itoccurredtohim,wasbecomingabitofaproblem.
“Youdon’tfinditinterestingthatsheapparentlydroppedthebodybythesideoftheroadandwentalongonherway?There’sahundredandfiftyyears’worthofParkersinacemeteryinVermont!”
“Well,no,”saidAnna,“itjustdoesn’tseemallthatstrangetome.Underthosecircumstances?She’sonherwayfromVermonttoGeorgia,she’sprobablygotherwholelifeinthebackofthecar,andthishappens.Maybeshealreadyknewshewouldn’tbegoinghome.Maybeshewasn’tsentimentalingeneral.Maybealotofthings!Soshethinks,okay,mylifeisforward,notback.I’lljustfindaniceplacearoundhereforhertobeburied,andI’llkeepgoing.”
“Whataboutfamilymembers?Whataboutfriends?Maybetheyhadanopinion.”
“Maybetheydidn’thavefriends.MaybeEvanParkerwasn’tapartoftheirlives.Maybenoneofthisstuffmatters.Wouldyoupleasejustcomehome?”
Buthecouldn’t.Ithadtakenhimallofthirtysecondsandthesearchterms“DiannaParker+tent+Georgia”tofindthisbriefandhighlyproblematicstoryfromTheClaytonTribuneofRabunGap:
ByNewsStaffonAugust27,2012RabunCountyA32-year-oldwomanperishedintheearlyhoursofSunday,August26thatapproximately2A.M.inatentfireattheFoxfireCampgroundintheChattahoochee-OconeeNationalForest.DiannaParker,ofWestRutland,Vermont,hadbeencampingwithhersister,RoseParker,26,whoescapedtheblazeandwaseventuallyabletoraisethealarm.ParamedicsfromRabunCountyEMSandmembersofGeorgiaStatePatrolTroopCrespondedbutdestructionofthecampsitewascompletebythetimetheyreachedthecampgrounds.
Hesentherthelinknow,alongwiththequestion:Don’tyouseetheissuehere?
Shedidn’t.Hedidn’tblameher.
“RoseParkerwas16.Not26.”
“Sothere’satypo.Onedigit.Humanerror.”
“Sister?”hesaid.“Notdaughter?”
“It’samistake.Look,Jake,Igrewupinasmalltown.Theselocalpapers,they’renotTheNewYorkTimes.”
“It’snotamistake.It’salie.Look,”hesaid,“don’tyoufinditinterestingthatnobodyseemstogetsickinthisfamily?Everyonediessuddenlyinsomekindofunexpectedevent.Carbonmonoxidepoisoning.Drugoverdose.Atentfire,forGod’ssake!That’salottoaccept.”
“Well,peopledodie,Jake,inallthoseways.Thereweren’talwayscarbonmonoxidedetectors—evenwiththempeoplestillgetpoisoned,sometimes.Theyalsooverdose.There’sanopiatecrisisinthiscountry,asyoumightbeaware.AndinSeattlewehadtentfiresinthehomelessencampmentsallthetime.”
Shewasright,hetoldher,buthewasstillgoingtotakeanotherdaytodriveupthere.Maybehe’dfindsomeonetotalkto,who’dbeenattheaccidentsite,orwho’dmaybeevenspokenwiththesurvivoratthetime.Andhecouldvisitthecampsitewherethefirehadhappened.
“Butwhy?”shesaid,withgreatexasperation.“Somecampsiteinthewoods?Whatdoyouthinkyou’regoingtolearnfromthat?”
Hedidn’thonestlyknow.
“AlsoIwanttoseewhereshe’sburied.”
Butthathecoulddefendevenless.
InthemorninghedrovenorthacrossthePiedmontPlateauandintotheBlueRidgeMountains,lovelyenoughtoprodaside,temporarily,hisongoingpreoccupations.WhathewouldsaywhenhegottoRabunGap,andwhomhewouldsayitto,wereunansweredquestions,buthecouldn’tstophimselffromfeelingtherewassomefinalinsightwaitingforhimthere,somethingthatjustifiednotonlythelongdrive(whichwasverymuchnotinthedirectionoftheAtlantaairport)andtheexpenseoftheextradayandrescheduledflight,butmostofalltheobviousdisapprovalofhiswife.Somethinghecouldn’tlearnanywhereelse.Somethingthatwouldconfirmforhim,finally,whothispersonwas,andwhyshe’dcomeafterhim,andhowhecouldgethertostop.
HehadfoundthecampgroundeasilyonGoogleMaps.Findingitinactualitywasconsiderablymoredifficultsincehisphone’sGPSseemedtofalterthemomentheenteredthemountains.HehadtoresorttothedecidedlyanalogmethodofstoppingatageneralstoreinClaytontoaskdirections,andthisrequiredanobscureexchangeofinformationbeforetheinformationwasforthcoming.
“Gotcherlicense?”saidthemanbehindthecounter,whenJakeexplainedwhathewaslookingfor.
“Begyourpardon?”
“Wecansellyouone,ifyoudon’t.”
Licenseforwhat?hewantedtoask,butitdidn’tseemlikeagreatwaytoestablisharapport.
“Oh,well,that’sgood.”
Themangrinned.Hissideburnsweresolongtheyroundedthecorneralonghisjaw,butdidn’tmeetatthechin.Thechinhadadimple,alaKirkDouglas.Maybethatwaswhy.
“Notheretofish,I’mguessing.”
“Oh.No.Justtryingtofindthecampground.”
Foxfire’sdraw,asthemanhappily(andatlength)explainedtohim,wasfishing.JillyCreek,justsouthofthewaterfall,wasapopularspot.
“Howfarfromhere,wouldyousay?”
“I’dsaytwentyminutes.EastonWarwomanRoadforelevenmiles.Leftontheforestserviceroad.Thenit’sabouttwomilesalong.”
“Howmanycampsitesarethere?”saidJake.
“Howmanydoyouneed?”Themanlaughed.
“Actually,”saidJake,“Idon’tneedany.I’mjustinterestedinsomethingthathappenedthere,acoupleofyearsago.Maybeyouremember.”
Theguystoppedsmiling.“MaybeIdo.MaybeIalreadyhaveaprettygoodideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”
HisnamewasMike.HewasanorthGeorgialiferand,byanundeservedstrokeofluck,avolunteerfireman.Twoyearsearlier,hiscompanyhadbeencalledtotheFoxfireCampgroundonacrowdedsummerafternoontobreakupafightbetweentwowomen,oneofwhomhadsufferedabrokenwrist.Fiveyearsbeforethat,awomanhadburnedtodeathinatentinthemiddleofthenight.Apartfromthosetwoincidents,theonlynotableoccurrencesofthepastseveraldecadeshadinvolvedthefailuretoreleaseundersizedtrout.
“Ican’tseewhyyou’dhaveaninterestinthosetwocrazygirlsfromPineMountain,”hesaid.“NotthatIhaveanyideawhyyou’dbeinterestedinthewomanwhodied.Exceptshewasn’tfromhereandobviouslyneitherareyou.”
“I’mfromNewYork,”saidJake,confirmingtheman’sworstsuspicions.
“Andsowasshe?”
“Vermont.”
“Well.”Heshrugged,asifhispointhadbeenproved.
“Iknewherbrother,”Jakesaid,afteramoment.
Thishadtheadvantageofbeing,atleast,true.
“Ah.Well,awfulthing.Terribletosee.Thesisterwashysterical.”
Jake,whodidn’ttrusthimselftoanswer,merelynodded.Sister.
“Soyouweretherethatnight,”saidJake.
“No.ButIwastherethenextmorning.NothingfortheEMTstodo,sotheywaitedforustodotheremoval.”
“DoyoumindifIaskyouaboutit?”
“You’realreadyaskingaboutit,”hesaid.“IfImindedI’dstopyoualready.”
Mikeownedthestorealongwithhistwobrothers,oneofwhomwasinprison,theotherinthestockroom.Thatoneemergedataroundthistime,andlookedatMikeforanexplanation.
“WantstoknowaboutFoxfirecamp,”saidMike.
“Gotcherlicense?”thebrothersaid.“Cansellyouone,ifyoudon’t.”
Jakewishedhecouldavoidgoingthroughthisagain.“I’veneverfished,actually.Iwon’tbestartingtoday.I’mawriter.”
“Writersdon’tfish?”Mikegrinned.
“Thisonedoesn’t.”
“Whatdoyouwrite?Movies?”
“Novels.”
“Fictionalnovels?”
Hesighed.“Yes.Myname’sJake.”Heshookhandswithbothbrothers.
“YouwritinganovelaboutthatwomanatFoxfire?”
Itwasabitmuchtoexplainthathe’dalreadywrittenone.
“No.LikeIsaid,Iknewherbrother.”
“I’lldriveyouout,ifyouwant,”Mikesaid.HisbrotherfromthestockroomlookedaboutassurprisedasJakehimselfwastohearit.
“Really?That’sincrediblykindofyou.”
“IthinkLeecanholddowntheforthere.”
“ThinkIcan,”thebrothersaid.
“Notthatyoucouldn’tfinditonyourown.”
Jakehadseriousdoubtsthathecouldfinditonhisown.
TheytookMike’struck,whichhadthedetritusofatleastfourmealsunderfootandreekedofmenthols,andforelevenmilesofslowcountryroadJakehadtohearfarmorethanhewishedtoknowaboutthetaxesgeneratedbytroutfishinginnorthGeorgia,andhowlittleofitwentbackintothecommunityitcameoutofandnotinto,say,subsidiesforObamacareinotherpartsofthestate,butallthatwasworthitwhentheyturnedofftheroadontoatrackJakeabsolutelywouldhavemissedifhe’dattemptedthisonhisown.Andevenifhehadn’t,he’dstillhavegivenuplongbeforefinishingthenextpartoftheroute,alongadirttrackmilesdeepintothewoods.
“There,”Mikesaid,cuttingtheengine.
Therewasasmallparkingareawithacoupleofpicnictablesandabatteredoldsignwiththecampground’shours(twenty-fourperday,ofwhich10P.M.to6A.M.weremeanttobe“quiet”),reservationpolicy(notaccepted),amenities(twochemicalvaulttoilets,whatevertheymightbe),andnightlyfee($10,payableatthedropbox).Foxfirewasopenyearround,maximumstayfourteendays,nearesttown,asJakenowknewalltoowell,wasClayton,fifteenmilesaway.Itreallywasthemiddleofnowhere.
Butitwasalsopretty.Veryprettyandverytranquilandsosurroundedbyforesthecouldonlyimaginewhatitmustbelikeouthereinthedeadofnight.Reallythelastplaceintheworldyou’dwanttohaveacrisisofanykind,letaloneofalife-threateningnature.Unlessitwasexactlytheplaceyouwantedtohavethatkindofacrisis.
“Icanshowyouwhichsitetheyhad,ifyouwant.”
HewalkedbehindMikealongthecreekandthenleft,pasttwoorthreeunoccupiedcampsites,eachwithitsownfirepitandtentpitch,andfartherbackintothewoods.
“Wasanyoneelsestayingoutherethatnight?”
“Oneoftheothercampsiteswasoccupied,butyouseehowit’ssetup.They’reprettyspreadout,alongdifferentpaths.Evenifthesister’dknowntherewassomeonenearbysheprobablywouldn’tofknownhowtofindthem,especiallyinthedark.AndIdoubtthey’dofbeenmuchhelpevenifshemanagedit.TheywereacouplefromSpartanburgintheirseventies.Sleptthroughthewholething,cameoutinthemorningtoloaduptheircaranddumptheirtrashandfoundtheparkinglotfullofEMTsandthefiremarshal.Noideawhatwasgoingon.”
“Sowhichwaydidshegotogethelp?Thesister.Outtowardtheroad?”
“Yep.Twomilesfromheretothemainroad,andwhenshegotoutthere,nocars,obviously,atfourinthemorning.Tookanothercoupleofhoursbeforesomebodycamealong.BythenshewasacoupleofmilesclosertoPineMountain.Anditwasacoldnight,andshewasjustinflip-flopsandalongT-shirt.Peoplecanbesurprisedbyhowcolditgetsupinthemountains.EveninAugust.ButIguessthey’dbeenplanningforthat.”
Jakefrowned.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,theyhadtheheater,didn’tthey?”
“Youmean,like,anelectricheater?”
Mike,stillacoupleofstepsahead,turnedbacktogiveJakealook.
“Notanelectricheater.Apropaneheater.”
“Andthat’showthefirestarted?”
“Well,it’saprettygoodbet!”Mikeactuallylaughed.“Usuallyyou’reworriedaboutCO2withthosepuppies,butyouneverwanttosetthemdownnearanything,orputanythingoverthem,orhavetheminaplacesomebodycanknockthemover.Theneweronescandetectiftheyfallover.There’sanalarmthatsounds.Butthisonewasn’tnew.”Heshrugged.“Wethinkthat’swhathappened,anyway.Shetoldthecoronershegotuptousethetoiletinthemiddleofthenight.Walkeddowntheretowhereweparked.Goneabouttenminutesinall.Afterward,shesaidshemighthavebrushedagainstitwhenshewentout.Maybeitcould’vefallenover.Shewasatotalmess,talkingaboutit.”
Hestopped.Theywereinaclearing,aboutthirtyfeetlong.Jakecouldstillhearthecreekbutnowthewindinthetallpinesandhickoriesoverheadwerejustasloud.Mikehadhishandsinhispockets.Hisnativeirreverenceseemedtohavedeparted.
“Sothisisit?”
“Yep.Thetentwasoverthere.”Henoddedatthecleared,flatplace.Therewasafirepitbesideit,notrecentlyused.
“It’sreallythebackofbeyond,”Jakeheardhimselfsay.
“Sure.Orcenteroftheuniverse,ifyouliketocamp.”
HewonderedifRoseandDiannaParkerlikedtocamp.Herealized,again,howlittleheknewaboutthem,andhowmuchofwhathethoughtheknewhadturnedouttobewrong.That’swhathappenswhenyoulearnaboutpeoplefromanovel—somebodyelse’soryourown,justthesame.
“Toobadshedidn’thaveaphonewithher,”Jakesaid.
“Shehadone,butitwasinsidethetent,andbythetimeshegotbackthewholethingwasinflames.Itjustwentup,andeverythinginit.”Hepaused.“Notthatitwould’veworkedouthere,anyway.”
Jakelookedathim.“What?”
“Thephone.Youfoundthatoutyourself.”
Indeedhehad.
“Doyouhaveanyideawhytheywerehere?”heaskedMike.“TwowomenfromVermontatacampgroundinGeorgia?”
Mikeshrugged.“Nope.Inevertalkedtoher.RoyPorterdid,though.He’sthecoronerinRabunGap.Ijustassumedtheyweretravelingaround,camping.Ifyouknewthefamilyyouprobablyhaveabetterideathaneitherofus.”HepeeredatJake.“Youdidsayyouknewthefamily.”
“Iknewthebrotherofthewomanwhodied,butIneveraskedhimaboutit.Andhediedayearafterthis.”Hegesturedatthecampground.
“Yeah?Badluckinthatfamily.”
“Theworst,”Jakehadtoagree.Ifitwasluck.“Doyouthinkthecoronerwouldtalktome?”
“Don’tseewhynot.We’vecomealongwaysinceDeliverance.We’reprettynicetooutsidersnow.”
“You’re…what?”Jakesaid.
“Deliverance.Theyshotthatmovieacouplemilesfromhere.”
Thatsentachillthroughhim.Hecouldn’thelpit.
“Goodthingyoudidn’ttellmebefore!”hesaid,withwhathehopedwouldpassforabackslappingkindoftone.
“Oryouwouldn’thavedrivenouttothebackofbeyondwithatotalstrangerandaphonethatwon’twork.”
Hecouldn’ttellifMikewasjoking.
“Hey,couldItakeyoubothouttodinner,tosaythanks?”
Mikeseemedtogivethismoreconsiderationthanitdeserved.Intheend,however,heagreed.“IcangiveRoyacallandaskhim.”
“Thatwouldbefantastic.Whereshouldwego?”
ItwasaveryNewYorkquestion,needlesstosay,butinClaytontherangeofoptionswasnotextensive.HearrangedtomeetthetwoofthemataplacecalledtheClaytonCafé,andafterMikedroppedhimbackatthestoretoretrievehiscar,JakefoundaQualityInnandcheckedinforthenight.HeknewbetterthantophoneoreventextAnna.Instead,helayonthebedwatchinganoldepisodeofOprahinwhichDr.Philadvisedacoupleofsixteen-year-oldstogrowupandtakeresponsibilityfortheirbaby.Henearlyfellasleep,lulledbythegroansofaudiencedisapproval.
TheClaytonCaféwasastorefrontonthetown’smainstreetwithastripedawningandasignthatsaidSERVINGTHECOMMUNITYSINCE1931.Insideweretableswithblack-checkeredtableclothsandorangechairsandwallscoveredwithlocalart.Awomanmethimatthedoor,carryingtwoplatespiledwithspaghettiandtomatosauce,eachwithawedgeofgarlicbreadbalancedontop.Lookingatthem,hewasremindedofthefactthathehadn’teatensincegrabbinganEnglishmuffinfortheroad,thatmorninginAthens.
“I’mmeetingMike,”hesaid,belatedlyrealizinghe’dneveraskedMike’slastname.“And…”Hehadforgottenthecoroner’snamecompletely.“Oneotherperson.”
Shepointedatatableattheotherendoftheroom,underapaintingofaforestgroveveryliketheonehe’dvisitedafewhoursearlier.Amanwasalreadythere:elderly,African-American,wearingaBravessweatshirt.“Berightover,”thewaitresssaid.
Themanlookedup,justatthatmoment.Hisface,aswasprobablyappropriatetohisprofession,gaveawaynothing,notevenasmile.Jakestillcouldnotrememberhisname.Hecrossedtheroomandheldouthishand.
“Hello,I’mJake.Areyou…Mike’sfriend?”
“IamMike’sneighbor.”Thecorrectionseemedhighlyconsequential.HegaveJake’soutstretchedhandanappraisinglook.Then,apparentlyconcludingthatitmethisstandardofhygiene,heshookit.
“Thankyouforjoiningme.”
“Thankyouforinvitingme.Itisn’toftenacompletestrangerdecidestobuymedinner.”
“Oh,thathappenstomeallthetime.”
Thejokelandedaboutasbadlyasitcouldhave.Jaketookaseat.
“What’sgoodhere?”
“Prettymucheverything,”saidthecoroner.Hehadn’tpickeduphisownmenu.“Theburgers.Countryfriedsteak.Thecasserolesarealwaystasty.”
HepointedatsomethingbeyondJake’sshoulder.Jaketurnedtofindthespecialsboard.Today’scasserolewaschicken,broccoli,andrice.HealsosawMikeenter,nodatsomeoneseatedjustinsidethedoor,andmakehiswayacrosstheroom.
“Mike,”saidthecoroner.
“Hi,Mike.”
“Hello,Roy,”saidMike.“Youtwogettingacquainted?”
No,thoughtJake.
“Yes,indeed,”saidRoy.
“Mikereallyputhimselfoutformetoday.”
“SoIunderstand,”Roysaid.“Notsurewhyhetroubledhimself.”
Thewaitresscame.JakeorderedwhatMikewashaving:poppyseedchicken,mashedgreens,andfriedokra.Royorderedthetrout.
“Doyoufish?”Jakeaskedhim.
“I’vebeenknownto.”
Mikeshookhishead.“He’samaniac.Thismanhasamagictouch.”
Royshrugged,buthewasupagainsthisownconsiderablepride.“Well,Idon’tknow.”
“IwishIhadthepatienceforthat.”
“Howdoyouknowyoudon’t?”Mikesaid.
“Idon’tknow.Notmynature,Iguess.”
“Whatisyournature,wouldyousay?”
“I’dsay,tofindthingsout.”
“Isthatanature?”thecoronersaid.“Orapurpose?”
“Theymerge,”saidJake,becomingannoyed.Wasthisguyonlyhereforafreedinner?Helookedasifhecouldaffordhisowndamntrout.“I’mverycuriousaboutthewomanwhodiedupthereatthecampground.Mikemighthavetoldyou,Iknewherbrother.”
“Theirbrother,”saidRoy.
“I’msorry?”
“Theyweresisters.Ergo,thebrotherofonewouldhavebeenthebrotheroftheother.OramImissingsomething?”
Jaketookabreathtosteadyhimself.“Yousoundasifyoumightsharesomeofmyquestionsaboutwhathappened.”
“Well,you’rewrong,”saidRoymildly.“Ihavenoquestions.AndIdon’tseewhyyoushouldhaveany,either.Mikeheresaysyou’reawriter.AmIbeinginterviewedforapublicationofsomekind?”
Heshookhishead.“No.Notatall.”
“Anewspaperstory?Somethingthat’sgoingtowindupinamagazine?”
“Absolutelynot.”
Thewaitresswasback.Shesetthreeplasticglassesoficedteaonthetable,andleft.
“SoIdon’thavetoworryaboutlookingovertheshoulderoftheguysittingnexttomeontheplaneandseeingmyselfinabook.”
Mikegrinned.He’dprobablyhavelikednothingbetter,himself.
“I’dsaynot.”
Henodded.Hehaddeeplyseteyes,andworeabluepoloshirt,buttoneduptheneck,andanoversizedwatchonawideleatherband.Healsoradiatedadeeplydiscomfortingpower.Allthatdeath,Jakesupposed.Allthoseterriblethingspeopledidtooneanother.
Thewaitressreturnedwiththeirfood,anditlookedandsmelledsogoodthatJakenearlyforgotwhatitwastheyweretalkingabout.Hehadn’tknownexactlywhatitwashewasordering.Hestilldidn’tknow.Buthefellonit.
“Wereyououtatthecampsiteyourself?”
Royshrugged.UnlikeJake,whowasshovelingthatchickenintohismouth,thecoronerwasdelayinggratification,delicatelycuttinghistrout.
“Iwas.Igotthereataboutsixinthemorning,notthattherewasmuchtosee.Thetentwentupalmostcompletely.Therewasalittlebeddingleft,andacouplepots,andtheheater.Andthebody,ofcourse.Butthebodywascompletelycharred.Itooksomepictures,andhadtheremainstakendowntothemorgue.”
“Andcouldyoutellanythingmoreonceyougotitthere?”
Roylookedup.“What,inparticular,doyouthinkIwassupposedtotell?Ihadabodythatlookedlikeapieceofcharcoal.Youeverhearthatthingabouthoofbeatsinthepark?”
ItsoundedvaguelyfamiliartoJake,buthesaidno.
“Youhearhoofbeatsinthepark,doyouthinkhorsesorzebras?”
“Idon’tgetit,”saidMike.
“Youthinkhorses,”Jakesaid.
“Right.Becauseit’sgoingtobefarmorelikelythere’swildhorsesintheparkthanwildzebras.”
“Istilldon’tgetit,”saidMike.“Whatparkhaswildhorsesrunningaroundinit?”
Hehadagoodpoint.
“Soyou’resaying,itwasprettyobviousthiswomanburnedtodeath.”
“I’msayingnosuchthing.Itwasobviousshehadburned,absolutely.Butburnedtodeath?That’swhyyougotothescene,foronething,toseeifthepersonmovedduringthefire.Peoplewhoareburningalivetendtomovearound.Peoplewhoarealreadydead,oratleastunconscious,usuallydon’t.Andeventhoughcoronersdothinkhorses,we’retrainedtocheckforzebras.ThisbodyhadarangeofPMCT,appropriatetothecircumstances.”
“PMCT?”
“Post-mortemcomputedtomography.Tolookforfractures,metalobjects.”
“Youmean…likeakneereplacement?”
Roy,whohadbeenabouttotakeabiteofhistrout,stoppedandlookedatJakewithdisbelief.
“Imean,like,abullet.”
“Oh.So.Nofractures,then.”
“Nofractures.Noforeignobjects.”Hepaused.“Noreplacedknees.”
Mikewasgrinning.Hecontinuedtotearthroughhischicken.
“Justaladywhohadburnedtodeathinhertent,fromafirealmostcertainlystartedbyapropaneheater,whichIpersonallysawwaslyingonitsside.”
“Right,”saidJake.“But…whataboutidentification?DidthePMCThelpwiththat?”
“Identification,”saidRoy.
“Well,yes.”
Thecoronersetdownhisfork.“Doyoubelievethisyoungwomanwasmistakenaboutwhoshe’dbeensharingatentwith?”
Notexactly,thoughtJake.
“Butdon’tyouneedtoproveit?”hesaid.
“Areweonatelevisionshow?”saidRoyPorter.“AmIJackKlugman,solvingcrimes?IhadasetofhumanremainsandIhadsomeonetomaketheidentification.Thatisthestandardatanymorgueinthecountry.ShouldIhavegivenheraDNAtest?”
Whichoneofthem?Jakethoughtblandly.
“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.
“Well,then,letmeassureyouthatMissParkerwasgiventhesameprotocolasanyotheridentifyingwitness.Shewasinterviewed—eventually—andsignedanaffidavitattestingtotheidentification.”
“Whyeventually?Weren’tyouabletospeakwithheroutatthecampground?Orinthemorgue?”
“Shewashystericalatthecampground.Andyes,Irealizethetermisoutoffavortoday.Butbythen,remember,she’dseenhersisterburntodeath,andshe’dbeenrunningaroundthebackroadsforacoupleofhoursinthemiddleofthenight,inaT-shirt,tryingtofindhelp.Shewasn’tdoinganybetterbythetimewereachedthehospital.Bringingherdowntothemorguewasoutofthequestion.Shewasn’tsick,soshewasn’tadmitted,buttheydidn’twanttolethergo,either.Sheknewnoonelocally,andshe’djustlosthersister.Gruesomely.Also,shebelievedshe’dcausedtheaccidentbyknockingagainsttheheaterasshewentoutofthetent.Oneofmycolleaguesintheemergencyroommadethedecisiontosedateher.”
“Andyoudidn’taskforanyidentification?”
“No.BecauseIwasawarethatherpersonalpaperswereinthetent.Ibelieveshe’djustlefttousethebathroom.Idon’tknowwhatit’slikewhereyou’refrom,butwetendtoleaveourpassportsathomewhenwegoouttotakealeakinthemiddleofthenight.”
“Sowhenwereyouabletospeakwithher?”
“Thenextmorning.TheGSPtrooperandItookhertothecafeteriaandgotsomefoodintoher,andshegaveusthebasicdetailsaboutwhathappened,andhersister’snameandage.Homeaddress.Socialsecurity.Shedidn’twantanyonecontacted.”
“Nofamilymembers?Friendsbackhome?”
Heshookhishead.
“Didshesaywhytheywerehere?InClayton?”
“Theywerejusthavingatriptogether.They’dneverbeenoutofwherevertheywerefrom,upnorth—”
“Vermont,”saidJake.
“That’sright.Shetoldmethey’dvisitedafewofthebattlefields,andweremakingtheirwaydowntoAtlanta.TheyweregoingtokeepgoingtillNewOrleans.”
“Nothingaboutgoingtocollege,then?”
Forthefirsttime,thecoronerlookedgenuinelysurprised.“College?”
“It’sjust,I’dheardtheywereontheirwaytoAthens.”
“Well,Icouldn’tsay.Justatrip,asfarasIwastold,thenbackupnorth.MostpeoplecomingthroughRabunGapareontheirwaytoAtlanta,maybestoppingtofishorcamp.Nothingoutoftheordinaryforus.”
“Iunderstandshe’sburiedhere,”saidJake.“DiannaParkeris.Howdidthathappen?”
“Wehavesomeprovisions,”Roysaid.“Theindigent,peoplewhosenextofkinwecan’tlocate.Oneofthenursestookmeasideandaskedifwecouldn’tdosomethingforthisyoungwoman.Shehadnootherfamily,andalsoshedidn’tlooklikeshehadthemeanstoshiphersister’sbodyanywhere.Sowemadetheoffer.Itwastherightthingtodo.AChristiangesture.”
“Isee.”Jakenodded,buthewasstillnumb.Mike,henoticed,hadcleanedhisplate.Thenexttimethewaitresspassed,heaskedforpie.Jakehimselfhadgivenuphalfwaythrough,orataboutthetimeRoyhadusedtheword“charcoal”todescribethebodyattheFoxfireCampground.
“I’lltellyouthetruth,Iwasalittlesurprisedshesaidyes.Peoplecanbeveryproud.Butshethoughtitoverandsheaccepted.Oneofthelocalfuneralparlorsdonatedthecoffin.AndtherewasaplotoveratthePickettCemeterytheymadeavailabletous.It’saprettyplace.”
“Mygrammaw’sthere,”saidMike,aproposofnothing.
“Sowehadalittleservice,acoupledayslater.Weorderedaheadstone,justthenameandthedates.”
Mike’spiearrived.Jakestaredatit.Histhoughtswereracing.Hecouldn’tletthemout.
“Youallright?”
Helookedup.Thecoronerwaslookingathim,thoughmorewithcuriositythanobviousconcern.Jakeputthebackofhishandtohisownforehead,anditcameawaywet.“Sure,”hemanagedtosay.
“Youknow,”hesaid,“itwouldn’tkillyoutotelluswhatthisisabout.Youknewthefamily?NotsureIbelievethat.”
“It’sactuallytrue,”saidJake,butitsoundedlame,eventohim.
“We’reusedtoconspiracytheorists.Coronersare.PeoplewatchTVshows,ortheyreadmysterynovels.Theythinkeverydeathhasadeviousplotbehindit,oranundetectablepoison,orsomecrazyobscuremethodwe’veneverseenbefore.”
Jakesmiledweakly.He’dneverbeenoneofthosepeople,ironicallyenough.
“HaveIhadcasesIwonderedabout,second-guessedmyselfabout?Sure.Didagun‘justgooff’?Didsomebodyjusthappentoslipandfallonanicystep?PlentyofthingsI’llneverknowforsure,andtheystaywithme.Butthiswasn’toneofthem.Letmetellyousomething:thisisexactlywhatitlookslikewhensomebodyburnstodeathinatentbecauseaheaterfallsover.Thisisexactlywhatitlookslikewhensomebodylosesacloserelation,suddenlyandtraumatically.Andnowyou’rehereaskingsomeprettyprovocativequestionsaboutpeopleyounevermet.You’veobviouslygotsomethingonyourmind.Whatisityouthinkhappened,anyway?”
Foralongmoment,Jakesaidnothing.Thenhetookhisphonefromhisjacketpocketandfoundthephotograph.Hehelditouttothem.
“Who’sthis?”saidMike.
Thecoronerwaslookingclosely.
“Doyouknow?”Jakesaid.
“AmIsupposedto?Ineversawthisgirl.”
Oddly,whatJakefeltmostaboutthatwasrelief.
“ThisisRoseParker.BywhichImean,therealRoseParker.Who,bytheway,wasn’tDiannaParker’ssister.Shewasherdaughter.Shewassixteenyearsold,andsheactuallywasonherwaytoAthenstoregisterasafreshman.Butshedidn’tmakeit.She’srighthereinClayton,Georgia,inyourdonatedcoffin,buriedinyourdonatedplotunderyourdonatedheadstone.”
“That’sfuckinginsane,”saidMike.
Then,afteralongandprofoundlyunpleasantmoment,RoyPorterbegan,absurdly,togrin.Hegrinnedandgrinnedandthenheactuallylaughed.
“Iknowwhatthisis,”hesaid.
“What?”saidMike.
“Yououghttobeashamedofyourself.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,”saidJake.
“Thatbook!It’sthatbookeverybodywasreadinglastyear.Mywifereadit,shetoldmethestorywhenshefinished.Themotherkillsthedaughter,right?Andtakesherplace?”
“Oh,youknow,”saidMike,“Iheardaboutthatbook.Mymomreadthatinherbookclub.”
“Whatwasitcalled?”saidRoy,stillstaringatJake.
“Ican’tremember,”Mikesaid,andJake,whodidremember,saidnothing.
“That’swhatthisis!That’sthetaleyou’retryingtospinhere,isn’tit?”Thecoronerhadgottentohisfeet.Hewasn’taverytallman,buthewasmanagingasharpdownwardangleoverJake.Hewasn’tgrinningnow.“Youreadthatcrazyplotinthebookandyouthoughtyou’dseeifitwouldsticktothis?”
“Shit”wasMike’scontribution.Hewasgettingtohisfeetaswell.“Whatkindofpathetic—?”
“I’mnot”—Jakehadtoforcehimselftosaythesewords—“spinningatale.I’mtryingtofindoutwhathappened.”
“WhathappenedisexactlywhatItoldyou,”RoyPortersaid.“Thatpoorwomandiedinanaccidentalfire,andIonlyhopehersister’sbeenabletoputitbehindherandgetonwithherlife.Ihavenoideawho’sinthispictureonyourphone,andforthatmatterIhavenoideawhoyouare,butIthinkwhatyou’reimplyingissick.That’sDiannaParkerintheplotoutthereatPickett.Hersisterlefttownadayorsoafterweburiedher.Ifshe’severbeenbacktovisitthegrave,Icouldn’tsay.”
Well,Iwouldn’tputmoneyonit,thoughtJake,watchingthetwoofthemgo.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
TheEndoftheLine
Afterward,heorderedasliceofthatpieMikehadeaten,andacupofcoffee,andhesatforagoodlongwhile,tryingtothinkitthrough,buteverytimehefeltitcomenearlyintohisgraspitslippedawayagain.Truthbeingstrangerthanfictionwas,itself,atruthuniversallyacknowledged,butifthatwastruewhydidwealwaysfightsohardagainstit?
Amotheranddaughter,viciouslyentwined—thatwaseverydaylifeinmorefamiliesthannot.
Amotheranddaughtercapableofcommittingviolentactsuponeachother—thankfullymorerare,buthardlyunheardof.
Adaughterwhowouldmurderhermotherandarrangetobenefitfromherdeath—thatwasthestuffofsensationaltruecrime:yes,sensational,butyes,alsotrue
Butamotherwhowouldtakethelifeofherowndaughter,thentakeitagain,toliveitherself?Thatwaslegend.ThatwastheplotofanovelthatcouldsellmillionsofcopiesandformthebasisofafilmbywhatEvanParkerhadoncecalledan“A-listdirector.”Thatwasaplotsomeone’smotherwouldreadinabookgroupinClayton,Georgia,thatwouldselloutaSeattlevenuewith2,400seats,thatwouldgetitsauthorontheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistandthecoverofPoets&Writers.Itwasaplottokillfor,Jakesupposed,thoughhehimselfhaddonenosuchthing;hehadmerelypickeditupofftheground.Asurething,EvanParkerhadoncecalledhisstory,anditabsolutelyhadbeenthat.Buthemightalsohavecalledit:thestoryofwhatmysisterdidtoherdaughter.Hemighthavecalledit:thestorysomebodymightcomeaftermefortelling,becauseitisn’tminetotell.Hemightevenhavecalledit:thestoryitwasn’tworthdyingfor.
JakepaidthebillandlefttheClaytonCafé.Hegotbackinhiscarandfoundhiswayouttothecemetery,drivingpasttheRabunCountyHistoricalSocietyandthenleftonPickettHillStreet,anarrowandovergrownroadintothewoods.Afterabouthalfamile,hepassedasignforthecemeteryandslowedhiscartoacrawl.Itwasthelasthouroflight,andhefeltlostinthetrees.Hethoughtoftheplacesthisunasked-forandunwantedadventurehadtakenhim,fromthetaverninRutland,tothedownmarketapartmentcomplexinAthens,totheemptinessofthisclearinginthenorthGeorgiawoods.Itfeltliketheendoftheline,whichitwas.Wherecouldtherebe,afterthis?Onewayortheother,itcamedowntothisplotofearthandtheobliteratedbodyunderground.Thetrackendedwhenhesawtheheadstones.
Thereweremanygraves,overahundredatleast,andthefirstoneshecametodatedfromthe1800s.Picketts,Rameys,Shooks,andWellborns,elderlymenwho’dfoughtintheworldwars,childrenwho’dlivedformonthsoryears,mothersandnewbornsburiedtogether.Hewonderedifhe’dalreadywalkedpastMike’sgrammaw,orthegravesofotherrecipientsofClayton’sgenerositytotheindigentandabandoned.Thelightwasgoingfastnow,leavingadeepblueabove,andorangethroughtheforesttothewest.Itwasapeacefulplacetospendeternity,thatwasclear.
Hefoundit,finally,atthefaredgeoftheclearing.Theplotwasmarkedbyasimplestone,flatonthedirtandslightlyreddishincolor,withthenameoftheassignedoccupant:DIANNAPARKER,1980–2012.Simple,remarkablyunderstated,andyetthehorroritheldrootedhimtothespot.“Whoareyou?”hesaidoutloud,butthatwaspurelyrhetorical.Becauseheknew.He’dknownthemomenthesawthoseoldpineapplesstenciledaroundthedooroftheParkerhomeinWestRutland,andeveryonehe’dspokenwithinGeorgia—theoutragedattorneyandthecleanerwhohadn’trecognizedRoseParkerfromherhighschoolfieldhockeyphoto,thedefensivecoronerwhoheardhoofbeatsandthoughthorses—onlyunderscoredthatknowledge.Hewantedtofalltotheearthandclawawayatituntilhereachedher,thatpoorgirl,thetoolandinconvenienceofhermother’slife,butevenifhemadeitthroughthatimpactedGeorgiasoil,allthewaytoherdonatedcoffinandbeyond,whatwouldhehavebuthandfulsofdust?
Inthelastofthelighthetookaphotographofthegraveandsentittohiswife,withonlythecorrectednameoftheoccupantattached.Morewouldhavetowaituntilhegothome,foraface-to-faceconversation.Thenhewouldexplainwhathadreallyhappenedhere,howayoungpersononthevergeofescapehadwoundupinaburialplotinbackwoodsGeorgiawithhermother’snameontheheadstone.Lookingdownintothedirt,asifhecouldpossiblyseethemurderedgirl’sobliteratedandentombedremains,itoccurredtohimthatthisstrangestofstorieswarrantedafullretelling,andthistimenolongerasfiction.Infact,maybewritingRoseParker’srealstorywaswherethishadalwaysbeenheading,anunprecedentedopportunitytowritehisbook,hismiraculousCrib,asecondtime,illuminatingtherealstoryevenitsauthorhadn’tknownexisted.Matilda,whenshepushedpastthediscomfortofit,wouldbeintrigued,thenexcited.Wendywouldbethrilledfromtheget-go:adeconstructionoftheglobalbestsellerbyitsownauthor?Aphenomenon!
AndevenifwritingitrequiredJaketocomecleanabouthislatestudentEvanParker,he’dstillbeabletocontrolthenarrativeashesoul-searchedandponderedthedeepquestionsaboutwhatfictionwasandhowitgotmade,onbehalfofeveryoneofhisfellownovelistsandshortstorywriters!Crib’ssecondtellingwouldbeameta-narrative,destinedtovindicateeverywriterandresonatewitheveryreader,andtellingitwouldrenderhimbraveandboldasanartist.Besides,whatwasthepointofbeingafamouswriterifhecouldn’tusehisuniquevoicetotellthisstoryonlyhecouldtell?
Inthecemetery,thelastofthelightdiedaroundhim.
LookonmyWorks,yeMighty,anddespair!
Nothingbesideremained.
CRIB
BYJACOBFINCHBONNER
Macmillan,NewYork,2017,page280
She’dbeenrentingasmallhouseonEastWhittierStreetinGermanVillage,aboutfivemilesfromcampus,aquietneighborhoodwithnottoomanyOSUstudents.ShestilldidherbillprocessingforBassettHealthcarebutmainlyatnight,keepingthedaysfreeforclasses:history,philosophy,politicalscience.Itwasallpleasure,eventhetermpapers,eventheexams,eventhefactthatshewasobligatedtoloseherselfamongthe60,000enrolledstudentsontheColumbuscampusandneverbecometoofamiliartoherteachers;thedeepthrillofhavingresurrectedandmetheronceandforevergoal,hersolongburiedgoal,carriedherthrougheverydayofhernewlife.Wherewouldshebebynowwithoutthateighteen-yearpause?Workingasalawyer,possibly,oraprofessorofsomekind?Ascientistoradoctor?Maybeevenawriter!Itdidn’tbearthinkingabout,shesupposed.Shewassomewherenowthatshehadgivenupallhopeofbeing.
OneafternoonattheendofMayshearrivedhometodiscoverthatmostunwelcomemouse,Gab,waitingforheronthedoorstepwithasadlittlebackpack.
“Let’sgoinside,”Samanthasaid,hustlingherintothesittingroom.Assoonastheywereinside,shedemanded:“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“IgotMaria’saddressatthecampusregistrar,”saidthegirl.Shewassmall,butcoveredinanextralayerofflesh.“Ididn’trealizeyouwereouthere,too.”
“Imovedafewmonthsago,”Samanthasaidtersely.“Isoldourhouse.”
“Yeah.”Shenodded.Herlankhairfellagainsthercheeks.“Iheardthat.”
“Itoldyou,shehasanothergirlfriendnow.”
“No,Iknow.OnlyI’mdrivingtotheWestCoast.Iwanttotryandliveoutthere.I’mnotsurewhere,yet.ProbablySanFrancisco,butmaybeLA.AndIthought,IwaspassingbyColumbus,so…”
Shedidalotofpassingby,thisgirl.
“So?”
“Ijustthought,itwouldbereallynicetoseeMaria.Getsome,youknow…”
Closure?Samanthathought.Shehadaparticulardistastefortheword.
“Closure.”
“Oh.Ofcourse.Well,she’supatcampusnow.Butsheoughttobehomeinanhourorso.I’llpickupapizzaforthethreeofus.Whydon’tyoucomewithme?”
SoGabdidjustthat,whichwasjustaswell.Samanthadidn’twantheroutthereonthefrontstepanylongerthanshe’dalreadybeen,infullviewoftheneighbors,andshecertainlydidn’twantherpokingaroundthehousewithitssinglebedroom,wonderingwhereMariasleptatnight.SheaskedGabpolitequestionsastheydrovetoLuigi’s,whereSamanthaoftenorderedpizza,andlearnedthatshe—likeSamanthaherself—hadnointentionofeverreturningtotheirhometownormaintainingtiestoanylivingpersonthere.EverythingGabowned,infact,wasintheHyundaiAccentshewasbravelydrivingwest,andoncethislastlittlebitofclosurewasachieved,sheintendedtoheadoff,literally,intothesunset.Thatis,Samanthasupposed,unlessshemadesomeunfortunatediscoveryhereinColumbusthatwarrantedareturntoEarlville,NewYork.Butreally,itwasallunfortunatediscoveryatthispoint.Wasn’tit?“I’lljustbeaminute,”shesaidasshewentinsidetopickupthepie.
Later,asGabsetthetableforthreeinthesmalldiningroom,Samanthacrushedahandfulofpeanutsbetweenametalspatulaandthecountertop,andpressedthemundertheoilydiscsofpepperoni.
Pepperoni,ofcourse.
Becausesherememberedthat.
Becauseshehadbeenagoodmother,andevenifshehadn’t,therewasnoonelefttodisagreeaboutthatnow.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
SuchaWasteofEnergy
Whenhearrivedhome,Annawasn’tthere,butapotofhergreensoupwasonthestoveandabottleofMerlotopenonthetable.ThesightofthetwoPotteryBarnplacesettingscheeredhimfarmorethantheplainfactofthem—oreventhesoup,oreventhewine—mighthavewarranted,butthenagain:hewashome.That,onitsown,wouldhavebeenenough.Butalso,ithadbeensoworthit,toknowforsure.
HewentintothebedroomandunpackedhisbagextractingthebottleofStillhouseCreekbourbonhe’dpickeduponthedrivebacktotheAtlantaairport.Thenheopenedhislaptopandsaw,tohisdisbelief,thatanothermessagehadbeenforwardfromthecontactformonhiswebsite.Hestaredatit,andthenhetookadeepbreathandclickedtoopenit.
Here’sthestatementI’mgettingreadytoreleaseinadayortwo.Anycorrectionsbeforeitgoesout?“In2013,while‘teaching’atRipleyCollege,Jacob‘Finch’BonnerencounteredastudentnamedEvanParkerwhosharedwithhimanovelhewaswriting.Parkerdiedunexpectedlylaterthatyear,afterwhichBonnerproducedthenovelcalledCribwithnoacknowledgmentofitstrueauthor.WecallonMacmillanPublisherstoconfirmitscommitmenttooriginalwritingbyauthorsofintegrity,andtoretractthisfraudulentwork.”
Ajabattheartificeofhismiddlename—annoying,butitwasn’texactlyasecret:JakehadtoldinnumerableinterviewersabouthisloveforAtticusFinchandToKillaMockingbird.Anindictmentofhisworthasateacher—thatwasnew,andmorethanmildlyannoying.Buttheheadlineshereweretheimminentintentiontopublish,andtheinsinuationthathehadstoleneverywordofCrib,ratherthanitsplotalone,fromitsunfortunate“true”author.AndwasitJake’sundeniableparanoia,orwastherealsoasuggestionthathewassomehowresponsiblefortheunexpecteddeathofthattrueauthor,hisformerstudent?
Allthingsconsidered,heoughttobeterrifiedbythislatestmissive,butevenasJakesatontheedgeofhisownbedandlettheawfulnessofthemessagepassoverhim,hewasn’tafraid.That“we,”foronething,radiatedweakness,liketheinventedcomradesoftheUnabomberoranyotherdementedloneronanoblequestfromhisbasement.Moretothepoint,Jakenowunderstoodthathiscorrespondentwantedtoavoidexposureeverybitasmuchashedidhimself.ThetimehadcomeforhimtohitthatReturnbuttonontheirsofarone-wayconversation,andletherknowthatheknewwhoshewasandhewaspreparedtomakeherstoryknown.Andnothisprevious,unwittingversionofthatstory,thistime,buttheactual,factualaccountofwhatshehaddonetoherowndaughter,andthefraudulentidentityshewaspresentingtotheworld.Anddidn’tthatmakeforaprettycompellingstoryofitsown?Like,coverofPeoplemagazinecompelling?Infact,Jakesatforadistinctlyenjoyablemomentmentallycomposinghisveryfirst—andwithluck,hislast—emailtoher:
Here’sthestatementI’llbereleasingifyoudon’tgetoutofmylifeandkeepyourmouthshut.Anycorrectionsbeforeitgoesout?“In2012ayoungwomannamedRoseParkerdiedviolentlyatthehandsofherownmother,whothenstoleheridentity,appropriatedherscholarshipattheUniversityofGeorgia,andhasbeenlivingasherdaughtereversince.Sheiscurrentlyharassingawell-knownauthor,butshereallyoughttobefamousinherownright.”
Hecouldsmellthesoup,andallofthosehealth-givinggreensinit.Thecat,Whidbey,leaptupontohislapandlookedoptimisticallyatthetabletop,buttherewasnothingthereforhim,soheabscondedtothekilim-coveredcouchAnnahadchosen,partofhercampaigntomakehislifebetter.Shehadn’twantedhimtogotoGeorgia,obviously,butwhenhetoldhereverythinghe’ddiscoveredshewouldunderstandwhyithadbeentherightdecision,andshe’dhelphimmakethebestpossibleuseoftheinformationhe’dbroughtback.
Heheardthedoor.Shewashomewithaloafofbreadandanapologynottohavebeenhereonhisreturn,andwhenhehuggedhershehuggedhimback,andhethought:Sheisn’tangryatme.Orifshewas,that’sover.Andthereliefhehadn’trealizedhewassoinneedofcamesweepingthroughhim.
“LookwhatIbrought,”hesaid,handingherthebourbon.
“Nice.I’dbetternothaveanymyself,though.YouknowIneedtoheadtoLaGuardiainacoupleofhours.”
Helookedather.“Ithoughtitwastomorrow.”
“Nope.Red-eye.”
“Howlongwillyoubegone?”
Shewasn’tsure,butshewantedtokeepitasbriefaspossible.“That’swhyI’mflyingatnight.I’llsleepontheplaneandgorighttothestorageunitfromtheairport.IthinkIcangetitallsortedoutinsideofthreedays,andtheworkstuff,too.IfIhavetostayanotherday,Iwill.”
“Ihopeyouwon’t,”Jakesaid.“I’vemissedyou.”
“YoumissedmebecauseyouknewIwaspissedatyouforgoing.”
Hefrowned.“Maybe.ButI’dhavemissedyouanyway.”
Shewenttogetthesoupandbroughtbackasinglebowl.
“Aren’tyouhavingany?”Jakesaid.
“Inabit.Iwanttohearaboutwhathappened.”
Sheputthebreadshe’djustgoneouttobuyonacuttingboard,andpouredwineforbothofthem,andhebegantotellhereverythinghe’dlearnedsinceleavingAthens:thedrivenorthintothemountains,thechancemeetingatthegeneralstore,thecampsitefarenoughbackinthewoodsthatyoucouldbarelyhearthecreek.Whenheheldoutthephotographhe’dtakenonhisphone,shestaredatit.
“Itdoesn’tlooklikeaplacewheresomebodyburnedtodeath.”
“Well,it’sbeensevenyears.”
“Yousaid,themanwhotookyououtthere,he’dbeenatthescenethatmorning?”
“Yeah.Volunteerfireman.”
“That’squitetheluckycoincidence.”
Heshrugged.“Idon’tknow.Smalltown.Somethinglikethatwouldinvolvealotofpeople—EMTs,cops,firemen.Peopleatthehospital.Thecoronerturnedouttobethisguy’sneighbor.”
“Andthetwoofthemjustsatdownwithatotalstrangerandtoldyoueverything?Itseemskindofwrong,doesn’tit?”
“Doesit?IguessIoughttobegrateful.AttheveryleasttheykeptmefrompokingaroundallthecemeteriesinRabunGapwithaflashlight.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”saidAnna.SherefilledJake’swineglass.
“Well,theytoldmewheretheplotwas.”
“Theplotyousentmethephotoof?”
Henodded.
“Look,I’mgoingtohavetoaskyoutobemorespecific.IwanttobeexactlysureIunderstandeverythingyou’resayinghere.”
“I’msaying,”saidJake,“thatRoseParkerisburiedinaplacecalledPickettHill,justoutsideofClayton,Georgia.TheheadstonesaysDiannaParker,butit’sRose.”
Annaseemedtorequiretimetothinkthisthrough.Whenthathadbeenaccomplished,sheaskedhowhewasenjoyingthesoup.
“It’sdelicious.”
“Good.It’stheotherhalfofthatbatchwehadbefore,”shesaid.“WhenyougotbackfromVermont.ThenightyoutoldmeaboutEvanParker.”
“Soupfortheraveledsleeveofcare,”herecalled.
“That’sright.”Shesmiled.
“IwishIhadn’twaitedsolongtotellyouaboutthis,”Jakesaid,bringingtheheavyspoontohislips.
“Nevermind,”shesaid.“Drinkup.”
Hedid.
“So,justbecausewe’retalkingthisthrough,whatisityouthinkhappenedhere,exactly?”
“WhathappenedisthatDiannaParker,likehundredsofthousandsofotherparents,wasdeliveringherkidtocollegeinAugustof2012.Andmaybe,likeprobablymostofthem,shehadmixedfeelingsaboutthatkid’sdeparture.Rosewassmart,obviously.Sherammedherwaythroughhighschoolandintocollegeinonlythreeyears,didn’tshe?”
“Didshe?”
“Withascholarship,apparently.”
“Geniusgirl,”saidAnna.Butshedidn’tsoundthatimpressed.
“Musthavebeenprettydesperatetoescapehermother.”
“Herterriblemother.”Sherolledhereyes.
“Right,”Jakesaid.“Andprobablyshewasveryambitious,justlikehermothermighthavebeen,once,butDiannanevermadeitoutofWestRutland.Therewasthepregnancy,thepunitiveparents,theuninvolvedbrother.”
“Don’tforgetthedudewhogotherpregnantandthenwaslike:leavemeoutofit.”
“Sure.Sotheresheis,drivingherdaughterfartherawaythaneitherofthemhaveeverbeen,fromtheonlyplacethey’veeverlived,andsheknowsherdaughter’snevercominghome.Sixteenyearsofputtingherownlifeasideandtakingcareofthisperson,andnowboom:it’soverandshe’sgone.”
“Withoutathank-you,even.”
“Okay.”Jakenodded.“Andmaybeshe’sthinking:Whywasn’tthisme?Whydidn’tIgettohavethislife?Sowhentheaccidenthappens—”
“Defineaccident.”
“Well,shetoldthecoronershemighthaveknockedoverapropaneheaterwhileshewasleavingthetentinthemiddleofthenight.Bythetimeshegotbackfromthebathroomthewholetenthadgoneup.”
Annanodded.“Okay.Thatwouldbeanaccident.”
“Thecoroneralsosaidshewashysterical.Hisword.”
“Right.Andhysteriacan’tbefaked.”
Hefrowned.
“Goon.”
“Soaftertheaccidenthappens,shethinks:Thisisterrible,butIcan’tbringherback.Andthere’sascholarshipwaitingandnothingtogobackto.Andshethinks,NooneknowsmeinGeorgia.I’llliveoffcampus,takeclasses,figureoutwhatIwanttodowithmylife.Sheknowsshedoesn’tlookyoungenoughtosayshe’sthedaughterofathirty-two-year-oldwoman,somaybeshesaysshe’sthevictim’ssister,notherdaughter,andshegivesherownnameandbirthdateandsocialsecuritynumberforthedeadwoman.ButfromthemomentshedrivesoutofClayton,Georgia,she’sRoseParker,whosemotherdiedinatragicfire.”Burnedup.
“Thewayyouputit,itsoundsalmostreasonable.”
“Well,it’shorrible,butit’snotunreasonable.It’scriminal,obviously,becauseattheveryleastwe’retalkingabouttheft.Theftofidentity.Theftofherdaughter’splaceatauniversity.Theftofanactualmonetaryscholarship.Butit’salsoanunanticipatedopportunityforawomanwho’snevermanagedtoliveherowndreams,andbythewaywho’sstillyoung.Thirty-twoismuchyoungerthanweare.Doesn’titstillseempossibletomakeanenormouschangeinyourlifewhenyou’rethirty-two?Lookatyourself!Youwereolderthanthat,andyoulefteveryoneyouknewandmovedtotheotherendofthecountryandgotmarried,allinsideof…what,eightmonths?”
“Fine,”Annaagreed.ShewasfillingJake’sglasswiththelastoftheMerlot.“ButIhavetopointoutthatyouseemtobemakingeveryexcuseforher.Areyoureallythisunderstanding?”
“Well,inthenovel—”hebegan,butsheinterruptedhim.
“Whose?”Annasaidquietly.“Yours?OrEvan’s?”
HewastryingtorememberifEvan’sRipleysubmissionhadcoveredthis.Ofcourseithadn’t.EvanParkerhadbeenanamateur.Howfarbeneaththesurfacecouldhereallyhavegoneintotheinnerlivesofthesewomen?UnfurlinghisextraordinaryplotthatnightinRichardPengHall,Parkerhadn’ttroubledhimselftodescribeoracknowledgethecomplexitiesofDiandra(ashe’dcalledthemother)orRuby(ashe’dcalledthedaughter);howmuchbetterwouldhehavedoneoverthecourseofanentirenovel,evenassuminghe’dbeencapableofcompletingone?
“Inmynovel.Samanthaisathwartedperson,andbitterlyunhappy.Thosethingscancorruptyoueverybitasmuchassomepredispositiontowardevil.Ialwaysthoughtofherasapersonwho’sfallenintoaholeofterribledisappointment,whichovertime—andasshewatchedherdaughterprepareforherowndeparture—justworkedonher,withdevastatingresults.Andthenwhenithappeneditwasakindofaccident,oratleastnotsomethingplannedorpreparedfor.It’snotlikeshewasa—”
“Sociopath?”Annasaid.
Hefeltgenuinesurprise.Ofcourseheunderstoodthatthiswasthepredominantviewamongsthisreaders,butAnnahadneversaidasmuchaboutthecharacter.
“Andthat’swherethedividinglineis?”hiswifeasked.“Betweensomethinganyofusmightdounderthecircumstancesandsomethingonlyatrulyevilpersonwoulddo?Planningit?”
Heshrugged.Hisshouldersfeltimpossiblyheavyasheliftedthemandletthemfall.“Itseemslikeagoodenoughplacetoputthedividingline.”
“Okay.Butonlyasfarasyourmade-upcharacterisconcerned.Ithasnobearingonthisactualwoman’slife.Youcan’thaveanyideawhatwasgoingoninherhead,orwhatelseshemighthavedone,beforeorafterthisunplannedact.Imean,whoknowswhatelsethisDiannaParkergotupto?Yousaidyourself,nobodyseemstogetsickinherfamily.”
“That’strue.”Henodded,andhisheadfeltfuzzyasitinclinedforward.Hehadwrittenanentirenovelaroundthisoneterriblething,andhestillcouldn’tfullyaccepttherewasarealmotherouttherewho’dbeenabletodoit.Seeherchilddielikethatandjustmoveon?“Imean,”heheardhimselfsay,“it’sincredible.Isn’tit?”
Annasighed.“Therearemorethingsinheavenandearththanaredreamtofinyourphilosophy,Jake.Doyouwantmoresoup?”
Hedid,andshewenttogetit,bringinghimbackanotherbrimming,steamingbowl.
“It’ssogood.”
“Iknow.Mymother’srecipe.”
Jakefrowned.Therewassomethinghewantedtoaskaboutthat,buthecouldn’tthinkwhatitwas.Spinach,kale,garlic,essenceofchicken;itwascertainlytasty,andhecouldfeelthewarmthofitspreadinginsidehim.
“Thisplotyousentmeapictureof,itlookedlikeaprettyplace.CanIseeitagain?”
Hereachedforhisphoneandtriedtofinditforher,butthatwasn’taseasyasitshouldhavebeen.Thepictureskeptshootingforwardandbackashescrolled,refusingtolandontherightone.“Here,”hefinallysaid.
Sheheldthephoneinherhand,andlookedintently.
“Thestone.It’sverysimple.Ilikeit.”
“Okay,”saidJake.
Shehadpickedupthesinglegraybraidofherhair,andwastwistingtheendaroundandaroundherfingersinawaythatwasalmosthypnotic.Hefeltsuddenlysadthathecouldn’tseeitloose.Helovedsomanythingsaboutthewayshelooked,butthatsilverhairmostofall.Thinkingofitswingingloosemadeakindofweightythumpinsidehishead.Hehadbeentravelingfordays,andworriedformonths.Now,withsomanyofthepiecesfinallyinplace,hewasdeeplytired,andallhewantedwastocrawlintobedandsleep.Maybeitwasn’tabadthingthatshewasleavingtonight.Maybeheneededsometimetorecover.Maybetheyeachneededacoupleofdaystothemselves.
“Soaftertheaccident,”saidAnna,“ourbereavedmomkeepsheadingsouth.Lemonadeoutoflemons,right?”
Jakenoddedhisheavyhead.
“AndwhenshegetstoAthenssheregistersinRose’sname,andgetspermissiontoliveoffcampusforherfreshmanyear.Andthatgetsusuptotheendofthe2012to2013academicyear.Whathappensafterthat?”
Jakesighed.“Well,Iknowshelefttheuniversity.Afterthat,I’mnotsurewhereshewentorwhereshe’sbeenorwheresheisrightnow,butitdoesn’treallymatter.Shecan’twanttobeexposedforherrealcrimeanymorethanIdoformyimaginaryone.SotomorrowI’llsendheranemailandtellhertofuckoff.AndI’llccthatassholeattorneytomakesureshegetsthemessage.”
“Butdon’tyouwanttoknowwheresheisnow?Andwhathernameis?Becauseobviously,she’llhavechangedhername.Youdon’tevenknowwhatshelookslike.Right?”
Somethingaboutthishecouldn’tworkout.Therewereonlyafewthingsheseemedcapableofunderstanding,andallofhisabilitytothinkhadgonetothosethings,likebloodtothevitalorganswhenyou’restrandedinasnowbank,dyingoffrostbite.First:thatAnnawasleavingfortheairportsoon.Second:thatAnnaseemedtoknowsomethinghedidn’t.Third:thatAnnawasstillangryathim.Hedidn’thavethestrengthtoaskaboutallthree.Soheaskedaboutthelastone,becausehehadalreadyforgottenthefirsttwo.
“You’restillangryatme,aren’tyou?”hesaid,speakingthewordsextremelycarefullysoasnottobemisunderstood.Andshenodded.
“I’vebeenangryatyouforalongtime.”
Shehadtakenhisbowltothesinkandshewaswashingit.Shewashedhisspoonandthepotshe’dusedtoheatthesoupup.Thensheputallofthosethingsinthedishwasher,andstartedit.Shecamebacktothetableandstoodoverhim.“Maybeweshouldgetyoulyingdown,”shesaid.“Youreallydolookbeat.”
Hecouldnotdenyit,andhewasn’tuptotrying.
“It’sgoodyougotthatsoupintoyou,though.Oneoftheonlythingsmymothergaveme,thatsoup.”
Thenherememberedwhathewantedtoaskher.
“Youmean,MissRoyce.Theteacher?”
“No,no.Myrealmom.”
“But,shedied.Shedroveintoalakewhenyouweresoyoung.Didn’tshedriveintoalake?”
“Oh,Jake.”Suddenly,Annawaslaughing.Herlaughwasmusical:lightandsweet.Shelaughedasifallofthat—thesoup,theteacher,themomwho’ddrivenhercarintoalakeinIdaho—wassomeofthefunnieststuffshehadeverheard.“Youaresopathetic.Whatself-respectingwriterdoesn’tknowtheplotofHousekeeping?Fingerbone,Idaho!Theauntwhocan’ttakecareofherselforhernieces!Ididn’tevenchangetheteacher’sname.Anddon’tthinkthatwasn’tarisk.Temptingfatetoproveapoint,Iguess.”
Hewantedtoaskwhatitwas,thatpoint,buthecouldn’t,andbesides,healreadyknew:hewassopathetic.That’salltherewas.That’sallthereeverhadbeen.
“Iwasn’tgoingtodothisyet,”saidAnna.“Therewasnorush.ThenyouhadtostartrunningaroundlikeLordPeterWimsey.It’ssomethingIdon’treallygetaboutyou,thiscompulsiontounderstandeverything.Maybeit’soneofyourwriterthings,butwhyallthissturmunddrangafterthefact,youknow?Ifyouweregoingtobethistroubledaboutwhatyoudid,whystealsomeoneelse’sstoryinthefirstplace?”
Ididn’tsteal,hewantedtosay,butgettinghisthroattobreatheandtalkatthesametimehadsuddenlyattainedthecomplexityofjugglingwithknives.
“Imean,torturingyourselfaboutitafterthefact.Suchawasteofenergy.”
Helookedupather.Shehadthecrookofherelbowunderhisarmandshewasliftinghim,orhelpinghimup,oneofthetwo.Hemust,atsomepoint,havebecometerriblylight,orelsetheflooroftheapartmenthadhelpfullytippedtoaforty-five-degreeangle.Thekilim-coveredcouchhadsliduponeofthewalls,butmagically,withoutactuallymoving.Sheheldhimtightly.
“Besides,you’vegotmetodothetorturing.AndIthinkwecanbothagree,”shewhisperedconspiratoriallyintohisear,asiftheywerenotcompletelyalonetogether,“I’mprettygoodatit.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
ThatNovelist’sEyeforDetail
Annasaid:“Ifthere’sonethingIknowaboutyou,Jake,it’sthatyouappreciateagoodplot.”
Hewasshufflingbesideheronthelongwalkintotheirbedroom.Hisarmwasoverhershoulderandherhandgrippedhiswrist.Jake’sheadwasdown,buthecouldseethecat,dartingpastthemintothelivingroom.
“Ihavesomemedicineforyou,andthen,Idon’tseeanyreasonnottotellyoumystory.Mysingularstory,toldinmyuniquevoice.Doyouseeanyreason?”
Hedidn’t.Thenagainhedidn’tunderstandthequestion.Hesatonthebedandshegavehimthecapsules,threeorfouratatime,andhereallydidn’twanttobutheswallowedthemall,untilthereweren’tanymore.“Goodjob,”shesaid,aftereachhandful.Hedrankthewaterfromtheglass.Thatwentontothebedsidetable,nexttotheemptypillbottles.Hedidwanttoknowwhattheywere,thepills,butdiditreallymatter?
“Well,we’vegotafewminutes,”saidAnna.“Wasthereanythingyouwantedtoask,inparticular?”
Therewassomething,thoughtJake.Butnowhecouldn’tremember.
“Okay.I’lljust,sortof,freeassociate.Youstopmeifyou’veheardanyofthisalready.”
Yes,saidJake,thoughhecouldn’tactuallyhearhimselfsayit.
“What?”saidAnna.Shelookedupfromherphone.Hisphone,actually.“You’remumbling,”shesaid.Thenshewentonwithwhateveritwasshewasdoing.
“Idon’twanttobethatpersonwho’salwayswhiningaboutherchildhood,butyouneedtoknowitwasalwaysaboutEvaninourhouse.Evanandfootball.Evanandsoccer.Evanandgirls.Theguywasanimbecile,butyouknowhowitiswithfamilies.TheprideoftheParkers!Scoringgoalsandpassinghisclasses—wow!Evenwhenhestarteddoingdrugstheythoughtthesunjustshinedoutofhisass.Asforme,itdidn’tmatterhowsmartIwasorhowgoodmygradeswereorwhatIwantedtodointheworld,Iwasstillnothing.Sothere’sEvangettinggirlspregnantrightandleftandhe’sanangelfromheaven,butwhenIgotpregnantitwasliketheirjobtopunishme,andmakesureitstuckfortherestofmylife.Itwasall:you’redroppingoutofhighschoolandkeepingthisbabybecausethat’swhatyoudeserve.Zerochanceofanabortion.Zerosupportforgivingthebabyupforadoption,either.Youwerespotonwithallthat,actually,thewayyouwroteit.That’sabsolutelywhatitwaslikeforme.Thatisn’tacompliment,bytheway.”
Hedidn’ttakeitasone.
“SothenIhavethisbabyIdon’twantandtheydon’twantandI’moutofschool,sittingathomewithheralldaygettingyelledatbymymomanddadabouttheshameI’vebroughtonthefamily,andonemorningwhenthey’reoutofthehouseIhearthisbeepingdowninthecellar.Thecarbonmonoxidealarm’sgoingcrazy,andIdidn’tknowwhatthatmeant,butIdidalittleresearch.Ijusttookthebatteriesout,andreplacedthemwithacoupleofdeadones.Ididn’tknowifitwasgoingtowork,orhowlongitwouldtakeifitdid,orwhichofusweregoingtogo,andIdidkeepthewindowopeninmyroom,wherethebabywas,too,buttobehonest,IthinkIwasokaywithwhateverhappened.”
Shestoppedandleanedoverhim.Shewascheckinghisbreathing.
“Youwantmetogoon?”
Butitdidn’tmatterwhathewanted,didit?
“Itriedmybest.Itwasn’tfun,butyouknow,Ithought,it’sjustthetwoofushere.Therewasnoonetocounton,butalsonooneformetoblameifitwentdownhill.Ikindoflostmydriveaftertherestofmyclassgraduated,I’lladmittothat.AndIgottothinking,maybethisisthewayit’ssupposedtogo,givingupmyownlifeforthisotherlife.IthoughtIcouldmakemypeacewiththat,andbesides,Iwasn’tagainsthavingthatthingyou’resupposedtohavewithakid.Companionshiporwhatever.Butthatgirl.”
Therewasapingonthephone.Hisphone.Shepickeditup.
“Ohlook,”saidAnna.“MatildasaysyourpublisherinFrancehasofferedeightythousandforthenewnovel.I’llgetbacktoherinacoupleofdays,thoughIdon’tthinkyourFrenchpublisherwillbeatthetopofourlistbythen.”Shepaused.“WhatwasIsaying?”
Thecathadreturnedandleaptupontothebed.Hetookoneofhisfavoritepositions,alongsideJake’srightcalf.
“Notonce,insixteenyears,wasthereonesignofaffection.Shepushedmeaway,Iswear,whenIwastryingtonurseher.Shepreferrednoteatingtobeingclosetome,physically.ShetoilettrainedherselfsoIwouldn’thavethatpoweroverher.Iknewshedidn’tplantohangaroundRutlandadaylongerthanshehadto,butIthoughtshe’datleastdothingsinthenormalway—graduatefromhighschool,maybegoasfarasBurlington.NotRose.Shejustcamedownstairsonedaywhenshewassixteenandtoldmeshewasleavingattheendofthesummer.Bang.Icouldn’teventellhertherewasnomoneyforanout-of-statecollegeathousandmilesaway.Shehadascholarship,shehadaroominadorm,sheevenhadastipendforlivingexpensesfromsomedo-gooderdownthere.IsaidIatleastwantedtotakeher,andIcouldtellshedidn’tevenwantthat,butwhenshethoughtaboutitpracticallysheunderstoodwhatitmeantforherownconvenience.Sheknewshewasnevercominghome,sosheletmedriveher,andIletherprettymuchfillupthecar,everythingshewanted,onlyalittleroomleftoverformyownthings.Butyouknowwhat?Therewasn’tmuchIwantedtotakeformyself.Justafewclothesandanoldpropaneheater.”
Withallofhisstrengthheturnedhisheadtoher.
“Itwasn’tanaccident,Jake.Evenwithyoursupposedlygreatimaginationyoucouldn’tgetyourmindaroundthat.Maybeyou’vegotsomegenderblindnessaboutmotherhood,likeit’simpossibleforamothertodothat.Fathers,sure,noonebatsaneyeiftheykilloneoftheirkids,butdothesamethingwhileinpossessionofauterusandbam:theworldexplodes.It’ssexism,really,isn’tit,ifyouthinkaboutit.Evandidn’thavethatproblem,incaseyou’rewondering.InhisversionItakeacarvingknifetomyteenagedaughterinthemiddleofthenight,andburyherinthebackyard.Butthenheactuallyknewme.Andheknewmydaughter,don’tforgetthat.Heknewwhatabitchshewas.”
ItremindedJakeofsomething,thatword.Buthecouldn’tthinkwhat.
Annasighed.ShestillhadJake’sphone.Shewasscrollingthroughphotographs,deleting.Veryfaraway,hecouldfeelthecat,Whidbey,begintopurragainsthisleg.
“Iletthoseyokelsburyher,”Annasaid.“Peoplealwayswanttoinvolvethemselveswhentheyseeatragedy.I’dbeenhappytotakecareofitmyself.Havethebodycremated—Imean,itwashalfwaytherealready.Andsprinkletheashes,whatever.I’mnotsentimentalaboutthesethings.Buttheyoffered,andallexpensespaid.SoIsaid,Ican’tgetoverhowincrediblykindyoupeopleare,andYou’verestoredmyfaithinhumanityandLetuspray.AndthenIleftforAthens.”
Annasmileddownathim.“WhatdidyoureallythinkofAthens?Canyouseemelivingthere?Imean,Iwaslyinglow,ofcourse.Ididn’tgetinvolvedinanyofthesocialstuff.Itwasallfratsandfootball,andallthatbighairandthegoodoldboys,everybodylivinginthosetackyapartmentcommunities.Igotthehousingwaiverbytellingthemmymotherhadjustpassedaway,andIreallywantedtobealone.Ididn’tevenhavetogointothehousingoffice,whichwaslucky.I’vealwayslookedyoungerthanmyage,butIwasprettysureIcouldn’tpassforsixteen.Especiallyafterthishappenedtomyhair.”Shestoppedtosmileathim.“Ididtellyouithappenedwhenmymomdied,sothatwaskindoftrue.Anyway,IdyeditblondwhileIwasinGeorgia.”Shegrinned.“Helpedmetoblendin.Justanotherbottle-blondBulldawg!”
Heusedeverybitofhisstrengthtoturnawayfromherandontohisside,buthecouldn’tquitegetthere.Hishead,though,hadmovedonthepillow,givinghimablurryviewofthehalf-emptyglassandthecompletelyemptybottles.
“Vicodin,”shesaidhelpfully.“Andsomethingcalledgabapentin,whichIgotformyrestlesslegsyndrome.Itmakestheopioidsworkbetter.DidyouknowIhaverestlesslegsyndrome?Well,Idon’treallyhaveit,IjustsaidIdid.There’snoactualtestforthat,soallyouneedtodoisgotoyourdoctorandsay,‘Doctor!Ihaveastrong,irresistibleurgetomovemylegs.Especiallyatnight!Accompaniedbyuncomfortablesensations!’Thentheyruleoutirondeficiencyandneurologicalstuff,andvoila:you’rediagnosed.Imadetheappointmentlastfallincasetheywantedmetodoasleepstudybeforegivingmetheprescription,butthisdoctorwentstraighttothedrugs,sogoodforher.ShealsogavemesomeOxycontinfortheterriblepain,andshethrewintheValiumwhenItoldhertherewasthiscrazytrollaccusingmyboyfriendofplagiarismonline,andwewerebothstressedoutbeyondbelief.ThatwasValiuminthesoup,bytheway.”Heheardherlaugh.“Whichdefinitelywasnotinmymother’sversion.Ialsogaveyousomethingfornausea,tomakesureyoudidn’tthrowupallmyhardworkwhenI’mhalfwaytoSeattle.Anyway,it’sallprettyfoolproofincombination,soI’drelaxifIwereyou.”Annasighed.“Look,Icanstayabitlonger.Seeyouthroughtheworstofit,ifyouwant.Doyouwant?Squeezemyhandifyouwant.”
AndJake,whocouldn’thavesaidwhathewanted,andhadalreadyforgottenwhathewassupposedtodoaboutit,felthersqueezehishand,andhesqueezedback
“Right,”shesaid.“Whatelse?Oh…Athens.Iwaslovingbeingbackinschool.Educationreallyiswastedontheyoung,isn’tit?WhenIwasinhighschoolIusedtolookatpeopleinmyclass,andmybrotherandhisfriends,andthink,Thisisfantastic!Wegettositherealldayandlearnstuff.Whyareyouallsuchassholesaboutit?Mybrotherwasthebiggestassholeofthemall,bytheway.Notonceinmyentirelifedidheaskmeaquestionaboutmyself,orsayasinglelovingthingtome,andIhadzeroproblemwithneverlayingeyesonhimagaintillhestartedtryingtogetintouchwithme.BywhichImean,withRose.Andthatwasn’tbecausehewassuddenlyinterestedinher,either.Itwasbecausehewantedtosellthehouse.Maybethebarwastanking.Maybehewasbackonthedrugs,Ididn’tknow,butIguesshefiguredhecouldn’tleavemydaughteroutofitandnotexpectalawsuit.Ididn’tansweranyofhiscallsoremails,soonedaythatwinterhejustcamedowntoGeorgia.IsawhimwaitinginacarinfrontofAthenaGardens.Unfortunately,hesawmefirst.”
Annacheckedthetimeagain.
“Anyway,Igavehimthebenefitofthedoubt.Ithought,Okay.He’sseenme.Hecanobviouslyrecognizehisownsister,soevenamoronlikemybrotherisgoingtofigureoutwhathappenedhere.Ihopedwewerejustgoingtoleaveeachotheralone,thesamewaywe’dalwaysdone.AndImean,Ididwalkoffandleavehimwitheverything,andIknewhe’dmovedbackintothehousehimself,soalittleappreciationwouldn’thavegoneamiss,butofcoursethatwasnevermybrother’sway.AndonedayIsawonFacebookthathe’dsignedupforsomewritingprogramintheNortheastKingdom.JesusfuckingChrist.Andmaybeyou’rethinking,Okay,buthowdidyouknowhewasgoingtowriteaboutthisonething?AllIcansayis:Iknewmybrother.Hewasn’twhatyoumightcallanimaginativeguy.Hewasamagpie.Hesawapretty,shinythingonthegroundandhethought,Nowthat’sgottohavesomevalue.Sohehelpedhimself.I’msureyoucanunderstand,Jake,whatthatmusthavebeenlike,havingsomeonestealfromyoulikethat.SoacoupleofmonthslaterIdrovebacktoVermontandIwaitedtillheleftforwork,andyoucancolormesurprisedbecausethatassholeactuallymanagedtowritealmosttwohundredpagesOfmystory.Anddon’tthinkhewasdoingitforhimself,either.Thiswasn’tsomeinnerexplorationthroughcreativewriting,tryingtofindhisvoiceorunderstandthepainatthecenterofhisfamilyoforigin.Ifoundpublicationcontests,listsofagents,thedudeevenhadasubscriptiontoPublishersWeekly.Heknewwhathewasdoing.Hehadaplantomakesomeseriousmoney.Offme.Peopletodaybitchifyouuseaculturallyappropriatedwordorhairstyle?Thatbastardjusthelpedhimselftomyentirelifestory.Nowyouknowthatisn’tright,Jake,don’tyou?Isn’tthatwhattheysayinthewritingprograms?Nobodyelsecantellyourstorybutyou?”
ThenotsodistantcousinofNobodyelsegetstoliveyourlife,hethought.
“Anyway,IwentthroughthehouseandIgottogethereverythingIdidn’twantleftbehind.Allthemanuscriptpagesforhismasterpiece,andthenotes.AnypicturesofmeorRosethatwerestilllurkingaround.Oh,andIgotmymom’scookbookwithallherrecipes,includingtheoneforthatsoupyoulike.It’sbeenoutthereinourkitchenformonths,ontheshelfoverthesink,notthatyouevernoticed.Where’sthatnovelist’seyefordetail,Jake?You’resupposedtohaveone,youknow.”
Heknew.
“AndIfoundhisdrugs,ofcourse.Hehadalotofdrugs.SoIwaitedforhimtogethomefromthetavern,andwhenhedidIsaidIthoughtitwastimeforustohaveacivilizedtalkaboutsellingthehouse.Heneededashitloadofbenzos,bytheway,beforeIcouldgetnearhimwiththatsyringe,butthat’swhathappenswhenyouabuseopiatesforaslongashedid.Ihadnosympathyforhim.Istilldon’t.Ifanything,hehadittooeasyforwhathedid.Thewayhewent,itwasevenmorepleasantthanthis.Andthisispleasant,Ithink.It’ssupposedtobe.
Itwasn’t,butitwasn’tpainful,either.Hefeltasifhewasreachingouttoclawthroughsomethingthathadtheconsistencyofcottoncandy,buthestillcouldn’tgettotheothersideofit.Hemightnotbeinpain,exactly,buttherewasanideathatkepthammeringathim,likewhenyouknowyou’resupposedtobesomewhereelsebutyouhavenoideawherethatplaceisorwhyyouweregoingthere,andalsohekeptthinkingthesamericochetingthought,whichwas:Wait,aren’tyouAnna?Onlythatmadenosense,becauseobviouslyshewas,andwhathedidn’tunderstandwaswhyhe’dneverquestioneditbefore,andalsowhyhewasquestioningitnow.
“AfterthatIdecidedtoleaveAthens.I’msonotcutoutforthesouth.IstayeddowntherelongenoughtopackupandfindanattorneytohandlethesaleoftheVermonthouse.WhatdidyouthinkofPickens,bytheway?Bitofadouchebag,isn’the?HegothandsywithmeonceandIhadtothreatentocontactthebarassociation.Asyoumightknow,hewasalreadyonthinicewiththembecauseofassortedothertransgressions,sohebecameveryproperandattentiveafterthat.IdidcallhimlastweektowarnhimaguynamedBonnermightturnup,andremindhimaboutthesacredbondsofattorney-clientprivilege,butIdon’tthinkhe’dhavetalkedtoyou,evenifIhadn’t.Hedefinitelydoesn’twanttogetonmybadside.”
No,thoughtJake.Jake,also,didn’twanttogetonherbadside.Heknewthatnow.
“Anyway,Iwantedtogowesttofinishmydegree,butIwasn’tsurewhere.IwasthinkingaboutSanFrancisco,butattheendofthedayIpickedWashington.Oh,andIchangedmyname,obviously.AnnasoundsabitlikeDianna,andWilliamsisthethirdmostcommonsurnameinAmerica,didyouknowthat?IguessIthoughtSmithandJohnsonfelttooobvious.AlsoIstoppedcoloringmyhair.Seattleisfullofgray-hairedwomen,lotsofthemevenyoungerthanIwas,soIfeltsupercomfortable.IneverlivedonWhidbey,thoughIhadacoupleoffunweekendstherewithRandy.WedidhaveabitofathingwhileIwasinterningatthestation,whichI’mprettysureworkedinmyfavorwhentheproducerjobopenedup.Hey,”shesaid.“Whydon’tyoustopstaringatthosepills?Youcan’tdoanythingaboutit,youknow.”
Shetuggedonhisshoulderuntilhewasonhisbackagain,hiseyessometimesopen,sometimesnot.Itwasalsogettinghardertohearher.
“Soeverything’scool.I’vegotahouseandajobandanavocadoplant,andthen,oneafternoon,inoneofSeattle’sfinecoffeeestablishments,Ihearthesewomentalkingaboutabookthey’rereading,thiscrazystoryaboutamomwhokillsherdaughterandtakesherplace.AndIcan’tfuckingbelieveit!I’msittingtherethinking,Nogoddamnway!Ithoughttherewasn’tanywayitcouldbeconnectedtome,becausetherewasn’tanyoneleftwhocouldpossiblyhaveknown,andbesides,Itookeverythingoutofthathouse,andIdestroyeditallafterIreadit.IleftflashdrivesandpagesineverytrashbinontheEisenhowerinterstatesystem,andIthrewhiscomputerdownaportapottyinMissouri!Like,ithadtobesomeinsanecoincidenceorelsemyfuckingbrotherwrotehisbookinhellandemailedittothepublishingfirmofLuciferandBeelzebub,liesandstolenstoriesourspecialty!”Sheactuallysmiled.“IwentovertoElliottBayandIaskedforabookI’dheardabout,aboutawomanwhokillsherdaughter.Andthereitwas.Haditsveryowntable,you’llbehappytohear,rightinthefrontofthestore.Placementissoimportanttoanauthor,Iknow.AndCribwasnumbereightonthelistthatweek,theguyatElliottBaytoldme.Ididn’tknowwhat‘thelist’was.Notthen.Idonow.Icouldn’tbelieveIhadtospendmyownmoneytoreadmyownstory.Mystory,Jake.Whichwasn’tmybrother’stotell,anditsureashellwasn’tyours.BeforeIevenleftthatstoreIknewIwasgoingtogetitbackfromyou,evenifittookawhiletofigureouthow.You’dalreadycomethroughSeattle,onyourbooktour,andthatwasannoying,becauseitmeantIhadtowaitforyoutocomeback,butIstartedworkingonRandyassoonastheyannouncedtheCityArtslecture.Thatwasmyplot,Iguessyoucouldcallit,”shesaidwithextravagantsarcasm.“AndIhavetosay,I’mprettyimpressedwithmyself,thoughcanyouexplaintomewhyshouldIhavetoactuallymarrysomeonewhostolefromme,justtogetbackwhatwasalreadymine?There’sasubjectforanovel,isn’tit?NotthatIcouldwriteanovel,Jake.Becauseit’snotlikeI’mawriter.Notlikeyou.”
Helookedvaguelyupather.Alreadyhewashavingtroubleunderstandinghowanyofthisrelatedtohim.
“Hey,wow,”shesaid.“Yourpupils.They’relikelittlepoints.Andyou’reveryclammy.Howareyoufeeling,wouldyousay?Becausewhatwe’relookingforhereisdepressedrespiration—that’sfancymedicalspeakforslowbreathing—drowsiness,weakpulse.Andsomethingtheyliketocall‘changeinmentalstatus,’butI’mnotreallyclearaboutwhatthatmeans.Besides,howamIgoingtogetyoutodescribeyourmentalstatusnow?”
Hismentalstatuswasthathewanteditalltostop.Butatthesametime,hewasfeelingthathewouldstillscreamifonlyhecouldfigureouthow.
“Ihatetocutthisshort,”saidAnna,“butI’mgoingtobestressedabouttrafficifIstaymuchlonger,soI’mgoingtoheadout,butIjustwanttosetyourmindateaseaboutacoupleofthingsbeforeIgo.First,I’veleftoutalotoffoodforthecat,andplentyofwater,sodon’tworryabouthim.Second,Idon’twantyouworryingoutabouthowI’llmanageafterward.Wegotallthatlegalstufftakencareof,andthenewbook’sfinished,sothereshouldn’tbeanyproblems.AfterthisIwouldn’tbesurprisedifCribwentrightbackuptothetopoftheTimeslist,andhey,ifthisniceofferfromFranceisanyindication,yournewbook’sgoingtodoreallywell,too.Youmustberelieved.Sometimesthenextbookafterahitiskindofaletdown,Ithink,buthoweveritworksout,asyourwidowandyourliteraryexecutorI’lldoeverythingIcantomanageyourestateprudently,becausethat’smydutyand,Ithinkyou’llalsoagree,myright.Andfinally,I’vetakenthelibertyofwritingsomethingalongthelinesofasuicidenoteintoyourphonewhilewe’vebeenhangingouthere,andI’mmakingitclearthatnoone’stofeelresponsibleforthis,andthatyouwereinsomekindofawfuldespairbecause,well,blah,blahblah,youwerebeingharassedbysomeoneonline,andyouhavenoideawhoitis,buttheyaccusedyouofplagiarismandthat’ssuchadevastatingexperienceforanywriter.”
Sheheldituptoshowhim,thephone,hisphone,andhecouldhardlyatallmakeouttheblurofthewordsshe’dcomposed.Sentences:hislast,andnotevenchosenbyhim,orarrangedbyhim,orvettedbyhim.Itwasnearlytheworstthingofall.
“I’dreadittoyou,butIdon’tthinkyou’reuptomakingeditsrightnow,andbesides,Ireallyneedtogo.I’llleavethisoutonthekitchencountersoyouwon’tbebotheredbyanycallsortextswhileyou’retryingtorest.AndIthink…”Shestoppedandlookedaroundatthenowdarkenedroom.“Yep.Ithinkthat’sit.Good-bye,Jake.”
Sheseemedtowaitforhimtoanswer,thenshrugged.
“It’sbeenveryinteresting.I’velearnedsomuchaboutwriters.You’reastrangekindofbeast,aren’tyou,withyourpettyfeudsandyourfiftyshadesofnarcissism?Youactlikewordsdon’tbelongtoeveryone.Youactlikestoriesdon’thaverealpeopleattachedtothem.It’shurtful,Jake.”Shesighed.“ButIguessI’llhavealongtimetogetoverit.”
Shegottoherfeet.
“Now,justsoyouknow,I’mgoingtotextyouwhenIgettoLaGuardiatotellyouhowmuchIloveyou.AndI’mgoingtotextyouagainwhenIlandinthemorning,tosayI’vearrivedsafely.I’mgoingtosendyoupicturesofthestorageunitI’llbecleaningouttomorrow,andmaybeafewfromwhenImeetupwithmyfriendstomorrownightatoneofouroldhangoutsonthewaterfront.AndthenI’mgoingtostarttextingyoutopleasegivemeacallbecauseyouhaven’trespondedtoanyofmymessagesandI’mworried,andthat’llgoonforadayortwo.AndthenI’mafraidImighthavetogiveyourmomanddadacall,butlet’snotthinkaboutthatnow.Youjusthaveagoodsleep.Good-bye,sweetheart.”
Andsheleanedoverthebed,butshedidn’tkisshim.Shewaskissingthecat,Whidbey,namedfortheislandwhereshe’dhadacoupleoffunweekendswithRandy,herformerboss.Thenshelefttheroomandamomentlaterheheardthefrontdoorlockbehindher.
Thecatstayedwherehewas,atleastforanothercoupleofminutes,thenheclimbedupontoJake’schestandthereheremained,risingwitheachinhalation,fallingwitheachexhalation,andstaringintoJake’seyesforaslongastherewashumanwarmthonoffer.Afterthathewentasfarawayashecouldget,hidingfordaysunderthekilim-coveredcouchuntiltheneighborwho’dsoenjoyedthosepralinesfromNewOrleanscameatlastandmanagedtocoaxhimout.
EPILOGUE
ThelateJacobFinchBonner,authoroftheglobalbestsellerCrib,wasobviouslynotpresentattheS.MarkTaperFoundationAuditoriumforaneventmarkingthepublicationofhisposthumousnovel,Lapse,buthewasrepresentedbyhiswidow,AnnaWilliams-Bonner,aformerSeattleresident.Williams-Bonner,astrikingwomanwithalongsilverbraid,satinoneofthetwoarmchairsonthestageinfrontofamassiveblow-upofthebook’scover.TheotherchairwasoccupiedbyalocalpersonalitynamedCandy.
“Thesadthing,forme,”saidCandy,withanexpressionofprofoundcompassion,“isthatIactuallyinterviewedyourhusband,righthereonthisstage,aboutCrib.Thiswasabouteighteenmonthsago.”
“OhIknow,”saidthewidow.“Iwasintheaudiencethatnight.Iwasafan,evenbeforeImetJake.”
“Well!That’ssortofadorable.Didyoumeethimafterward,atthebooksigning?”
“No.Iwastooshytolineupwithmybook.ImetJakethenextmorning.IwasproducingRandyJohnson’sshowatWBIKatthetime.Jakecameontheshowandwehadcoffeeafterward.”Shesmiled.
“AndthenyouleftSeattleandmovedtoNewYork.Wedofrownonthat,youknow.”
“That’sperfectlyunderstandable.”Annasmiled.“ButIcouldn’thelpmyself.Iwasinlove.Wemovedintogetheronlyacoupleofmonthsafterwemet.Wedidn’thavemuchtimetogether.”
Candyhungherhead.Thetragedyofitallhadoverwhelmedher.
“Iunderstandthatyou’veagreedtomaketheseappearancesnotonlyinsupportofJake’snovelbutbecauseyoufeelaresponsibilitytospeakoutaboutsomeoftheissuesyourhusbandwasdealingwith.”
Annanodded.“He’dbeendevastatedbyaseriesofanonymousattacks.Mainlyonline,viaTwitterandFacebook,butalsoinmessagessenttohispublisherandevenafewlettersactuallysenttoourhome.Thefinalemailactuallyarrivedthedayhetookhisownlife.Iknewhewasdistraughtaboutit,andtryingtounderstandwhothispersonwas,andwhattheywantedfromhim.Ithinkthatlastmessagejustbrokehiswill,somehow.”
“Andwhatwashebeingaccusedof?”saidCandy.
“Well,itnevermademuchsense.Thepersonsaidhe’dstolenthestoryofCrib,buttherewerenodetails,really.Itwasanemptyaccusation,butinJake’sworldeventheaccusationfeltruinous.Hewasdevastated,andhavingtodefendhimselftohisagentandthepeopleathispublisher,andworryingabouthowitwouldimpacthimintheeyesofhisreadersifmorepeoplebecameawareofit,itjustdestroyedhim.Eventually,Icouldseehewasbecomingdepressed.Iwasworried,butyouknow,Ithoughtaboutdepressionthewaymostpeopledo.Ilookedatmyhusbandandthought,Hehasahugelysuccessfulcareer,we’vejustgottenmarried,surelythat’smoreimportantthanthisridiculousthing,sohowcanhebedepressed?I’dflownbackheretoSeattleforacoupleofdays,todealwithmyoldstorageunitandseefriends,andthat’swhenJaketookhisownlife.IfeltsoguiltybecauseI’dlefthimalone,andalsobecauseheusedthemedicationI’dbeenprescribedforanoldconditionofmyown.WehaddinnertogetheratourapartmentbeforeIwenttotheairport,andheseemedabsolutelyfine.Butoverthenextdayorsohedidn’trespondtoanyofmytexts,oranswerhisphone.Istartedtogetworried.Finally,Icalledhismothertoaskifshe’dheardfromhim.Thatwasawful,havingtodothattohismother.I’mnotamother,soIcanonlyimaginethepainoflosingachild,butitwasterribletowitnessthat.”
“Butyoucan’tblameyourself,”saidCandy,whichwasofcoursethecorrectthingtosay.
“Iknowthat,butit’sstillhard.”AnnaWilliams-Bonnerwassilentforamoment.Theaudiencewassilentwithher.
“It’saverydifficultjourneyyou’vebeenon,”Candyobserved.“Ithinkthefactthatyou’reheretonight,speakingwithusaboutyourhusband,hisstrugglesaswellashisaccomplishments,speakstoyourownstrength.”
“Thankyou,”saidthewidow,sittingupverystraight.Hersilverbraidhadslippedforwardoverherleftshoulder,andshewastwistingtheendaroundandaroundherfingers.
“Tellme,doyouhaveplansofyourownyoucansharewithus?AreyoumovingbacktoSeattle,forexample?”
“No.”AnnaWilliams-Bonnersmiled.“I’msorrytosay,ItrulydoloveNewYork.Iwanttocelebratemyhusband’swonderfulnewbook,andthefactthatMacmillanishonoringJakewiththerepublicationofthetwonovelshewrotebeforeCrib.AndwhenthefilmadaptationofCribcomesoutnextyearIplantocelebratethataswell.ButatthesametimeI’vestartedtofeelthatmaybeit’stimetobeginfocusingonmyself.IhadaprofessorattheUniversityofWashingtonwhousedtosay:Nobodyelsegetstoliveyourlife.”
“Sowise,”saidCandy.
“I’vealwaysthoughtso.AndI’vehadsometimenowtoreallythinkdeeplyaboutwhatIwantfrommylife,andhowIwanttoliveit.It’salittleembarrassingunderthecircumstances,butdeepdownIrealizedthatonsomelevelI’vealwaysknownIwantedtowrite.”
“Really!”saidCandy,leaningforward.“Butthatmustbeintimidating.Imean,asthewidowofsuchafamouswriter…”
“Idon’tfeelthatway.”Annasmiled.“It’struethatJake’sworkwasknownallovertheworld,buthealwaysinsistedhewasn’tspecial.Heusedtotellme:Everyonehasauniquevoiceandastorynobodyelsecantell.Andanybodycanbeawriter.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SeldomhaveIbeensogratefulformychosencareerasIwasduringthespringandsummermonthsof2020,notjustfortheopportunitytoworkathomebutforthechancetoescape,onadailybasis,intoanotherreality.IambeyondthankfulformywonderfulagentsatWME,SuzanneGluckandAnnaDeRoy,aswellasAndreaBlatt,TracyFisher,andFionaBaird,andforDebFutter,JamieRaabandtheirextraordinaryteamatCeladon,includingRandiKramer,LaurenDooley,RachelChou,ChristineMykityshyn,JenniferJackson,JaimeNoven,andAnneTwomey.ThisbookwasborninDeb’soffice.Sorryforthemess.
Myparents,underhousearrestinNewYorkCity,devouredeverywordofthisnovelasitwaswritten.Myhusbandbroughtcoffeeinthemorningandalcoholicbeveragespromptlyatfive.Mysisterandmykidscheeredmeon.Mybelovedfriendshavesustainedmeduringthewritingofthisbook,andIcan’tadequatelyexpressmyappreciationtothem,mostespeciallyChristinaBakerKline,JaneGreen,ElisePaschen,LisaEckstrom,ElisaRosen,PeggyO’Brien,DeborahMichel,JaniceKaplan,HelenEisenbach,JoyceCarolOates,SallySingerandLaurieEustis.AlsoLeslieKuenne,butthat’s,literally,anotherstory.
ThePlotmayseemalittlehardonwriters,butthatshouldn’tsurpriseanyone;we’rehardonourselves.Infact,youcouldn’thopetomeetamoreself-flagellatingbunchofcreativesanywhere.Attheendoftheday,though,wearetheluckyones.First,becausewegettoworkwithlanguage,andlanguageisthrilling.Second,becausewelovestoriesandwegettofrolicinthem.Begged,borrowed,adapted,embroidered…perhapsevenstolen:it’sallapartofagrandconversation.“Graspthatandyouhavetherootofthematter.Tounderstandallistoforgiveall.”(EvelynWaugh,BridesheadRevisited)
ThisnovelisdedicatedtoLaurieEustis,withlove.
Foundedin2017,CeladonBooks,adivisionof
MacmillanPublishers,publishesahighlycuratedlist
oftwentytotwenty-fivenewtitlesayear.Thelistof
bothfictionandnonfictioniseclecticandfocuses
onpublishingcommercialandliterarybooksand
discoveringandnurturingtalent.
TableofContents
HalfTitle
AlsobyJeanHanffKorelitz
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
PartOne
ChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFour
PartTwo
ChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSeven
PartThree
ChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteenChapterTwentyChapterTwenty-OneChapterTwenty-TwoChapterTwenty-ThreeChapterTwenty-Four
PartFour
ChapterTwenty-FiveChapterTwenty-SixChapterTwenty-SevenChapterTwenty-EightChapterTwenty-NineChapterThirty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
© Copyright Notice
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