Page 85

One way or another, even, I need to—

I stop.

Because there, as if willed into existence by my longing, the new email blips onto the screen.

A little heart-stopping ding goes off.

A little number 1 pops up beside the word In-box.

1.

1 new email.

From Claire Donovan.

Even Olivia has heard the ding and noticed, probably by my petrified face, something is up. “Is it her?” she says.

I can’t say anything. I just nod.

My arms feel all prickly.

And I just stare at the bold subject line: RE: Manuscript.

This is it.

In regard to my manuscript. From Claire.

“Well?” Olivia says.

My finger hovers over the mouse, but it has trouble clicking.

Because all of a sudden I am acutely aware that I’m standing on the precipice of knowing and not knowing.

And really, the not-knowing land was not such an imposing land to live in after all, when you think of it. In not-knowing land there was still hope. There was still a chance that things would work out for me. In knowing land, though—if I step into the Land of the Know—I’m going to know without question. And if the answer isn’t what I want, I can’t strap hope back onto my back for safekeeping. No, hope is for those who stay in the Land of the Not Know.

Vaguely, I realize Olivia is now hovering over my shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay either way, Sav,” I hear her say quietly and feel a squeeze on my shoulders. “C’mon.”

I press my lips together. “You know, I do often tell authors that the longer it takes for me to reply, the better the odds are in their favor. It takes me a second to send a rejection when I know something won’t work. But working through a manuscript with real potential . . . There’s a lot to it. It takes a lot of time.”

Olivia nods encouragingly. “And she’s already said how much potential your book has,” she adds. “Way before you made those revisions.”

I nod, slowly garnering courage to press the button. “That’s true.”

“I read some myself. It hooked me from the start.”

“Mmm,” I murmur, although I can’t help being aware of the fact that if that were entirely true, she’d have finished it two days ago when I gave it to her.

“I’m all the way to page 86!” she exclaims as though that really says something.

And to be fair, she’s never been a big reader. At least, not of material that talks about anything fun. In her world, that probably really does mean something.

“C’mon,” she urges and lifts her face into a grin. “I’ll take you out to celebrate tonight. Just for opening it. Either way.”

The excitement in her eyes is the penny that tips the scales, and with a final nod, I turn to face the computer. And click.

From: Claire Donovan