Page 63 of The Write Place

“What can I do for you, Ken?” I force a smile and pull on the last dregs of my energy reserves after a long day.

“Mr. Evans was kind enough to email me the first draft of his new novel,” he starts, and I feel my insides clench in dread. I’m still feeling emotionally gutted after my read and re-read of Daniel’s draft this weekend, and I’m definitely not prepared to talk about this with my boss. He doesn’t seem to notice. “I thought you may have had the pleasure of reading it as well.”

I swallow against the sudden dryness in my mouth. “I have,” I choke out.

He nods. “As a lover of literature myself, I found it to be quite a treat to be able to read a first draft from such a well-known author. I’m touched that he thought to send it to me, and I find myself wanting to discuss it with someone. What did you think?”

“I think we made an impression on him.” I hope my flat voice doesn’t betray any of the conflicting emotions zinging through me.

“Yes. It seems we did.” Ken holds eye contact and sarcastically emphasizes the “we” just enough that I notice it. My eyebrow ticks up ever so slightly, but I force my expression into neutrality. He pauses for a beat before saying, “I found it to be an interesting departure from his previous work.”

“Really? How so?”

Ken tilts his head in thought, as if he’s going to compose a literary analysis essay. “If you look at his entire body of work, you’ll find a thread of despair that runs through it. Maybe despair isn’t the right word, but he has a way of making even an inevitability feel forlorn. Take Bones for example. Clara and Michael do not continue their relationship in the end. He leaves, which isn’t necessarily unhappy as he’s doing it to allow her to live her best life. We are left to assume that she does, I think, and we assume he does too, because he is ready to get the help he needs. All Mr. Evans’ novels end similarly. What must happen, happens, and yet, we are left to feel as if there are no good choices, and no possible outcome that will be satisfying for everyone involved. This new novel, however, leaves us with a sense of yearning for the future.”

He’s right, of course. That’s what makes the book so perfect. Even though teaching isn’t exciting most of the time, and sometimes it can be complete drudgery, we continue to do it to make the future a little better and brighter. Daniel saw that when he was here and conveyed it perfectly in his writing.

I take a breath so deep it hurts my lungs. “The novel is… brilliant. Beautiful. He captured this profession—this life—perfectly. I think…” I take another steadying breath before I can continue. “I think he told me things about this profession that even I didn’t know, and he found the heart of it in a way I’ve been struggling with since…” I trail off, unable to continue.

“Since Eleanor passed?” he says softly. I’m suddenly unable to speak through the tears threatening to spill over, so I nod. A small part of me is embarrassed to show this emotion in front of him, but he has been here since before the accident. He helped me find a way to go on teaching here in spite of it. He’s clearly not surprised now to see how much I’ve been affected by Daniel’s writing. He squints slightly at me as if weighing what he is going to say next.

“Have you spoken to him?”

I’m afraid my voice might betray me, so I just shake my head.

“Why not?” he asks, and I’m abruptly certain that Ken knows more about my relationship with Daniel than he is letting on, and I am immensely grateful that he knows how to toe—but not cross—that line between personal and professional.

I take a shaky breath. “I’m not entirely sure,” I say honestly. He hums noncommittally and stands as if to leave, stepping a little closer and rapping his knuckles lightly on my desk, looking down to where his hand rests.

“If I may be frank, Mackenzie.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “When someone comes into our lives who sees into our souls in a way Mr. Evans’ manuscript would suggest he saw into yours, we hang on and don’t let go.”

Chapter 28

For the rest of the week, I keep opening messages to Daniel and closing them without sending. I don’t even know where to begin, and though I know Jenny and Ken were right, I’m scared. I find myself wishing I could call Ellie and ask her what to do, but I can’t, and every time I think about it, it’s like my heart is ripped out of me all over again. By Friday, I’m left admitting to myself that I haven’t processed her death as well as I thought I had, and I miss her more than I had ever allowed myself to admit.

I stand up from my couch to get ready to curl myself up in my bed despite it still being light out, but Jenny bursts through my front door before I can.

“I’m taking you out. Let’s go.” She’s a little breathless, and her cheeks are flushed.

I groan. “Jenny, I don’t want to go out.”

“You don’t have a choice, and we need to go now.” Her voice has an urgency that I am having a hard time associating with a night at Tony’s. As if reading my mind, she says, “We’re going someplace new.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise. But seriously, we need to go now.”

She’s clearly not going to take no for an answer, and whatever bar she’s going to take me to actually sounds like more fun than wallowing in my bed staring at my blank message screen for the fifth time this week, so I just shrug and follow her out to her car. On her way out the door, she grabs my backpack, probably because I keep my wallet in there and I’ll need it.

We drive for about thirty minutes, and I don’t bother asking her again where we are going. Jenny is a vault when it comes to keeping secrets, and I’m too emotionally drained to try, anyway.

When we pull up to a university auditorium and she parks her car, I’m genuinely confused. “What are we doing here?” I ask. She reaches into the backseat, opens my backpack, and sighs with relief.

“Oh good, I was banking on this still being in here and I think you’re going to want it.” She pulls out Daniel’s draft.

“Okay, now I’m really lost. What is going on?”

“Don’t be mad,” she says, and I know instantly that I probably will be furious, “but I found out through some light internet stalking that Evans is here tonight.”