“I feel you,” I whispered.
“But, I did it and the first one is out there and it felt good to do it. To finish one. Then the other. And the next. And let it out there. But putting it out there, something happened.”
“What happened, babe?” I asked.
“People… readers… they say it makes them laugh.” She paused. “Out loud.”
I still hadn’t read it, but we were a pretty wild bunch. I could see that.
I nodded.
“It’s a gift,” she said, her voice funny, deep with emotion. “Watching you all get close, witnessing all that happened making you closer, feeling that love. But it was another gift, maybe even a bigger one, precious, knowing that sharing it makes people I don’t know laugh. It makes them happy. Some of them write to me. They tell me bad things are happening in their lives. But they read my book and it takes them away. It makes them smile. Laugh. Even if for moments, or better yet hours, they can forget the bad, be with us here at Fortnum’s, and laugh.” She tipped her head to the side. “That’s beautiful. So how can it be wrong?”
“It isn’t wrong,” I told her.
“Lee’s angry,” she replied.
He was.
Crap.
“Is that why you didn’t tell anyone you were going to do it? Because you had a feeling they would be angry?”
She nodded.
Jeez. Jane.
I shared space with her nearly every day, I meant something to her, she meant something to me, but I had no idea her well ran this deep.
“The newspapers?” I pressed.
“That was me,” she said quietly. “When stuff was going down with Stella, they called here. I said no comment. Then I sent letters anonymously. The reporter who reported it doesn’t even know it’s me.”
Another mystery solved.
“These readers that write to you. Can that be traced?” I asked and she shook her head.
“They go to somebody else and they send them to me. But I’ve been assured it’s untraceable.”
“Brody’s pretty good, Jane.”
She pressed her lips together.
I studied her. She was worried.
Then I said, “Leave it to me.”
Her brows drew together. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing, until I have to. Then I’ll take care of it.”
It was her turn to stare at me before she asked, “Why are you helping me?”
I smiled and gave her hand another squeeze before I lifted it up between us and got closer.
“Because, no matter how old we get, we always need to believe in fairytales.”
It was then, Jane smiled back.
Mostly, I knew, because she agreed with me.
* * * * *
“Oh my God, Herb!”
“What?”
“My God!”
“Woman! What?”
“You might wanna leave some for the other guests.”
I took a handful of cashews (Indy’s addition to the party and part of what Herb was gobbling up) and popped a few into my mouth, watching Roxie’s Mom and Dad (and Tex’s sister and brother-in-law), Herb and Trish—in town from Indiana for the big event—fight in Blanca’s backyard.
Don’t be alarmed. I’d been around them more than once. This was what they did.
Blanca was Eddie and Hector’s Mom. I’d known her ages, and when she did something, she went all out.
