“Are you sure everything is OK?” she asked when Jack couldn’t muster any words. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, though he didn’t, it was that a lump had risen in his throat.
He swallowed it. “I’m having a bit of trouble with the next book.”
“What kind of trouble?” she asked, and he realized that when his mother asked questions like that, they were never prurient, the way they felt from the public. He defaulted to being defensive when questioned; maybe he ought to stop doing that. At least with her.
“You mean the leak?” she pressed. She knew about the leak; they’d spoken briefly after it happened.
“Not the leak.” He told her about the pushed deadline, the writer’s block. “I’ve just been… stuck. It’s going better now, but I’m still concerned about meeting the deadline.” Not to mention the question ofwhether the book was any good to begin with, but one soul-baring revelation at a time. “I’m actually in LA right now. I’m staying in the pool house of Blair Kellermoon. Do you know who she is?”
His mom laughed. “Well, that’s a plot twist.”
“It sounds like I don’t need to catch you up on this.”
“Oh, my beloved. I read the news. I know all about your Blair Kellermoon snub.”
It was his turn to chuckle, and amusement, even at his own expense, was so much better than the sadness that had come over him earlier, as he thought of his mother trying to be a family with his dad. “Well, as improbable as it seems, we struck up a friendship, and she invited me to finish the book out here.”
“What is she like?”
He hadn’t expected that question, and he had to think about how to answer. “She’s chipper, perky, relentlessly optimistic, and slightly mercenary. She’s basically Los Angeles in human format. She also makes me watch TV.”
His mom laughed louder and longer than he thought warranted. When she got control of herself, she said, “I’m tempted to issue some platitude about how you’ll get your book done, but I don’t know anything about writing.”
“But you know me. Do you think I’ll get it done?”
“I think the best way for you to do that is to get out of your own head. Out of your own way.”
He chuckled. “I notice that wasn’t a ringing endorsement.” He also noticed that her words were similar to Blair’s when she’d said a TV character who reminded her of him was “up in his own head.”
“Sounds like the LA trip was the right idea,” his mom said. “If you want my advice, which I realize you didn’t actually ask for, I’d say look for more opportunities to do that. You used to be tough to drag out of the apartment, but you always seemed better for it.”
She was right. She used to take him to Sebastian Joe’s for icecream when he was stressed about school. They’d sit on the steps of a nearby church and eat their cones, and somehow, when he went back to his homework, he was refreshed.
“What if I can’t get it done, though? I’ll have to give back the advance.”
“If you don’t get it done, you don’t get it done. You go back to teaching. Any school you can name would fall over themselves to have you.”
“I lost my seniority when I quit. I should have just taken a leave of absence.” He was aware that this conversation was sounding a lot like the one Blair had had with Cal.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t want to assure you you’ll get it done and make a promise I can’t keep.”
“You mean a promiseIcan’t keep.”
She smiled fondly, and Jack’s heart twisted. She was her same familiar self, but when had the lines in her forehead and around her eyes gotten so deep?
“Jack.” She pressed her hand to her cheek, and she was wearing the turquoise ring, the one that was the same color as Blair’s pool. “It’s a book. I’m not saying it’s not important, but no one is going to die if you don’t get it done.”
“Right. You’re right.” It hurt a little, being reminded that what he was doing wasn’t, ultimately, earth-shattering. But at the same time, it was oddly calming to have things put into perspective. He wasn’t saving anyone’s life, or saving the rainforest. He was only doing his best, and maybe, just a little bit, saving the crows.
Jack was sitting by the pool again the next afternoon waiting for the crows—look at him, he’d gone completely soft—when a motion from the edge of the yard caught his attention.
It was the cranky neighbor, her puffy, blue-gray hair clearly visible above the fence.
“Hello?” he called, though he had no idea why.
She started to sink.
“Wait! Don’t go!”
