He certainly fooled me.
Hope comes over with a cat crate for me to borrow for the plane. She brings me a warm plate of raspberry scones and somehow manages to get me talking about my terrifying night with Micah.
"You know, sweetie," she says, her West Virginia accent particularly heavy, "you survived all of that for a reason. Maybe you can use that whole thing in one of your books, then you'd get to have the last word."
I like the way she thinks, but right now, I can't imagine plunging back into the events of that night. Still, I know better than to compartmentalize the entire thing and pretend it didn't happen. I want to try to work through it, just like I plan to work through Renard's death with a new therapist. I need one who will help me to face my life as it is, not as I'd imagine it to be.
Henry brings his four-wheeler over every day to check on me. He never pushes me to chat, but I find myself talking with him about my upcoming book, Poe the cat, and even my mother. When he tells me that his own mother was delighted to discover the Alexandra Dubois had dropped in on her, I decide to head over and say goodbye to Tilly and Cleo.
The older woman peers at me as Cleo leads me into the room. The oxygen pump funnels air into her cannula, which she adjusts before speaking. "Good to see you again, Miss Alexandra," she whispers.
"And you," I answer, throwing a quick look at Cleo. Henry stands behind her, and his presence urges me on.
I extend the two books I'd signed for Quincy. There's no sense letting them go to waste, especially since Tilly enjoys my stories. "For you," I say. "I appreciate everything your son has done for me."
Her harsh gaze softens as she fingers the covers. I can almost see a softer, younger woman looking back at me. "I told you, he's a good' un. Never has let me down, and he never will." Crinkles form in the corners of her eyes. "You have a nice trip back north. And mind that you come and visit us again someday."
An unexpected blush creeps up my face as I realize that's exactly what I've secretly been contemplating. "I'd like that," I say simply.
As we walk out, Henry turns to me. "Thanks for giving the books to Mother. She'll treasure them." He takes a couple more steps, then turns to look me in the eyes. "And so will I."
Back in Connecticut, Emily and Jeff pick me up at the airport. They're delighted to meet Poe, and Emily assures me the house is in pristine condition for my return.
When I finally unpack and check in with Thorvald Media, I'm informed that I've been assigned another editor named Rachel.
She seems to be the warm and enthusiastic opposite of Micah, giving me a generous deadline extension for my final book. I'm tentatively calling it Frozen Heart, and it'll be set in Alaska, as I'd planned. The final climactic scene will take place in a freezing, flooded river.
I tell Rachel I won't have to research that one.
Poe curls up on my writing chair daily, waiting until I come to pet her. This seemingly instinctual habit has worked in my favor, spurring me not only to touch another living being on a regular basis, but also to write, whether I feel like it or not. As a result, I'm able to finish my book a full two weeks early.
Both Gwen and Rachel can't stop exclaiming over the ending. Natasha Summers walks into the great unknown, finally victorious over her enemy—and finally free of the two duds she's dated throughout the series. It's a risk, letting her finish the series single, but I've made it clear she's not averse to a relationship with one particularly promising gentleman in the future. She just has to know it's the right relationship.
Which, ironically, is exactly what I've stumbled upon.
By the time fall arrives, Henry and I are calling and texting each other daily. Emily has seen him on a video call, and she says he has the sort of rugged good looks women want to read about. She likes his vibe, she says, and the way he defers to me when we're talking. He's the exact opposite of Renard, so therefore, he's won her complete approval.
I've decided that, like Natasha, I'm going to live my life fully. I want to live it with my person—and that person is Henry Basham.
Even though he's willing to hire another caregiver for his mother so he can move to Connecticut, I know he's bound to the Appalachian mountains. And, to be honest, I believe I am now, too. It's the place where I faced my worst fears and came out on the other side. I'm ready to launch a new life there.
I take the first step, buying the cabin and property Micah forfeits when he goes to prison. I hand it over to the Bashams, so Tilly can once again feel like she's living on her family land. Henry and I discuss what should become of the cabin itself, and we finally decide that Thorvald Media can continue to use it as a writers' retreat.
But I'll never step foot in the place again.
After months of house-hunting, I've latched onto a hundred-year-old home on the outskirts of Cedar Gap. It's a quirky place with numerous plumbing problems, but Henry has assured me he can deal with all of them.
With the money from the sale of my Greenwich cottage, I'm able to have an in-ground pool installed. Henry can't stop marveling over it, telling me it's rare in West Virginia, and that I'll be living like a queen.
When I finally move down in early February, Poe delights in her new space, hunting the mice who've scurried into the house to sit out the winter.
I, too, feel ready to hole up and enjoy the snow, because I have a new series just waiting to be written—one featuring an autistic woman just like me.
And I know that, for the rest of my life, Henry Basham will be the most invested reader I'll ever have.
EPILOGUEJORDAN
Ishould've known better than to fall for a married man.
Renard picked me out at that publisher party—right under his gorgeous yet oblivious superwriter wife's nose. He fawned over my red (thrifted) Badgley Mischka dress and my stunning (thrown-together) updo. I knew he was on drugs—I could practically smell them on him—but he turned my head by saying he could buy me things a fledgling writer could never afford. I believed him, because didn't the drugs just confirm he had money to burn?
In the midst of all the party hubbub, Micah seemed to notice our conversation. He was the senior editor, and he'd been the one to interview me before I signed with Thorvald. Then I was shuttled over to a newbie agent. Jackie was decent, I guess. She was a real go-getter, which is what I was hoping for with my manuscript.
But once we'd had it out on submission for months with no bites, Jackie suggested I revise it. "Add some more realism," she said.
I was so angry, I would've scrapped the entire thing, but Mariah Cloud, one of my crit group partners, told me to hold onto the general concept. "Write about your own experience," she told me. "You grew up poor, right? Write about it. You're dating an older man. Write about that."
I decided to take her advice. I was deep into my project, holed up in my Ohio apartment in the middle of 2020, when Micah sent me an email, out of the blue. In a crazy turn of events, he'd recently been introduced to Quincy Gates, an old friend of my mom's. As it turned out, Quincy was looking to set up a bookstore in a small town. Micah had suggested Cedar Gap, where he was starting construction on a cabin.
Micah said Quincy had been thrilled to hear I was with Thorvald Media now, and when he mentioned he'd love it if I could drive down for his bookstore opening, Micah had taken the liberty of suggesting that I could stay in his cabin. He hoped that wasn't too forward of him, but he'd like to get people renting it sooner rather than later. He wouldn't charge me anything, he said, as long as I'd put in a good word for Thorvald books with Quincy.
By the time Page Turner was ready to open, I had broken things off with Renard, whose attentions had fizzled. He seemed more into himself than anyone else.
