Maybe even subconscious wishful thinking.
“I suppose he did.” He looked into the distance as he thought. “Sometimes I know several facts to be true, but my mind doesn’t always connect them as they relate.” He waved his hands around his head. A dark-haired, perpetual motion machine. “It’s hard to explain. He mentioned a Frankie, I assumed maybe he’d been seeing somebody. I don’t know.”
“No. Just me.” I sighed.
“How did it go from scanning files to all this.” He’d finally stopped pacing, choosing instead to sit across from me, leaning forward and giving me the full blast of his direct attention.
I looked over his shoulder as I spoke, finding those eyes a little too unnerving for long periods. “At first, I was the only person around, you know?” He opened his mouth, most likely to defend himself for his absences, but I went on. “When George hired me to digitize all his old notes and manuscripts, we never thought it would take so long. There were additional … complications.” Collette wasn’t his business and not pertinent to this part of the story. If he wondered who she was, he hadn’t asked. “I was around. A lot. If he needed a sounding board for his ideas. If he wanted to read a scene out loud for flow.” I hadn’t planned on telling anybody, but the words kept uncharacteristically flowing out of me. “Soon, he asked for my input about potential plot ideas. Then I was typing for him on that ancient typewriter when his hands got too stiff—which is no easy feat. Then I’m filling in the brackets he left for me, adding suggestions in the margins. I never meant for him to take any of them. Sure, I had a few ideas and fleshed out a few scenes, but I never expected him to keep my changes in the final drafts.”
I gasped in a breath.
“I believe you,” he said, falling back into his chair. I could see his mind working things. Every single thought telegraphed over his roaming gaze. This was what made him so good at his job. He was impossible to look away from. Even just in thought, he was compelling.
Harrison paled. His features contorted in pain. He slumped back again, once lively hands were limp in his lap. “I kept telling myself things couldn’t be that bad with George, not if he could still write the way he was. That his mind was still sharp. Maybe he mixed up some details here and there, but nothing concerning. I told myself we still had plenty of time—” He cut himself off sharply to look up at me. The hope in his features broke my heart. He wanted me to reroute his train of thought. He wanted me to tell him that things weren’t that bad.
I couldn’t do that. There was no going back to a different version of the man Harrison held in his memories.
I glanced at my lap.
“It’s not good.” His eyes closed as he took a moment to collect himself. Eventually, he blinked up at me. “He wouldn’t have asked for help if he wasn’t sure he would need it,” Harrison concluded on his own. I nodded. He dropped his head into his hands, shaking it side to side.
“I’m so sorry, Harrison.” I reached out hesitantly to comfort but stopped before I touched him. I balled my fist and brought it back to my lap.
He lifted his head to look in the distance. “I’ve wasted so much time.”
“You’re here now,” I said firmly. “It’s more than most.”
He shook his head. “Not enough.”
I understood the helpless feeling that nothing would ever be enough again. How could any person ever make a totally unfair and unfixable situation better?
He processed in silence. I fought the urge to get up and check on something, work on something. I understood his pain, but I also had so much to do. Every moment that passed was another moment lost. When George had an episode like this, it was a harsh reminder that time was fleeting.
Maybe I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought. He caught me glancing around the study, calculating how much work was ahead of me. I was putting this room off for last. It would easily take the most amount of time.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
I let out a long, slow breath. “Everything I can,” I said with a shrug.
My throat was tight, and I had to look away lest I fall into his concerned and worried gaze.
“People can’t know,” I said. “Readers want G.S. Sedar. Not some nobody. You have to keep this to yourself. I’m trusting you.” I finally locked my eyes on his and poured in the importance of this request.
His gaze flicked back and forth between my eyes and briefly moved over my face before he swallowed and nodded. “I understand.”
We stayed stuck at that moment.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said to us both. I wished I believed him. “You aren’t doing it alone, right? George is going to help write still.”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “That is the plan. In theory. He has lots of notes.” He wasn’t exactly reliable, but he had his moments of writing bursts, and I would be able to find a way to organize his scribbles.
“Okay. Okay,” Harrison said.
We had moved to stand in the center of the room. We both seemed to realize it at the same time. His gaze flicked to my lips and moved over my face. Why was he always looking so intensely at me?
“What?” I asked, and it felt loud in the silent room, even though it could have only been a whisper.
“Did you know who I was? That day in town?” he asked.
