Page 83 of In Sheets of Rain

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s difficult.”

He frowned. “How so? Tell me.”

“Do you really want to know?” I asked.

“Yes, Kylee. I really want to know. Tell me.”

I stared at the shoppers and Michael sipped his coffee.

And I said, “Sometimes people don’t want the heroine to win at all.”

“I can’t believe that,” he said. Mock shock making him raise his eyebrows to ludicrous levels.

“It’s true,” I said, laughing. “To stand up for herself, she has to hurt some people.”

“Ah. The age-old ‘hurt them to help them’ routine.”

“I don’t think she’s helping them,” I remarked.

“Is she helping herself?”

I thought about it. Then nodded.

“Yeah. She is helping herself. I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s hard. Everything’s hard. Her friends don’t understand. Her family is disappointed. Her…”

“Her?”

“Her husband is broken.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah, oh,” I replied.

The pedestrians kept on walking. The shoppers clutched their prizes. My coffee got cold.

“Tell me something, Trolley Girl,” he said.

I lifted my eyes to his.

“Do you want the heroine to win?”

I blinked.

“Well, yeah,” I said.

“Then let her win. It’s your story. You write it. Let your heroine win.”

I stared at him, and he stared at me.

And I said, “Yeah, all right.”

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