Ask me to Stay

by Osburn, Terri

  She’d received the same question in countless letters and emails—some even suggesting Penelope could be their own long-lost relative.

  “I’m sorry, but no. She’s a complete work of fiction. A figment of my imagination.”

  With a pleading look, Liza begged Francine to save her, but the overture went ignored. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the interest the group had taken in her work or the enthusiasm with which they’d greeted her. But each of these readers had created an image of author L. R. Teller in their minds, and Liza doubted she could live up to any of them.

  “Snacks are out,” the hostess announced from the kitchen. “Fill your glasses and your plates before the discussion starts. You know the rules.”

  As quickly as they’d converged around her, the merry bunch dispersed in a mad dash to the kitchen, most reaching for the wine first. Liza hoped no one would offer her a glass.

  “You’re doing great,” Francine whispered, handing over a plate of various finger foods. The only thing Liza recognized was the caprese skewers. “Red or white?”

  “Water,” she replied. Her hostess’s eyes narrowed, and Liza explained, “I don’t want to spill wine on this beautiful sofa.” A true statement, though not the reason she’d turned down the proffered beverage. Changing the subject, she whispered, “Why don’t any of these people look familiar?”

  Francine’s expression relaxed. “Bernadette and her husband only come for the summer, and their kids were in school until last Friday.” She took a seat beside Liza and pointed to a man struggling with a stubborn cork. “The guy in the green Polo shirt about to break my bottle opener is her husband, Daniel.”

  Together they watched Bernadette snatch the bottle from her husband’s grasp and remove the cork in one graceful move.

  “Marcelo lives in Mount Pleasant,” Francine said. “His local library has a book club, but he likes ours better, so we let him join. Carrie, the cute little thing in the cutoffs, lives on Goat Island and has been cleaning rental houses here for nearly ten years.”

  “She doesn’t look old enough to have been cleaning that long.” The woman in question topped off a glass of red, and Liza felt the urge to card her.

  “Don’t let looks fool you. She’s a divorced thirty-five-year-old with four kids at home.”

  “She has four kids?” Liza hadn’t even had kids yet and couldn’t wear shorts that tiny.

  “I know, girl. I had two, and my body never bounced back like that.” Leaning closer, Francine lowered her voice even more. “The two debating in the corner are an interesting pair. Never seen eye to eye a day in their lives. If Kathy, the one on the right, said the earth is round, Tabby would declare it flat as a pancake.”

  As if proving Francine’s words, the women glared at one another. The one Francine called Kathy sported long dark hair and stood several inches shorter than her blonde counterpart. “If they don’t like each other, why do they stay friends?”

  “Friends? Honey, those two are twins.” Liza searched for a resemblance as the hostess continued. “Fraternal, obviously. And if you say something bad about one, you better be prepared for the other to come knocking on your door. Thick as thieves, they are. Thieves who’d rather swallow their own tongues than agree on anything, but a bonded pair all the same.”

  Liza’s fingers itched to take notes as her writer mind kicked into gear like the Tin Man after a good oiling. All these characters belonged on the page. The single mom was an obvious lead, with a story that could go in several directions, and the twins were a gift to her ailing imagination. Liza imagined a black comedy exploring the darker side of sibling rivalry, with a murderous plot twist involving the smarmy lawyer who tried seducing them both.

  “Is either of them married?” she asked.

  “Tabby is divorced, but it happened long before they moved here.” Francine turned her face away from the kitchen to whisper, “Legend has it hubby suggested the sisters would get along better with some distance between them. The marriage didn’t last long after that.”

  The twins chose that moment to head Liza’s way. Her shoulders tensed as she whispered, “Are they nice to other people?”

  “Absolute dolls.” Francine rose to her feet. “I better get your water before everyone sits down. Do you need anything else?”

  A pen and a legal pad would have been nice. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  Francine walked away, and Liza tried to look relaxed when the twins joined her. As if they might smell her fear and attack.

  “Ms. Teller, we just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed your book,” Kathy said. “The writing drew us in from the first page.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad—”

  Tabby cut her off. “I knew that Miles was going to come back for her. Kathy thought he was too shallow, but I knew there was more to that boy.”

  Kathy leaned forward to cast a narrowed eye at her sister. “I said Miles was too jaded, not too shallow. If you’re going to tell the story, get it right.”

  “Either way, you were wrong.” Tabby grinned with great satisfaction. To Liza she said, “We really did love it, and are so honored to have you with us. Thank you for sharing your talent.”

  The ladies rose together, Kathy echoing her sister’s gratitude before mumbling something under her breath. Liza feared the shallow-versus-jaded argument would continue for a while. She could have told them that in her original draft, Miles never went back for Penelope, but that was just the sort of thing that ruined books for readers.

  Once they learn tidbits like that, they begin to question all the parts they love, and before long, the magic of the story is gone. Exactly the type of thing Liza did not want to happen, which meant getting through this discussion by saying as little as possible.

  The gathering made their way back to the living room as Francine handed Liza a glass of water. The meeting commenced, and in short order, any notion that the author’s presence would hinder the group’s willingness to be brutally honest went right out the window.

  By the end of the meeting, Liza possessed a greater understanding of why writers drink.

  “What’s up with you and our resident writer?”

  The question caused Kendall to miss the nail and hammer his finger. Smothering a string of profanities, he pegged his helper with a hard glare. “Nothing is up,” he lied.

  Aadi chuckled. “Looked like something on movie night.”

  Kendall was starting to regret agreeing to help the doc replace the damaged lattice around the bottom of his house. “You were supposed to be watching the movie, not the audience.”

  “That walk on the beach afterward is what got folks talking.”

  He stopped midswing. “What does that mean?”

  Dark eyes twinkled. “The natives are restless, son. You can’t take a stroll with a pretty woman in front of half the population and not expect a little chatter.”

  The hammer slid into the hook on his tool belt, and Kendall descended the ladder. “It’s break time.” Crossing to the cooler, he snagged a bottle of water and took a seat on a large rock. That he and Liza were the source of gossip shouldn’t have been surprising, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  The doctor grabbed himself a water and settled on the next rock over. “If it’s any consolation, the talk is positive. The locals love her, and we both know that’s no small feat.”

  Kendall knew his neighbors well enough to know where their minds were going. “She’s temporary, Aadi. Liza is here to do a job for Ray, and then she’s gone.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “That doesn’t have to be the case. Maybe, with the right incentive, she’d be willing to stick around.”

  The same thought had occurred to Kendall the night before, but he knew all too well that a city girl like Liza wouldn’t be happy on the island long term. He’d vowed long ago never to create the same situation his father had, and coercing Liza to upend her life would be doing exactly that.

  “I know the incentiv
e you’re suggesting, and you’re running that flag up the wrong pole. We barely know each other, and I’m not looking for a leg shackle anytime soon.”

  “Come on. You’re what, thirty-seven?”

  “Thirty-four,” Kendall corrected.

  “Well, then. What are you waiting for?” Aadi turned to face him. “I knew Sacchi ten years before I came to my senses and asked her on a date. Six months later, we were married. That’s ten years wasted. Now that she’s gone, I’d give anything to have those years back.” Tapping Kendall on the knee, he added, “Life is to be lived, my friend. Live it!”

  A powerful speech, if a bit premature. “I’ve barely known her ten days. What if she’s a terrible cook? What if she has smelly feet? Or bites her toenails?”

  Aadi drew back. “I had a cousin who did that. Disgusting habit.”

  Kendall had been joking, but okay. “She’s already said she doesn’t like dogs. That’s a deal breaker right there.”

  “Francine says Amos loves her.”

  “He does.” And she seemed to love him right back. “But what does a dog know?”

  “Oftentimes, much more than people.” Aadi rose from his rock. “Whatever you do is your business. I’m merely suggesting that when an opportunity lands at your door, you should let it in.” Slipping the half-empty bottle back in the cooler, he reached for a new piece of lattice. “Advice over. Back to work.”

  Finishing off the cold drink, Kendall let Aadi’s words drift through his mind. As Francine had reminded him, Ray couldn’t live forever. When he was gone, which hopefully wouldn’t happen for years to come, what would Kendall’s next chapter be?

  He’d like to have a family of his own, and Mom had been hinting about grandchildren for years. But the atmosphere he’d grown up in kept him gun-shy in that area. At least while he was still tied to the island.

  After tossing his bottle in the recycle bin, Kendall hauled himself up the ladder, doubtful that Liza would be receptive to Aadi’s suggestion. But maybe it was time to start thinking about his future in a more substantial way.

  Chapter 14

  “Why would she do that? She would never have done that!”

  Marcelo threw his hands in the air for the third time, each instance in response to someone else in the group disagreeing with his interpretation of the book. At the moment, he was taking issue with the way Liza’s main character behaved during the climax of the story.

  “How do you know she wouldn’t have done it?” Daniel asked. He hadn’t contributed much to the conversation, so Liza had started to think he hadn’t read the book at all. “It’s not like you’re in her head or something.”

  Liza tried not to flinch at that statement. She hadn’t actually enjoyed the discussion, since several of her shortcomings as a writer had been conferred and debated, but she had learned a great deal about how readers both connected with and became emotionally invested in a story.

  “What do you think reading is?” Bernadette turned to her husband, brow drawn. “We’re in their heads the whole time.”

  “I know,” Marcelo replied, ignoring Bernadette’s comment, “because right at the beginning we learn that she’s nonconfrontational. Growing up in foster care has taught her to keep her head down and not make waves.”

  “But she’s grown by this point,” Carrie interjected, renewing Liza’s faith in the group. “That’s the whole point. She’s grown through every obstacle that’s come her way, and her character is changing. So when that nasty old lady tries to shove her around, Penelope is ready. She’s found her backbone.”

  Yes! Liza wanted to shout, biting down on the inside of her cheek to contain the urge. So far, she’d managed not to interject herself into the conversation and planned to keep it that way.

  “I agree with Carrie,” Kathy said, causing Marcelo to fume louder. “If she’d stood up for herself in the first half, I’d have said she was acting out of character, but this is the big blow-up moment. She’s the hero of the book, and that’s the time Penelope needed to step up.” Turning to Liza, she added, “Are we right?”

  Six pairs of eyes turned her way, and Liza’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to take sides, since every reader’s experience was unique and valid, yet she couldn’t outright refuse to answer. And then there was the fact that the majority was right. At least in what she’d intended for the character and the story as a whole.

  “It’s true,” she began, clearing her throat to buy time, “that Penelope’s character has evolved by this point in the story.” Liza tried to read their faces, as if their expressions might offer her a way out of this. “But if Marcelo didn’t recognize that growth, then I didn’t do my job to make her evolution clear. That means he’s correct for the story as he read it, and the rest of you are also right in how you interpreted the book.”

  There. A nice diplomatic response that didn’t put anyone in the wrong. Except herself.

  “Bullshit,” Tabby snapped. “Every bit of that girl’s development and growth is on the page. If Marcelo missed it, that’s his fault, not yours.”

  Like a figurative grenade lobbed into the center of the gathering, Tabby’s words caused an explosion of voices. Liza looked at Francine for a clue as to what to do, but the hostess only grinned, as if she were enjoying the cacophony echoing off her bare walls.

  Bodies were on their feet in seconds, and Marcelo made the mistake of facing off with Tabby, who no doubt could defend herself, but Kathy took exception to the way the smaller man wiggled a finger in her sister’s face. Personal space was invaded, and before Liza knew it, the young man’s glasses were askew, though only because he’d tripped over one of the ottomans in the melee.

  “That does it for this week!” Francine yelled above the fray, startling Liza and silencing the crowd.

  As if they hadn’t been on the brink of physical combat, they all returned to their seats, faces serene and completely at ease. If she hadn’t witnessed the change herself, Liza never would have believed a disagreement could dissipate so quickly.

  “I’ll post the poll for next month’s book choice within a week,” Francine announced in a more level voice, “so if you have a suggestion, be sure and email it to me. Now let’s thank the fabulous L. R. Teller for joining us today and giving us such an amazing book to discuss.”

  Liza rose along with everyone else to accept handshakes, hugs, and profuse praise for her work. Something she took with a grain of salt after spending the last hour absorbing the occasional less-than-complimentary commentary.

  The last to share his goodbye was Marcelo, who leaned in to whisper, “I saw the character growth. I guess I just related to her a little too much and was putting myself in her place.”

  Tears threatened as she gave the lovely young man a gentle squeeze. “You have the strength, too,” she whispered back, grateful for the gift he’d just given her.

  His smile was timid, but it was there. With a nod, he followed the others to the front door, and Liza dropped back onto the sofa, exhausted and relieved all at once.

  Francine returned from seeing her friends off, hands clapping and a satisfied smile on her lips. “Thank you for making me queen of the book club.” She plopped down next to Liza with a contented sigh. “Feels good to be the queen.”

  Liza searched for a sliver of her earlier indignation, but the victorious look on her new friend’s face made the last hour worth the blows her ego had taken. “I’m happy I could help, but a little warning would have been nice.”

  “Would you have come if I’d told you the truth?”

  A tough question to answer now that she’d survived the ordeal. Knowing what she knew now, not coming would have meant missing out on some useful information. Tidbits she could use going forward. That was, if she ever managed to write another work of fiction.

  “How about if I just say I’m glad I came?”

  Francine nodded in understanding. “I’ll take that.”

  As the hostess rose to gather the remnants of the meeting�
��napkins, small plates, and empty wineglasses—Liza followed suit, taking the opportunity to pose the question she’d wanted to ask since first walking into the house.

  “Why don’t you display your beautiful artwork on your walls?”

  Francine paused with three glasses in one hand. “For the same reason you didn’t want to be part of this discussion. We’re too critical of our own work.” Crossing to the kitchen, she unloaded the used dishes onto the island. “If I hang a piece, all I’ll see is the flaws. And then I’ll want to fix them, and there will be more flaws . . . It’s a vicious circle that would lead to madness, if I let it.”

  Liza understood the explanation perfectly. Allowing Vanessa to send her book off to publishers in order to sell it had been ridiculously difficult. Especially when Liza knew that the manuscript wasn’t perfect. Even today, the flaws haunted her, and that was after three rounds of edits, a copyedit, and two proof passes. All from professionals with whom she held no personal connection that would cause them to lie about how good or bad the book truly was.

  There were also the thousands of copies sold and hundreds of positive reviews posted on various distribution sites. Even with all that positive reinforcement, Liza wished she could go back and tweak here or polish there.

  “That makes perfect sense,” she replied, feeling a kinship with Francine that she’d never experienced before. Liza was glad that Ray Wallis had brought her to this island. Though she’d only expected to return home with a book to write and maybe a minor tan, this adventure had brought friends into her life—something she sorely lacked back home.

  Kendall’s efforts to ponder his future had turned into a battle to keep Liza off his mind.

  For the first time in years, he’d contemplated a life focused around something other than protecting Ray Wallis. Unlike his situation sixteen years ago, when he’d been a bright-eyed eighteen-year-old ignorant of what had brought his family to the island, Kendall now possessed a bank account that rendered his options limitless.