Page 32 of Bookworm and the Beast
As we started down the crushed shell garden path, I lifted my arms to the side and tilted my face up to the sun, taking it all in.
“It isgorgeoushere. The air feels amazing.”
I couldn’t see Jack’s smile, but I could hear it in his voice. “Itispretty nice. First time in Eastport Bay?”
I nodded. “First time in Rhode Island. My dad lived here when he was young and in the military. I grew up in upstate New York, though. I’m not sure why he never brought us here.”
“Us? You have siblings?”
“One sister. She lives in Colorado. She’s a personal chef in Boulder. And you have a brother, right?”
“Yes. Hunter. He’s the entrepreneur of the family. He’s a software designer, and he’s just launched a successful tech startup. He’s the one youshouldbe doing a story on.”
Yes.Things were working much better now. Jack was acting like a normal person instead of a robot, and the hostility he’d shown since my arrival seemed to be dissipating with every step we took.
“You’re an entrepreneur, too, you know. You’ve created quite an empire with your writing.” I twisted, gesturing to the expansive estate grounds.
His forehead wrinkled in thought. “I suppose so. Therearea lot of jobs riding on the imaginary people and places I dreamed up.”
“Sounds like a lot of pressure.”
He hesitated but answered. “It is.”
Jack didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push the subject. It was obvious he’d struggled with some sort of writer’s block over the past few years. Everyone knew he’d missed several deadlines on the final Onyx Throne book.
But he’d already expressed a wish to take this slowly, ease into it. I wanted desperately to dive into the deep end, get right to the nitty gritty, but instinct told me I’d better keep it casual for a while if I didn’t want a quick return to our standoff. Some answers were better than none after all.
“Are we heading for the beach?” I asked.
“No, you’re not wearing the right shoes for a beach walk. I have another spot in mind. I think you’ll like it. It’s the perfect day for it.”
“So, what brought you to Eastport Bay?” I asked as we strolled. “This property? I know a lot of celebrities buy here when they want some privacy and have a few million to burn—Jay Leno, Taylor Swift, Jade… Judge Judy.”
He laughed. “Oh, I’m not sure I’m big enough to be named in the same category as Judge Judy.” Growing more serious, he said, “No, actually, Hunter and I grew up in Eastport—about as far as you can get from Oceanview Avenue, though. We lived in one of those tiny cottages in town that were built to house the servants of the Oceanview mansion-dwellers. Mrs. Potts was our neighbor.”
“She mentioned that.”
He threw me a suspicious side glance. “What else did she tell you?”
My return glance was accompanied by a sneaky smile. “Not much. Only that you got suspended from school for gambling—in the first grade. Seems you were quite the gentleman candy-baron.”
Jack’s hand came up to cover his eyes in mock shame. “I can’t believe Mrs. Potts would reveal my darkest secret, the traitor.”
I laughed. “Did you ever think you’d end up in a place like this?”
He glanced over at me, bit his lip then smiled. “Honestly? Yes. I’ve always had a pretty big imagination. In high school, when I got my license, Hunter and I would drive up and down this street, and we’d talk about which house would be ours when we each made it big. I thought for sure he’d do it first—he’s smarter than me by a long shot, absolutely overflowing with brilliant ideas. And there’s no guarantee of making big money as a writer.”
“Ain’tthatthe truth?” I laughed.
“Right?” His smile was bright. “But I got lucky.”
“Uh-uh. Luck had nothing to do with it. I was being honest back there. I’ve read all your books—studied them, in fact. You’re incredibly talented, and your imagination is fantastic. Your books are absolutely spellbinding. I guess I don’t have to tell you that. You can just go to Amazon and read your ten thousand reviews—per book.”
“Thank you.” His pleasure seemed genuine. “I don’t read my reviews, though.”
“Ever?”
“Nope. When I was first published, a good friend told me… once you put a book out into the world, your part’s done. ‘Now it’s theirs,’ he said. ‘They bring to it their own life experiences and views and whatever’s happening in their world at the time. You’ve got no control over that, and it has nothing to do with you. That’s how it is with all art—just let them have it.’ And I do. It’s helped me more than you can imagine.”
