The Write Man

by Lisa Ricard Claro

  “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

  “It’s okay. I think it’s better if we say good bye now.”

  “It’s late, Merry. I’m walking you back. Keep the jacket,” he said when she made a move to shrug out of it.

  They walked to the main building in silence. Nick would have walked her all the way to her hotel room door, but she insisted on a quick goodbye in the lobby after they exchanged phone numbers.

  Merry lifted to her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for a great evening. And what almost happened tonight—you should know that I don’t—I’ve never—so soon—” She lost the words when her cheeks bloomed red.

  “Things happened pretty fast tonight,” Nick said. He brushed his knuckles over her dimple and resisted the urge to press his lips against it. “But I think you’ll agree that we might have the beginning of something more here. I hope we have the chance to see where this goes.”

  Her smile lit her eyes with warmth, and she gave him a quick hug before she walked away.

  “Merry.” He waited for her to stop and look back at him. “Good luck. And keep my number on speed dial.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  And what, he wondered as he strolled back to the villa, was the silver lining in this? What would Merry Sunjoy find in her sister’s misfortune to constitute any sort of rainbow?

  From where he was standing, it sounded like nothing but a lot of bad news.

  Nick let himself into the villa and detoured to the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of milk, grabbed the chocolate chip cookies, and carried both to the living room. He powered up his laptop and tried to do some writing, but ended up sitting back with his snack, dunking and munching while he pondered his hours spent with Merry.

  It was clear to him that she had no idea he was the man behind Scurvy Rickets. It was also obvious that he’d gone way too far with his jabs at her, in spite of the fact that both their sales were up as a result of their verbal back-and-forth. He didn’t like being thought a bully, especially since, in his estimation, Merry had given as good as she got—although he admitted her digs had been delivered with more diplomacy than his.

  And either Phoebe was lying to him about Merry’s agreement with their social media sparring, or Merry’s agent was lying to Phoebe. He hoped it was the latter, because if it was the former, he’d have to look for a new agent.

  He opened his laptop again, but this time went to Merry’s BBB blog. He scrolled through the comments until he found the one awaiting a response from her. She’d yet to reply, not that he was surprised, considering the current drama in her life.

  Nick stared at the nasty comment he had left as Scurvy Rickets:

  My work is entertaining and significant, Ms. Sunjoy, hence the Newsome Award. When was the last time your happy-happy-joy-joy syrup earned the same? Go ahead and review. I’ll wait. ZZZzzzzz…

  She wasn’t wrong. That comment was written by a meany-head, a bully. It was inexplicably selling books, but it wasn’t selling the right message to anyone who read it, and she might consider it unforgivable when she found out he was the culprit.

  Sure, his book sales were up. But maybe not up as high as if he’d been nicer. Maybe, he thought, there were parents who weren’t buying Pirates books because Scurvy Rickets was an asshole.

  He sighed and wrote another comment, deleted it, and tried again.

  And again.

  And again.

  He was giving the backspace key a major workout, so he slapped the laptop shut before he posted something stupid. The problem was that he was replying as himself, Nick Brubaker, instead of that old salt of the high seas, Scurvy Rickets.

  So. What would Scurvy say if he wanted to apologize?

  Well, that was the issue, wasn’t it? Scurvy never apologized. He set his sails for a different course and a new adventure. The books penned by Scurvy Rickets featured evildoers getting their just rewards at the hands of the sometimes subtly dark, but always hilarious, Pukefaced Pirates. But what of Scurvy Rickets, the author? Was there a way to turn him from the hardnosed blowhard he was into a kinder, gentler blowhard? Was there even such a thing?

  It was probably best to leave well enough alone. Don’t apologize, because it would sound false, but don’t do anything to poke the bear, either. Let Merry reply however she chose, and Scurvy would let it go. He’d give her the last word, let her win the battle.

  And sometime soon, Scurvy Rickets would have to learn how to apologize sincerely. Nick would make it part of his new book, he decided. Scurvy needed to admit when he was wrong. That was an important lesson for kids to learn, and if Scurvy could do it, then anyone could.

  Merry was upset by all of this, and Nick had the power to make it stop. Maybe, if he put an end to it and let her come out on top, she’d forgive him—if she ever found out who his alter ego was. And, even though their relationship at this point consisted of little more than dipping their toes in the water, he needed to come clean with her, sooner rather than later, and contract be damned. If he wanted to continue seeing Merry—and much to his own surprise, he did—then she had to be told about Scurvy Rickets. But could he trust her to keep the secret, even if their relationship didn’t last? Million dollar question.

  Nick’s cell phone chirped a new Twitter notification, and he swiped the screen to read his earlier message and Merry’s reply:

  Scurvy Rickets @ScurvyRickets 16 h @merrysunjoy #BookBlissBlog=#BigBunchaBaloney dissing #PukefacedPirates. I say “Stick it where book-bliss don’t shine, lady.” #Beanbottom

  And Merry’s reply:

  Merry Sunjoy @MerrySunjoy 1sec @ScurvyRickets #PukefacedPirates rock but ur a bully. Barnacles to ur rosy red #Beanbottom, matey, cuz it's always sunny at #BookBlissBlog.

  Nick laughed out loud. The lady had bested him, fair and square. He clicked over to her blog and scrolled to the comments where—yes, indeed, she had thumbed her nose at him there as well.

  In response to his nasty comment about her work receiving no awards, she wrote:

  Your work is both entertaining and significant, Mr. Rickets. It is you who are proving yourself to be neither. This is a civilized blog, not a sandbox for bullies. Play nice or walk the plank, sir.

  Nick clicked out of Merry’s blog, closed his laptop, and smiled.

  Chapter 5

  Merry spent a short night of fitful sleep and disjointed dreams. The blare of the alarm at five a.m. was a relief from the tossing and turning, and she rolled from bed as exhausted as when she climbed in.

  She had managed to change her departure from Southwest Florida International Airport in Fort Myers to a nine a.m. flight and arrived in plenty of time to enjoy a cinnamon bun and coffee while she waited to board. Laptop open, her fingers flew over the keys, stopping only to sip her java and nosh her sweet treat. The noise around her receded to a buzz as she entered the world of Moonflower and her sisters, and Merry paid no attention to anything until a collective groan went up around her. She lifted her head and glanced about.

  “What’s happened?” she asked the woman beside her.

  “Flight’s been delayed. Some kind of engine trouble. No idea how long it will take to fix.” The woman stood and grabbed her carryon. “I’m going to see if I can get on another flight. If that tropical storm makes land sooner than they expect, I don’t want to be stranded here.”

  Merry sighed. She should do the same and find a different flight, but the truth was that she was relieved to have a reprieve.

  She shot a text to Ben, surprised when the phone rang a moment later.

  “Stay in Florida,” Holly said when Merry answered the call. “Ben told me you were coming today, but there’s literally no point in it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m fine. They sent me home on bed rest for a couple days because of the concussion, that’s all.”

  “Holly, you need me right now.”

  “There’s nothing you can do, Mer. If you want the truth, I don’t care about the accident o
r the concussion. It’s losing the baby that’s grinding me up inside. I know that was weeks ago, but I can’t help it. At least now I won’t feel guilty about lying around in bed crying.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” In spite of Merry’s efforts to always see the sunny side, she knew better and dug deep for comforting words. Platitudes weren’t what Holly needed now. “I’m still coming home, okay? As soon as the flight is rescheduled, I’ll be there. If you’re stuck on bedrest, then so am I. We’ll eat Ben & Jerry’s and watch rom-coms all day.”

  “No,” Holly said. “Ben already got clearance to work from home. So, stay in Florida. Enjoy the beach. There’s really nothing you can do here right now. But you know,” her voice perked up. “Saturday’s graveside visit would be easier if you were here. Will you come for that?”

  “Under the circumstances, shouldn’t you postpone—”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” Merry said, but her insides shriveled. “I’ll let you know my flight plans.”

  “Thanks. I love you, Mer.”

  “Love you, too. I’m so glad you’re okay. Give Ben a hug for me.”

  Merry clicked off the call and collected her things. She’d worry about reimbursement for her ticket later.

  As she stood in line for a rental car she listened to the couple in front of her talk about the storm slated to drench Naples that afternoon.

  “Downgraded to a tropical depression,” the rental car agent told the couple when they reached the counter. “Sky’s already started spitting. Y’all drive careful, now.”

  Merry waited to check her weather app until she was already in a rental car headed back to Barefoot Bay and the Casa Blanca resort where she hoped she could still get a room. The storm was expected to hover in the Gulf and batter the Everglades before moving up along the coast. It promised to lose steam by the time its center reached Naples and Mimosa Key, and Merry hoped that while the resort got drenched she’d be ensconced in her room up to her neck in bath bubbles.

  And Nick. Maybe she should shoot him a text, let him know she was on her way back to the resort. He had told her to keep his number on speed dial, after all. She wondered about his opinion on bubble baths . . .

  Her cheeks heated.

  She wasn’t one to jump into bed with a man she had just met, but if Ben hadn’t called her when he did last night, Merry would have done exactly that. But there was something different about Nick, and she wasn’t telling herself that to justify her behavior. True, they had endured similar traumatic childhoods, and they were both writers. But it was more than that. Something deeper. Something she couldn’t explain. Was it wrong to want to figure it out?

  Merry turned into a convenience store and cast a wary glance at the darkening sky. Wind whipped at her hair as she walked in, and a few fat drops of rain splattered the pavement, warning of the torrent about to begin. Better to make a stop now, before the weather worsened.

  She used the facilities and purchased a bottle of water, a big bag of chips, and a Snickers bar on her way out. Rain slapped her face now, and she fast-stepped to the rental car. In her peripheral vision, she saw something gray slip around the side of the building. She ignored it, and climbed into the car, glad to be someplace dry before the storm rolled in.

  As she drew near the edge of the convenience store, she saw what had caught her eye. A small dog, its white fur splotched gray with dirt, quivered against the side of the building.

  “Aw. Poor baby.”

  She looked up at the bruised sky again, at the worsening rain, and glanced back at the dog. Its dark eyes seemed to be staring right at Merry. Her heart twisted. With a sigh, she put the car in reverse and backed into a parking space near the animal. All she had with her was the bag of chips. It would have to be enough.

  Merry expected that the dog would be skittish, and though it backed up when she approached, it didn’t slink away.

  “Hey, girl,” she said, squatting. She opened the bag and emptied some of the chips on the wet pavement, then scooted back to give the animal space. “You better hurry up. This rain is only going to get worse.”

  Inch by inch, the dog crept forward, ears back, tail between its legs. It licked at the chips for a moment before scarfing them down.

  “Pretty good, huh? Those kettle chips are my favorite. Probably not the best thing for you, though.”

  The tip of the dog’s tail wagged once, twice. No collar, Merry noted, and her dirty fur was matted and in need of soap, water, and grooming. Her unnatural thinness gave further proof she was a stray in need of care.

  “I don’t know what to do for you,” Merry said, but even as the words left her mouth she knew she wasn’t going to leave the dog here to face a tropical depression. “Tell you what. I’m going back inside for dog food, and when I come back out, if you’re still here, I’ll take that as a sign that you should come with me. If you’re gone, well—that will be that. Be right back.”

  Merry paid for a small bag of dog food and some treats, and ignored the rain that had eased from drips to drops to a steady patter. She walked to the side of the building and sighed.

  “Waiting for me, huh?” she said, crouching. “I told you I’d be back. C’mere, baby. I won’t hurt you.”

  The dog moved forward by slow degrees, and Merry resisted the urge to hurry it along. She questioned her own sanity, waiting in the rain for a stray dog that might or might not be willing to jump into her rental car. Idiotic, she knew, to take responsibility for the animal when she technically had no place to go herself, but she couldn’t in good conscience leave the poor thing to fend for itself in this kind of weather.

  Lightning lit a smoky cloud. Thunder boomed like a gunshot.

  The dog leapt forward into Merry’s arms. Merry fell backward and landed on her butt with the dog quivering against her stomach. Water seeped into the fabric of Merry’s capris to wet her backside. The thunder clapped a second time and the scared animal scrambled upward. Merry wrapped her arms around the dog. It pressed itself against her, quaking with fear.

  “Lucky for both of us you’re a little thing,” she said. The dog stayed where it was and kept on shaking. “Okay, c’mon, little girl. You have to get off me,” Merry said, but she stroked the frightened dog, wondering how in the world she got herself into these things.

  The heavens opened. Rain spewed forth like water from a spigot.

  Ten minutes later with the mutt fed and curled up in the passenger seat atop Nick’s jacket—Merry promised herself she’d buy him a new one—Merry sat in her car peering out at the rain. Both she and the dog were sopping wet. What was she supposed to do now? She imagined herself walking across the marble floor of the gorgeous Casa Blanca lobby with the filthy dog in tow, both of them leaving a trail of muddy rainwater behind them. Even if it was a pet friendly resort—and she had no idea one way or the other—this particular pooch didn’t belong in that pristine setting.

  Another thought popped into Merry’s mind. She had checked out this morning and wasn’t even sure she would get a room for herself, never mind the dog. What if the Casa Blanca couldn’t accommodate her?

  Merry bit her lip as an idea trickled into her brain.

  “No, Merry, no,” whispered the Foundling Faeries. “That’s a bad idea. A bad, bad, bad, BAD idea.”

  The dog emitted a quivering and bone-weary sigh. She rested her dripping muzzle on her front paws and watched Merry through eyes the color of midnight. If she could talk, Merry knew she’d be saying, “Thank you.”

  Merry stroked the animal’s head and considered her options. She could perform an internet search of “pet friendly motels” and see what popped up.

  “Or you could call Nick . . .”

  Merry wasn’t sure which of the Foundling Faeries had broken from the pack to play the devil on her shoulder, but she took it as a sign and picked up her cell phone before she could change her mind.

  “Merry! Are you in Asheville already?” Nick’s deep baritone flowed through the phone. Heat
pooled in Merry’s belly.

  “Not exactly. There was engine trouble, so the flight was delayed, and then it was canceled altogether. My sister made it clear I didn’t have to rush to be there today. She’s going home on bed rest today. I’m, uh, actually on my way back to the resort.”

  “Well, be careful. The rain is really pelting down here.”

  “Yeah, same here. I’m near Bonita Springs, so I’m only about thirty minutes away.”

  “Please call or text me the second you get here, okay? I’d like to know you arrived safely,” he said.

  “Yeah, um, about that.” Merry stared into the dog’s eyes and blew out a sigh. May as well go for it. “The thing is, I don’t have a reservation now, and I don’t know if they can even accommodate me at the Casa Blanca. I—”

  “You can stay here at the villa with me,” he said. “And before you argue, it’s a two bedroom. This offer doesn’t come with any expectations other than good conversation and maybe a meal, if you know how to cook, because I don’t.”

  Merry smiled into the phone. “Sorry. I’m banned from kitchens. I make a lot of smoke and have a tendency to burn things.”

  Nick chuckled. “Well, then, we’re doomed to survive on microwave popcorn and chocolate chip cookies.”

  “I’ve got potato chips and a Snickers bar,” she said.

  “A meal fit for royalty,” Nick said. “Drive carefully, okay? I’ll see you in a little while. Call as soon as you get here, and I’ll come out and help you with your luggage.”

  “Uh, Nick? There is one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Merry blinked into her furry companion’s trusting eyes. “Well, uh . . . how do you feel about dogs?”

  Chapter 6

  Nick opened the door as Merry loped up the villa steps with a small canvas bag dangling over her shoulder and the filthy dog in her arms. The animal was no bigger than your average teddy bear and appeared malnourished. Some kind of fluffy ankle biter, he supposed, age anyone’s guess. Nick hoped the animal wasn’t infested with fleas or worse. The dog’s soulful eyes peered at him through matted fur, and his heart softened.