Page 96 of If I Go Down with This Ship

“It started out very different.My editor had only seen the first four chapters and a synopsis, so imagine her surprise when I sent an entirely new manuscript.I was worried at first, but the team ended up loving it, and I’m so grateful that we got to move forward with it.The beginning didn’t change a lot; it was the rest of the story that fell into place.”

“What changed for you?How did you decide to rewrite it?”

I wanted him to be immortalized.I wanted to see his name on the page, to know that I hadn’t made it all up.I wanted to squeeze our story between two covers like a permanent hug and wrap my arms around it.

“Laszlo?”

Clearing my throat, I blink against the bright lights and refocus on Chloe.

“It all started with a coat,” I say.My hand tightens around the microphone.

“And?”Chloe asks eagerly.

In the blink of an eye, I’m there on the sand, looking up at the night sky.My pinky brushes his, and I want to hold him, to pull him close, to kiss him.

“And a man.”I lick my lips, tasting salt.I can almost feel it, the warm breeze of a hot, Caribbean day.

“Now, we have to know,” Chloe says after a moment.In her hands is my book, and it’s opened to the dedication.It’s the first one I’ve ever truly meant, the first that brought me to tears when I wrote it.“You dedicated this book to Silas.But isn’t that the name of the very captain in this book?”

I swallow and turn to the display on the table between us.I gently lift one of the copies and open it.The spine cracks as I flip to the dedication page.

To Silas

For showing me that there is so much more to life than sitting still.

As if I can ignore the words, I slam the book closed.I fight back tears, biting the inside of my cheek, and I don’t know how much longer I can last up here.I’ve been holding them back long enough.

Chloe clears her throat.“W-why don’t we jump into some Q and A?”she offers, shuffling through her notes.

Another bookseller appears from the side of the stage, handing a mic to someone in the audience.

“Hello,” I say into the mic.

A silhouette in the back asks, “Hi!Do you plan to write any more books in this world?”

“No, I think I’m done writing about pirates.”

They shift awkwardly.“Okay, well, thank you.”

The mic is shuffled to the next person, this one closer to the front.It takes them a moment to stand, and try as I might to squint against the bright lights, I can’t make out who it is.

“Hello.What’s your question?”

“I never got an answer,” a deep voice starts, “but I was wondering how you feel about adventures?”

The person almost sounds familiar, and something in me aches.I swallow down the thought and hold up the book.“I like them enough to write about them.”

“But is that enough?”they ask.

I frown, blinking as I try desperately to see their face.“I’m sorry, who are you?”I ask, angling my head.

They take a step closer, still haloed by the light.“I think you know who I am.”

And I desperately want them to be who I think, but that soaring hope in my chest has been there before when I mistook strangers in the street for him, only to be disappointed.I stand from my chair, losing the book somewhere in the process as I stumble forward.My pulse is in my throat, and my ears are ringing as I scramble to the edge of the stage.

“Turn on the lights,” I whisper.

“What?”Chloe asks, still holding her microphone.