by Shirley Jump
“Outdoor Fun. Remember the one Carissa took the pictures for? Just reiterate the company line, that everything was written by you and not a ghostwriter. We’ll paint Kate as an editor or something. You have a sit-down with them scheduled in a couple of weeks, and we can use that as an opportunity to get your message out.”
He glanced at the story on his computer screen. Just while they’d been talking, another ten comments had been posted, and email notifications were popping up like weasels on his home screen. “What do we do until then? This thing seems to be spreading pretty fast.”
“Talk to Kate. Make sure she’s not part of it. If she isn’t, then maybe send out a joint statement on social media.”
Doing that would expose Kate as a ghostwriter, which Trent had to think wasn’t good for her business. Albeit, she was already exposed, and that information was hurting his business. How did he choose which to save? What was fair?
Maybe there was a way to help them both, but if there was, Trent couldn’t see his way to that answer.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks, Sarah.”
He paced his office for a long time after Sarah left, thinking and strategizing. Working his way through one direction and another, turning the problem every direction he could think. As the rest of the office began to filter out and head home, Trent grabbed his coat and headed out the door. A storm had been brewing all afternoon, and the wind whipped around him as he crossed the parking lot. Snowflakes spattered his cheeks, his hair, and coated his windshield with a pale white curtain.
His cell rang twice while he was driving. Both times, Kate trying to reach him, but he let her calls go to voicemail until he figured out what to do about this disaster and he could tamp down the anger in his chest. If he talked to her right now, he was afraid his temper would explode. So far, the media didn’t have his private cell number, but Trent was sure it was only a matter of time before he got those calls too. Sarah was right. He needed some kind of party line statement.
The storm had started picking up, snow falling heavier and thicker now, as Trent pulled into her building’s lot. He ducked inside the building, then took the stairs two at a time. When he knocked on her door and she opened it, he realized what time it was.
If none of this had happened, he would have been picking Kate up for a date. They would have laughed and kissed, like they had in the old days. Now, that was ruined, maybe forever. And maybe on purpose by her.
“Obviously, I’m not here for dinner,” he said, his voice cold and harsh.
“Obviously.” She drew in a deep breath. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about what happened? I tried to call you several times, but you didn’t answer.”
He swallowed hard and, once again, stood across from this beautiful, incredible woman and broke her heart, ending them before they could become anything. “We’re aren’t going out to dinner. We’re definitely not going out together in public. We need to have a serious talk about how this happened and who leaked the information, Kate.” As soon as he said the words, her face fell and Trent wished he could take them back.
“Let’s get the conversation over with then. You might as well come in before someone sees you on my doorstep and thinks you’re actually involved with me.” She opened the door, and he crossed to the couch. Kate sat in the chair at her desk, a clear division between them.
Trent hesitated, clasping his hands together and wishing the carpet would give him some kind of answer. He got the first, most important, and most painful question out of the way first. Like ripping off a bandage—maybe if he did it quickly, the words wouldn’t sting so much. “Did you give this Loretta woman some kind of inside scoop?”
Kate bristled. “You know me, Trent. Why would I do that?”
“She figured it out somehow. No one in my company, besides my CFO and Sarah, knew about this book arrangement.”
“I went to college with Loretta,” she explained. “We were in writing classes together and a critique group after school, so I’m sure she saw us together when we were dating. I ran into her a month or so ago, and she took this crazy interest in my ghostwriting. I had no idea she would put all that together. Then she saw me wearing your jacket, and I kinda said it was…my boyfriend’s.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“I was caught off guard and I didn’t say it was yours. It was just a GOA jacket I could have gotten anywhere.”
“Then how did she figure this out?”
“If someone follows both you on Instagram and me on my blog, they could notice the similar pictures from our hike at the falls. You had the one with my boot, and I had a more generic one of the landscape. I didn’t put your face up there or your name, though, and I never would have connected that boot to me. But she’s a mystery writer and followed all those breadcrumbs…”
“Right back to me and my company.” Trent sighed. Charlie the Cat wove his way between Trent’s legs, begging for an ear rub. Trent gave the cat a little attention and relaxed his stance. Kate had been just as affected by this story as he had been, and they needed to be on the same team. “I believe you. I’m sorry I questioned you at all. You’re right, I do know you and you’re not the kind of person who would sell me out, or anyone else for that matter.”
“The story is out there, and I can’t erase it. I wish I could.” She slipped off the sandals and set them side by side on the floor.
For some reason, the sight of Kate’s heels sitting there, not to be worn tonight, filled him with a deep sadness. If this media firestorm hadn’t happened, he would have been taking her out to dinner, watching her laugh, hearing her sweet voice, and maybe kissing her goodnight. Now…
“I think the best thing to do is to put as much distance between us and that story as possible,” he said. “I’ll make an announcement that I did work with you on my book, but only as an editor. All the words are mine.”
“Okay.”
“And…” he drew in a breath, “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for several weeks. The last thing we need is people putting us together and thinking we are hiding something else.”
The sorrow in her face nearly undid him. Trent told himself he was doing what was best—for the company, for himself, and for Kate. They were still two different people, and they were still on two different trajectories.
“So, I’ll call you in a few weeks, okay?”
Kate got to her feet, her spine straight and her demeanor cold and distant. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. At some point, Trent, you have to stop hovering on the shore and just dive in. Until you do that, I think our business is concluded, don’t you?” Then she crossed the room, opened the door, and waited for him to leave.
Trent stepped out into an angry squall and climbed in his car. He sat there for a long time while a storm raged around him and he wondered why making the right decision made him feel so terrible.
Fifteen
The next morning, Kate packed up Charlie, her laptop, and some clothes and headed to Grandma Wanda’s. Losing everything had spurred her to finally take some action in another direction. Grandma took one look at Kate’s face, drew her into a tight, warm hug, and whispered the magic words, “I made cookies. Let’s go eat as many as possible.”
As the snow fell outside and the world dealt with slushy streets and chilly days, Kate ignored the internet and her social media. Let her calls go to voicemail. Instead, she plugged in her laptop, opened up the file for her novel and started to write. She had nothing else to risk by doing this—her ghostwriting career was toast for the time being—so it gave her a courage she had never had before to write and submit. Angie had read the first few chapters and sent back one word: AMAZING! Then a second email that had said FINISH IT!
The encouragement lit a fire under Kate, and she immersed herself in words and story, the characters and their world becoming as real as her own. The love of wr
iting that she’d had when she’d been younger returned, as if some switch had been flipped in her brain, and all the “writer’s block” she’d had for years disappeared. She wrote all day and long into the night, taking advantage of the quiet and peace at her grandmother’s house.
On the third afternoon, Penny texted and asked Kate if she wanted to talk shop and grab a glass of wine. Kate met her at a cozy bar downtown, and over the course of the next couple of hours, the two of them exchanged pages and opinions.
“So,” Penny said, setting Kate’s printed pages to the side. “Now that we’re done, let’s talk about the elephant on the internet that we haven’t mentioned. I heard what Loretta did. That was wrong, in case I haven’t said so.”
“Actually, it’s okay.” Kate ran a finger along the rim of her wine glass. Two raspberries sat at the base of the delicate flute of sparkling Moscato. “I may never ghostwrite again, but it did force me to start working on my novel. And that may never have happened if not for Loretta.”
“Well, that is a good way to look at it, because the novel is terrific,” Penny said. “I can’t wait to see how it ends. I’m really hooked on those sisters and their mom. It’s such a…warm story. Feels like they’re my own family, you know?”
Kate beamed. “I’m so glad to hear that. And I really loved your suspense novel. That chapter had me on the edge of my seat.”
“We make good critique partners.” Penny clinked glasses with Kate. “I hope I get to talk words with you a lot more often, Kate.”
“Me too.” She gathered up her pages and laid down some cash for the tab. “It was good to get out—not just out of the house, but out of my comfort zone. I think that’s all I’ve done for the last two months—things that scare me.”
“And I’m sure it’s made you a better writer.” Penny finished her last sip of chardonnay. “Speaking of things that affect your writing…have you heard from Trent?”
Kate filled Penny in on everything that had happened in the days since Loretta’s expose blog. Considering the whole thing had become a public conversation, she didn’t see the sense in not talking about it. “I told him I don’t want to see him again. I mean, I do, but not if he wants to stand on the sidelines of our relationship.”
Penny covered her mouth and bit back a giggle. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but from everything you’ve told me about him, it seems like you were the one who did that before. Now you’re the risk-taker and he’s the scared one?”
It did seem like the tables had turned. Maybe once she’d started doing the things Trent liked to do, he had lost his argument about why a relationship between them would never work. Maybe Penny was right and this had nothing to do with the blog post and more to do with Trent being scared of what that meant for the future.
“It doesn’t matter.” Kate got to her feet and grabbed her purse. “We’re over.”
Penny put a hand on hers. “Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. You still have a few chapters to write in your own story, and the ending is still up in the air. Could it be the same with Trent?”
Kate tucked her pages into her bag. “Sometimes, Penny, you have to know when to stop trying to make the story work.”
Greg pounded out the miles beside Trent, the two of them not talking as Trent struggled to keep up with Greg’s long legs. Trent was happy with the silence, if only because it gave him time to puzzle out the Kate situation and relieve the stress of the last week. The calls to GOA’s offices had been nonstop. The backlash on social media had been swift and strong, a critical whip for the first few days. Then attention began to die down, and Sarah’s efforts to promote more positive aspects of GOA’s environmental and charitable efforts began to change the tide.
There’d be more to do once the book came out, but he’d worry about that then. For now, there was the nagging question of whether he had been wrong to mistrust Kate. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to hear from him, and thus far, she hadn’t responded to any of his emails or texts. She’d done the minor revisions he’d requested, but had sent them back through her agent, putting as much distance between them as she could.
Trent told himself it was all for the better, and kept on running. Maybe one of these days the run would quiet all the thoughts in his brain.
As they rounded the bend that marked the halfway point of their run, Greg slowed his pace. “This is our fifth run in as many days. Are you training for a race or avoiding something?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Greg arched a brow in answer.
Trent stopped running and bent over, drawing in deep breaths. “I can’t keep up with you, man. You’re killing me.”
“I don’t mind walking for a bit.” Greg waited for Trent to straighten, then the two of them headed down the path. “I wanted to thank you for the drum set you got Dana for her birthday. Or rather, not thank you.” He pressed his hands to his ears. “Next thing we’re getting her is lessons.”
Trent chuckled at the image of Greg’s eight-year-old daughter banging on the drumset. “I’m the godfather. I’m supposed to buy toys that annoy the parents and make the kid happy.”
“Excellent job on that.” Greg grinned. “When she was six, she wanted a pony. I’m glad she didn’t tell you about that one.”
“I would have gotten one.” Trent winked. “She is the cutest kid, so it’s hard to say no.”
“I agree. I would hang the moon on her wall if she asked me to. Last Christmas, she wanted this miniature pony toy. It was on her list to Santa, and she wanted it to have real horse hair. Do you know, I spent weeks looking online and in antique shops and hobby shops, trying to find one?”
“Really? That’s so…sentimental of you.” Trent gave his friend a shoulder jab. “Nah, seriously, that’s sweet.”
“I didn’t find one until Christmas Eve. I was driving home from work, I was exhausted, and I just wanted to get home. I saw this one shop I’d never noticed before, and it was still open. At the last second, I decided to stop in, and what do you know? They had the exact thing Dana had asked for. I bought it, wrapped it up, and made her Christmas morning.”
Trent would like to think he would be that kind of dad when he had kids. He realized that for the first time, his mind had thought the word “when,” not “if.’ A future, where he was married and settled down and had a family? Maybe not such an impossibility with someone like…Kate? Either way, it was a thought for way down the road.
“My point, and I had one in telling you about the Christmas pony, is if she’s worth it, you go the extra mile.” Greg put up his hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger move. “I read about the whole thing with Kate and your book and the company in some online magazine. The internet trolls are saying she wrote a biased piece and it isn’t the truth. But I’ve heard you talk about Kate a couple of times on long runs, and she doesn’t sound like the kind of woman who would lie. She sounds like the kind who knows you pretty darn well and would shoot it to you straight, like Virginia does with me. I also get the feeling she’s the kind of woman who’s worth going all the way to Montlake Terrace.”
Trent thought back and realized Kate’s name had come up in some of those long-run conversations with Greg. All these years, Trent had thought he’d moved on, forgotten her, but she’d clearly lingered in his mind all along. “I could go to Timbuktu and it wouldn’t matter. I think she hates me right now.”
“Then maybe you have to go farther,” Greg said, breaking into a jog again. “And faster, you slowpoke turtle!”
Trent sucked in a breath and ran after Greg, pounding the pavement until his lungs hurt and his mind stopped replaying his last conversation with Kate and the hurt that had been in her eyes. Once again, he’d broken her heart.
With Penny’s advice in mind, Kate went back to work on her novel over the next few days. She’d talk the story through with her grandmother from time to time and read some
passages aloud as they sat out on the porch at night, looking for the Big Dipper and eating whatever batch of cookies was fresh from the oven.
Grandma raved about every chapter like it was the next War and Peace, of course. Kate reminded herself that this was her grandmother, who would rave about Kate’s grocery list, but either way, there just seemed to be something wonderful happening with this story. Even Kate could feel it as she wrote.
Trent called and texted, but Kate ignored him. At least once a day, he asked if they could talk, but she never replied. She’d already fallen for him twice and had had her heart broken both times. Only a fool went back for a third strike.
All of it was compounded by the guilt she felt about what had happened. She hadn’t been the one to expose the truth, but maybe if she hadn’t talked to Loretta or hadn’t worn his jacket…
Trent was undoubtedly still angry about what had happened, and Kate wasn’t sure she could hear that at the same time she was nursing a broken heart.
The writing helped her block out that pain and the memories of him. Every once in a while, she’d pull up the picture of the falls and allow her heart a moment to mourn. Then she’d click the photo away and go back to her fictional world that didn’t have a ghostwriter, a Loretta, or a Trent darkening the pages.
She blocked out the rest of the world too, avoiding social media, her blog, her emails. Kate kept her head down and kept working on the book. As page after page poured out of her, her self-confidence grew, and the words flowed even faster. She helped Grandma turn over the soil and fertilize the garden, getting it ready for the spring planting. She made lots of soups, typing while the ingredients simmered or tea brewed in the delicate china cups Grandma loved so much. The weather began to abate as March began to edge toward April, and Kate set a little time aside every day to visit the garden and greenhouse.
“Thank you for everything,” Grandma said. Today, the two of them were working together, transplanting a trio of red geraniums bursting out of their pots. “But you’ve been with me for over two weeks now. I love having you here, but maybe you should go back to your own life.”
