Page 4 of Not a Strong Enough Word

One of the other senior editors, Casey, appears in my doorway. He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms. “Are you lecturing the interns again, Ryan?”

Margie pops up even straighter in her seat. “Oh, no. He was asking me about the last book that made me feel something.”

Casey cocks an eyebrow and smirks at me. “Really? Well, I’m interested. What was it?”

“Um,” Margie hedges. “Well, if you’re asking me the first book that comes to mind… We read In the Time Before in our contemporary literature class last semester. By Scarlett Frye. Have you heard of it?”

My mouth goes suddenly dry, and I blink rapidly a few times. Casey pushes himself off the doorframe as his smirk turns to a look of concern. I try unsuccessfully to swallow, then clear my throat.

“Yes,” I rasp. “I’m familiar.”

Casey’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.

Margie seems completely unaware as she continues on. “Well, I loved it. It was super emotional. Is that what you mean? You want me to find a book like that one?”

There is not, nor will there ever be, a book like that one. Scarlett Frye is a paragon in the literary community. Her ability to develop multifaceted characters and carve meaning from not only their misfortunes, but from the very words themselves is—as of yet—unparalleled.

In short, she is a literary genius. Or she was. And I remember her well.

Dark hair fanned out on the pillow around her pale face as she held pages up over her head to read them aloud to me. A smile, her dark eyes glittering. Somehow, that smile meant more from her, was more beautiful on her than on any other human alive.

“You like it?”

She didn’t need my approval. She knew what she was capable of. But I gave it to her anyway. I always would.

“It’s breathtaking.”

Did I mean her or her writing? It didn’t matter. She and her words were always one and the same. I hoped she’d never run out of them. Never stop sharing them with me. Never stop letting me see the inner workings of her big, beautiful brain.

“Ryan?” Casey’s voice interrupts my sudden memory, and his short, black hair and dark skin replace the long, dark tresses and porcelain complexion from my vision.

I shake my head a little, if only that could dispel the thoughts. “Sorry.” I give Margie an apologetic smile and idly scratch at the sleeve covering my right forearm. “That book holds a lot of memories for me. But yes, if you could find a manuscript that makes you feel something like In the Time Before did, that would be a good start.”

Margie shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Okay.” Her gaze bounces back and forth between Casey and me. “If that’s all…?”

I give her a curt nod. “Yes. Thank you, Margie.”

She wastes no time unfolding herself from the chair and breezing out of my office. Casey’s gaze tracks her hurried movement down the hall. Apparently satisfied, he plops into the now unoccupied seat.

As another transplant from JMP, Casey and I have been working near each other for a long time. His move over to Anastasios Press surprised me, but he assured me that the water over here was warm, and it was enough to get me to follow. That and I needed a change. I was drowning in memories over there, and I had to get away. Casey has done exceptionally well for himself here. I wish I could say the same. Though that might have something to do with the fact that his heart hasn’t shriveled into some numb version of itself like mine has.

He crosses one long leg over another. “Are we going to talk about what just happened?”

I eye him over the black rim of my glasses. “I was reminded of a time long ago. Nothing to talk about.”

“Wasn’t that long ago.” He looks at me pointedly. “And it looked like more than just a little reminder.”

It was a straight-up fucking flashback, but I’m not about to unpack this with Casey. Even though he watched me obsess over that same manuscript and that same woman, and then her next one, too. Even though he suggested I fight for the offer we eventually made. Even though he watched the aftermath of that offer being thrown back in my face.

No. I’ve come a long way in the five years since. And even if I didn’t come out of it with my heart intact, I still have my job.

I offer Casey a shrug and nothing more. He narrows his dark eyes at me, and I can feel the trepidation leeching into my skin.

“So, then maybe you’ll tell me what that was all about with Margie?” He makes it sound like a question, but it isn’t. Casey is nothing if not persistent, and I’m not getting out of this without answering him.

“Margie wanted to know what to look for in the slush pile,” I say.

“And what did you tell her?”