Page 20 of The Book Doctor

I slide it across the desk. “I don’t need your money, kid.”

“Just keep it. You know—for a rainy day.” He flashes a grin. “Just in case we never finish this book.”

We work past lunch and well into the afternoon. Liam spends a lot of time scrolling, reading news articles, doing whatever he does. Every once in a while, he’ll pick up his copy of the manuscript and make a couple of notes.

I write some, but not much. Mostly, I pretend to edit words, and type lines. The majority of my time I spend staring at the ink-stained pages Liam has placed in front of me.

Ever since he tried his hand at the first quarter of my manuscript, the project has gone from bad to worse. Scribble-scrabbled notes line every margin. Some of the ideas, as much as it pains me to admit, aren’t half bad. And yet, I’m appalled at what he’s done. So appalled that I haven’t been able to make any significant progress for the better part of a week. Which is why we’re sitting here in silence, him scrolling, me pecking the keyboard at a snail’s pace.

All I see is red.

As the sun sinks low in the west and the sky fades to a purplish hue, I begin wrapping things up. I haven’t seen Eve all day. She’s been sleeping, and surely she must be up by now.

Liam clears his throat. “There’s something I wanted to ask you—a favor.”

Our eyes meet. I expect him to just spit it out, but of course he doesn’t. “My ears are waiting.”

“I was wondering if you’d mind if I had a couple of friends over. For Memorial Day.” His eyes shift toward his screen and back. “To the cottage, I mean. We wouldn’t bother you—or Eve.”

I shrug. What do I care?

“Actually, I was thinking I might invite her—you know, get her out of that room.”

“Eve hates parties.”

“Well”—he offers me a charming grin that probably works on women but stiffens my spine—“I’m sure you could convince her.”

“We’ll see.”

“Look, George. There’s something I’ve been meaning to say…”

I study his tweed suit. It looks similar to one Eve bought me a long time ago. I hate suits, but I had a television interview, and neither the time nor forethought to figure out what to wear. She rescued me. She was always rescuing me. I probably wasn’t as appreciative as I should have been.

“You were going to say something?” I ask as he folds his laptop, tucks it under his arm, and walks to the door.

He leans back against the frame and starts to speak but pauses long enough to stick his neck out into the hallway. He ducks in carefully, as though what he is about to say must be kept in complete confidence. “I’m sorry I brought up the children. It wasn’t my place.”

My stomach settles. “It’s fine.”

“I should have stayed with you at the hotel.”

“I’m a little too old for a babysitter.”

His voice low, he says, “I think Eve’s angry with me.”

“I don’t think it’s you she’s angry at.”

“I just want you to know—” He swallows hard before continuing, and it’s then that I notice how flushed his face is. “Look, I hate conflict. But I want you to know…I don’t blame you for what happened. I would have done the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…it’s only normal for a man in your position to have a fling here and there.”

I have no idea what he’s getting at, or how, or why he thinks this is any of his business, but he’s such a good liar that I almost believe him.

Chapter Thirteen

I’m awakened by the sound of a chainsaw. At first I think I must be dreaming, but then no, there are other noises too. When the screeching grows louder, and it sounds like a freight train is about to barrel through the wall, I propel myself out of bed, flinging my body toward the noise.

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