Page 26 of Camino Ghosts

“Well, that may be a bit down the road since I haven’t started writing it yet.”

“There is one problem, though, and it’s rather obvious.”

“The lawsuit?”

“The lawsuit. In your proposal you write that the lawsuit could take years to resolve, especially if it turns into a huge environmental fight. Viking doesn’t want to sit on the sidelines for a few years waiting for the litigation to end.”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve thought about that. Thomas and I have discussed it for hours and we have an idea. I write the book now, starting with Nalla and the slave story, and cover two hundred years of history. Basically the same material Lovely has in her book but with a lot of extras. She’s already told me that there are stories and twists and turns that she left out. Good stuff. I’ll end the book with the court’s ruling on the title to the land. If Lovely wins, then the story is over and everybody’s happy.”

“Except Tidal Breeze.”

“Except Tidal Breeze, of course, but who cares. If Lovely loses the title fight and the island ends up in the hands of Tidal Breeze, then the other lawsuits will rage. I’ll be there and write about that too. Maybe a sequel.”

“I love it. You haven’t written the first word and you’re already thinking about the sequel.”

“You’re an agent. You’re supposed to love sequels.”

“I do. Sounds like a plan. I’ll explain this to Lana.”

“Do that. And when do we get around to the issue of compensation?”

There was a long pause on the other end as this delicate issue rattled around. Publishing contracts were all about advances—how much could the writer get up front? How much should the publisher offer and still protect itself from a flop? Tessa sold 90,000 in hardback and ebook combined and spent four weeks on the New York Times bestseller lists. In paperback its sales had slowed considerably but were inching close to 200,000. Since its publication three years earlier, Mercer had netted roughly $375,000. Nice money and all, and most of it was still in the bank, but she wasn’t ready to retire yet. What Mercer desperately needed was another big book. Two of them, back to back, and she could ditch the teaching gig and join the slim ranks of the lucky writers who didn’t have real jobs.

That was her dream, anyway.

Etta said, “If it were a novel, I would ask for seven-fifty. The nonfiction angle will cause Lana to offer less, I suppose. It usually works that way. You have no track record with nonfiction. Plus, there is the complication of the litigation. That could really slow down the project.”

Mercer said, “Four hundred thousand is a fair number, Etta. Spread over several years, it’s not much. I’ll need all of it to survive and do my research. Plus, there is another complication. Lovely deserves some of the money.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes. We’ve had a preliminary chat about the money and I’m certain she’ll want some of it.”

“Okay. I’ll run this by Lana and see how generous she feels.”

After the call, Mercer and Thomas went for a sunset walk on the beach. As she kicked water in the surf, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he asked.

“Life. Five years ago a budget got cut and I was the lowest form of life on the English faculty. My job disappeared. I came here to get away and to spy on Bruce. Then Tessa hit and everything changed. Now I’m telling my agent that I think four hundred thousand dollars is a fair price for my next book. Who do I think I am?”

Thomas saw the humor and said, “You’re Mercer Mann, bestselling writer, rising literary star, author of a great novel that a lot of people enjoyed. This is where you are in life, dear, and those are the numbers that go along with it. Savor the moment because it may not last.”

She stopped laughing and bent to pick up a shell. She studied it, then tossed it back into the water. “So true. Think of all the writers we know who found success before the age of forty and can’t find a publisher at fifty. The mid-list group. They sold enough to barely get by and showed a lot of promise, now they’re practically forgotten. It’s such a brutal business.”

“We know writers who’ve quit.”

“Yes, and the ones who can’t even find a job on a campus. They give up and find another calling.”

“That’s not going to happen to you, Mercer. Believe me.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. No, I’m going to write this book and make enough money to survive on, but I’m still searching for the great American novel, Thomas.”

“I know, and you’ll find it. It’s out there somewhere, just waiting for you.”

“You really believe that?”

“I do. And so do a lot of people.”

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