The Accidental Bestseller

by Wendy Wax

This time she was the one who remained silent largely because she didn’t know what to say.

  “We’ve been planning this for months, Mallory.”

  She didn’t speak, couldn’t really.

  In the silence, his voice hardened, became very un-Chris-like. Underneath was the hurt and anger but on the top was a steeliness she’d never heard before. “I’ve been planning this for months. We agreed we’d take the time off and spend it together.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  She waited while he absorbed what she’d said. She’d promised to take the time off when she cancelled the last trip he’d planned and she had had every intention of going.

  She heard Chris let his breath out on a big gush of air and could picture him running his hand through his hair. “I’m such an imbecile,” he said. “I keep thinking that once you finish a manuscript, or a tour, or whatever the hell you’re onto next, you’ll make some time for us. Give a shit about us. But it never seems to happen.”

  “Chris, I just can’t leave her right now.” Mallory heard the urgency in her own voice, the need to make him understand. “I thought I’d get Faye and Tanya to come in for the weekend so we can help Kendall brainstorm her book. She hasn’t written a single word and its due December first. This has nothing to do with us.”

  “I’ve tried to understand, really I have.” He almost seemed to be talking to himself now, which sent a chill down Mallory’s spine. “I think it’s commendable that you want to help your friend. Somewhat surprising considering how self-absorbed and driven you generally are, but commendable.”

  No, she wanted to say, not self-absorbed, just scared. Not just driven but terrified of failure. But, as usual, she said nothing.

  “The thing is, Mallory. I can’t wait forever for those occasional slivers of your attention. And you’re completely wrong if you think blowing off our time away has nothing to do with us.”

  He hung up without waiting for a response. A gentle click and then he was gone. Even pissed off, Chris was admirably polite and restrained.

  But that didn’t keep Mallory’s heart from pounding or her head from ringing with all the things she might have said.

  14

  Technique alone is never enough. You have to have passion. Technique alone is just an embroidered pot holder.

  —RAYMOND CHANDLER

  The sun had begun its swan dive behind the mountains when Kendall finally padded out onto the deck, her bare feet slapping on the aged wood. She held a bottle of wine in one hand, two goblets threaded through the fingers of the other.

  Plopping down on the deck chair next to Mallory, she set the opened bottle and glasses on the small table between them. Without asking she poured two generous glassfuls, placed one in Mallory’s hand, and clinked hers against it.

  They sipped the dry white wine in silence as the last of the daylight faded. Kendall’s brain was still slightly numbed from sleep, the overweening sense of worry cushioned by the clean mountain air she drew into her lungs and Mallory’s companionable silence. She wished she could sit here like this forever with nothing more pressing than watching the lights blink on down in tiny Dillard, Georgia.

  “You need an attorney,” Mallory said.

  Kendall took a long sip of wine. “That would be admitting it’s really over.”

  Mallory turned from the view to look at her. “That call today wasn’t an attempt at reconciliation.”

  Kendall remained silent, clinging to her new family motto. Avoidus, avatas, avant.

  “Avoiding it isn’t going to make it go away.”

  Kendall sighed. “If you’re going to remain my friend, you’re going to have to stop reading my mind.”

  They sat in silence again as the dark gathered around them and the temperature began to drop. There was a rustle in a nearby bush. The faint tap of a woodpecker echoed somewhere not too far off.

  “Seriously, Kendall. You need representation. You can’t just let him proceed without having someone looking out for your interests.”

  Kendall closed her eyes against the whole idea. She was far from the first of her friends or neighbors to get dumped for someone younger; in her neck of the suburbs, it was practically a cliché. The fact that it had happened to her made her long for her bed and a darkened room. Avoidus, avatas . . .

  “And I think we should get Faye and Tanya to come in for the weekend so that we can brainstorm your book for you.”

  “Jesus, Mallory. You’re like the self-help Energizer Bunny. You just keep right on pushing.”

  Mallory remained silent but Kendall could feel her intention like a palpable force, so at odds with the serenity that surrounded them.

  “Besides, what makes you think they can just drop everything and come running here? It’s a holiday weekend.” She turned to face Mallory. “Don’t you need to get back to New York? I thought you and Chris were going on a vacation or something.”

  “You wish.” Mallory took a sip of her wine. “I’m not going anywhere and if we get Faye and Tanya here we can plot out your whole book, maybe even do a detailed outline.”

  “You are something, aren’t you?” She studied her friend’s face. “Was Chris upset?”

  “A little.” Mallory shrugged, but when she spoke her voice didn’t match her nonchalant air. “We can go away some other time. He’ll get over it.”

  “Do you really think Tanya and Faye will come?” Kendall asked.

  “Well, we won’t know unless we call and ask them. But I’m guessing yes. Steve’ll be too busy to care. And Tanya’s probably already exhausted again. I can’t figure out how she keeps up the pace—she’s the Energizer Bunny in the group. I’m just the pushiest bunny.”

  Kendall didn’t dispute the comment, nor did she mention how grateful she was that someone had the energy to push at all. Every action that needed to be taken would set off a whole slew of potential reactions, most of them negative. Just thinking about them made her tired.

  “You know if I see an attorney I’m going to have to tell Melissa and Jeffrey. I just don’t see how I can face them.”

  “They’re not children anymore, Kendall,” Mallory said quietly. “And I think you’ll be surprised by how much they already know or suspect.” She looked away for a moment and then back at Kendall. “But if you’re not ready to face them yet, just see the attorney and talk to the kids later when there’s something concrete to tell them. All you really have to let them know is that you’re strong enough to deal with this, that everything will be OK.”

  “But I’m not strong. And I can’t promise that everything will be OK. Everything is such a mess.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the sounds beneath the quiet: the hum of an insect, a faint echo of a waterfall across the valley floor.

  “The one thing I know is that you have to break the big black cloud hanging over you down into small manageable parts so that you can deal with things individually, one step at a time,” Mallory said. “I’ll give you a few more days on the referral to a kick-ass attorney, but I think we need to get Tanya and Faye on the phone right now and ask them to come. I’m willing to bet you a trip to Home Depot that they’ll be here by Friday. That’ll give us almost three full days to work on your book together.”

  “Look at all these fan letters!” Steven carried a corrugated box full of mail into Faye’s office and dropped it on her desk. “And these are just the ones that came to the church.” He leaned over her to give her a buss on the cheek, his tone jubilant. He’d gone directly from work to dinner with several church board members and was just now getting home. Faye had elected to stay home and work and had been hard at it for the last three hours; being able to work in a robe and slippers was one of the greatest perks of being a writer. “Where did you go?” she asked.

  “Gibson’s and I’m stuffed to the gills. I always tell myself I’m going to eat healthy there, but I never can resist their bone-in sirloin.” He perched on the side of her desk and
motioned to the box of mail. “If this continues, pretty soon I’m going to be known as Faye Truett’s husband, that minister who’s married to the famous writer.”

  Faye smiled at the pride in his voice. He took her success almost as personally as his own.

  “We can have some of our volunteers read and reply to them if you don’t have the time,” he said. “We’ve had hundreds of hits on the link from our site to yours and vice versa. The switchboard keeps fielding inquiries from fans wanting to know where they can buy your books.”

  Faye considered the box, pleased. The quantity of reader mail had been growing steadily. She was still surprised when people not only emailed her through her website but took the time to compose and mail a handwritten note. There was nothing quite like knowing that something you’d created from nothing had affected someone strongly enough to make them want to communicate with you.

  Faye had started writing inspirationals long before the market for them had begun to mushroom. It was only in the last five or six years that the genre had begun to take off, translating into larger advances and royalties.

  Of course, being Pastor Steve’s wife didn’t hurt. Faye knew it was a big promotional advantage.

  Faye smiled at the irony: Fifteen years ago she’d been forced to write anything that would produce the smallest trickle of income. Now her inspirational backlist was about to be repackaged and reissued, which was bound to increase her name recognition and reader base even further.

  She reached for a letter on the top of the pile and slit it open, reading the letter aloud to Steven. “Dear Ms. Truett, I’ve been having a hard time with my son, Jackson, ever since his father left us. I could barely bring myself to get out of bed in the mornings, let alone deal with him. But then someone loaned me a copy of your book In His Name and I read about what Molly went through and how her belief in God got her and her family through their troubles. I loved that she found a man who could honor and respect her even after everything she’d gone through.”

  Faye’s voice slowed. She could feel Steve’s gaze on her. “It gave me hope,” she continued. “I read all about you on your website and I’ve seen you on Pastor Steve’s church service. I’ve read four of your books now, and I’m going to read the rest of them as soon as I can afford to. I almost feel like your book saved my life.”

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Steve asked. “Having that kind of impact on a stranger’s life?”

  She rose and moved toward him, slipping her arms around his neck.

  “It’s a blessing,” he mused, his breath warm against her ear. “But it’s a big responsibility, too. You have to be so careful not to let them down.”

  He smelled of the cigars they’d probably smoked after dinner. His cologne was light and woodsy. His arms around her waist were strong, familiar. His hands, clasped together, rested at the small of her back.

  She breathed him in as she asked, “Don’t you worry that they may expect too much? That they might want you to be more than you are, or I don’t know, think you should be something you’re not?” Faye tried to keep the question casual, but she could hear the slight tremor in her voice.

  “Well, I do think they hold a man of God to a higher standard. And they should. I don’t have any problem with that.”

  “And what about the people connected to that man of God?” Faye asked. “Do you think they should be held to that standard, too?”

  He left his arms around her but leaned back against her desk so that he could look into her eyes. “Is there something you want to tell me?” His eyes glimmered with amusement, certain there could be nothing of importance about her that he didn’t know. “As you know, confession isn’t one of the cor nerstones of our church, but if there’s something you need to get off your chest . . .”

  For the briefest of moments Faye considered telling her husband the only secret she’d ever kept from him, could practically taste the relief she would feel if only she could share her mounting worry with him. But as she hesitated the amusement left his eyes and was replaced by something else entirely.

  Their eyes remained locked as he pulled her belt loose and slipped his hands inside her robe. She had a flash of what they might look like to an observer, an older graying couple actually contemplating sex in the middle of a home office, but then the image was gone and all she saw was herself in his eyes.

  “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.” He helped her shrug out of the robe and tightened his hands on her waist to pull her closer.

  “You don’t mind that I’m going to Kendall’s, do you?” Faye’s body pressed against his. Her pulse quickened and her skin warmed to his touch. She imagined she could feel the normally sluggish blood in her veins speeding up its flow; there was a loosening inside her. “I figured you’d be busy with the revival, and Kendall needs . . .” Faye’s voice trailed off as his hands moved higher.

  “It’s not a problem,” he murmured as he stared down into her eyes and the tips of his fingers brushed lightly against her breasts. “I understand. She needs you.”

  He kissed her for a long time then, slowly and thoroughly as if they had all the time in the world. Her knees actually grew weak as she thought back to all the times they’d done this together and what a miracle it was that this could still be so good between them.

  Without discussion they sank to their knees beside her desk, their clothes coming off in a hurried jumble, both of them eager to consummate their love for each other.

  Tanya didn’t know exactly how she’d ended up on Brett Adams’s doorstep with a store-bought chocolate cake in her hands and a daughter on either side, but there it was. Stranger still, Trudy stood slightly behind her in a low-cut top and hip-hugging jeans.

  “Why are we here again?” Loretta asked.

  “Because we were invited for dinner.” Tanya tried to say the words as if this was some sort of everyday occurrence, but of course it wasn’t.

  She made a point of getting along with the other waitresses at the diner and she’d known Belle and Red since she was a kid. But outside of the yearly Christmas party and the cupcake with a candle that Belle organized for each of their birthdays, there was little socializing outside of work. Everyone had families and responsibilities and too little money. So while they pitched in and helped out when someone was in real need, they didn’t exactly hang out together. And certainly no one had ever offered to cook an entire meal for her and her family.

  She’d been stunned when Brett had suggested it that morning as he’d handed her an order of corned beef hash and eggs. Standing on his welcome mat now didn’t make the whole thing seem any more real.

  “Not exactly fancy digs.” Trudy sniffed at the cinder-block ranch-style house with its peeling white paint and the chipped decorative metal trellis. What looked like an original 1950s jalousie window was inset into the front door.

  “Yeah, your double-wide is so much fancier,” Tanya said as she waited for Loretta to push the front doorbell. “You better behave yourself, Mama. I’m not kidding. Whatever happens, it was nice of him to invite us and I’m not turning my nose up at a home-cooked meal.”

  “Seems like a lot of effort to get into somebody’s pants.” Tanya figured she should be grateful her mother had whispered the observation so that the girls couldn’t hear.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Tanya taunted right back. She was pretty sure the most Trudy had ever held out for was a double scotch. “I don’t think that’s all bad.”

  The door was opened by two girls somewhere in between Loretta and Crystal’s ages. “They’re here!” the taller one shouted back over her shoulder. The other, a mirror image of long dark hair and eyes, maybe a year or so younger, just stood, staring at them.

  “OK, already.” An older girl, also tall and dark haired, approached, and Tanya pegged her as the thong-wearer. Unless Brett had still more daughters hidden somewhere in the tiny house. “Stop staring and let them in,” the girl instructed. And then to Tanya and crew, “I’m Valerie. This
is Andi and Dani.”

  The three Adams girls stepped back as Tanya ushered Loretta and Crystal inside. Trudy followed on their heels.

  “I’m Tanya.” She stuck her hand out toward the older girl. “This is my mother, Trudy, and this is Loretta and Crystal.” She waited for her girls to offer their hands as they’d been taught.

  “Wow, cool! Like the singers!” Dani said.

  “That’s right,” Tanya said. “Their daddy had a real thing for country music.”

  “That’s way better than our names,” the other young girl said. “Our dad kept hoping for a boy.”

  The older girl laughed. Teetering on the brink of womanhood, she had a bright, friendly smile exactly like her father’s and legs that went on and on. She turned to her sisters. “You’re ten and eleven already. Get over it!”

  Tanya handed the cake to Valerie and stole a look around. The living room was small and dominated by a wide-screen TV, but someone had made an effort to coordinate fabrics and there were some scattered throw pillows and an afghan neatly folded over the sofa arm. A few framed travel posters hung on the walls and a vacuum had been run before they’d arrived; you could still see the tracks on the harvest gold shag carpet.

  A dining room table, lengthened by the addition of a card table at one end, was set for eight. The sound of clattering pots came from somewhere beyond.

  Tanya breathed in the heady scent of furniture polish and cooking meat. She held it in her lungs and savored it; it smelled like a home. A scratch and sniff right out of the pages of Southern Living.

  “Hey, there!” Brett came toward them from the back of the house, wiping his hands on a dishtowel tucked into the waistband of his jeans as he approached. “You’re right on time.”

  They stood in a huddle in the center of the living room, but within moments Brett had taken charge, clearly unwilling to allow any awkwardness. “Trudy, you’re lookin’ especially lovely tonight. I hope you’re up for a beer or a glass of wine. I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”