Page 19 of The Wish List
Freya had no idea why she resented the man’s easy way with everyone from her mother to strangers in the hardware store. He was as much of an outsider in Magnolia as her, more so because at least she’d grown up there. Somehow he seemed to effortlessly fit in while Freya struggled to gain her equilibrium.
“The publisher is releasing an updated version of the book.” Beth glanced at Greer. “It’s a new and expanded version. She’s added a couple of chapters. From the little she’s told me, those chapters included her more recent thoughts on what it means to be a successful and empowered woman.”
Freya noticed Greer shift his gaze to the floor. Suddenly he looked as out of place as she felt. “Her editor and I are the only ones who have read it.”
“And you’re sworn to secrecy,” Beth muttered.
“You know that I am.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like it, especially with the current situation.”
“Have her thoughts changed all that much?” Freya asked, finding it hard to believe.
Greer inclined his head, although his features remained neutral. “Let’s just say they’ve evolved.”
Freya thought about the manuscript currently tucked in the nightstand drawer of her childhood bedroom. The one she’d printed out old-school because that made it seem more real.
It was real.
She’d written the domestic thriller in her time off between bookings but hadn’t yet had the nerve to send it to any agents or editors. As much as she yearned to be a published author, it felt too vulnerable to put her work out there.
If she wasn’t offering the world a backstabbing tell-all or insider secrets to the world of reality TV, why would anyone care? She wasn’t confident she could take the rejection of a project that meant the world to her.
To hear that her mother had another book coming out made her feel like her dream was even more out of reach. Her mom was the author in the family, and Freya doubted May would appreciate any competition in that area, especially from her middle daughter.
She placed her coffee on a nearby shelf, pulled the cookie out of the small bag inside her purse, and bit the gingerbread man’s head off.
Greer barked out a laugh, and Beth looked shocked then turned to the agent. “That’s what Freya thinks about evolution.”
“Good to know,” he answered. “Good to know.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWODAYSLATER,Beth sat next to her mother’s bed at the rehab center, lost in her own thoughts about the future.
Freya and Trinity completely supported the idea of May moving back to the house in time for Christmas, and May’s care team seemed cautiously optimistic that they could make it happen.
Her mother let out a soft laugh as Will Farrell gobbled up spaghetti covered in maple syrup. May had been watching a steady stream of holiday movies, from black-and-white classics to more modern comedies to sweet romances in which all the heroes wore flannel shirts.
The sisters took shifts at the rehab center so their mother wasn’t often left alone.
May dutifully did her physical therapy every day, and although her speech was slowly improving, she seemed content to watch and listen to what was going on around her, which was a complete shift from the mother Beth knew.
“Would you like something to eat, Mom?” Beth asked. “They brought by some vanilla pudding earlier.”
May scrunched up her nose then lifted a shaky hand to point at the television. “Spagti,” she said, making Beth smile.
“There’s leftover ravioli from the other night in the fridge down the hall. Would you like me to heat a bowl for you?”
May grinned and nodded. “Lo u,” she said, patting her hand against the sheet as if beckoning Beth forward.
Beth rose from the chair to sit next to her mom on the bed. She still couldn’t resign herself to May’s current affectionate nature. The sisters had quickly realized that their mother was most interested in communicating how much she cared for and appreciated each of them, her halted words of “lo u” telling them she loved them.
“I love you too, Mom,” Beth answered as she took her mother’s hand. “I’ll get you something to eat, and then we can play some games on your iPad.” The occupational therapist had given her mother the device to use for speech and cognitive therapy exercises.
“Ho.” Her mother breathed out the one syllable.
May hadn’t been an interested participant in therapy at first, content to watch movies and the game show network. Beth had finally gotten her to understand that in order to reach her goal of being home for Christmas, she would have to hit certain milestones in her rehabilitation. Once May understood what was at stake, she became much more willing to take part in her own healing.
