Page 1 of Chasing Forever

Prologue

Dear Callie,

If you’re reading this, I’ve already joined your grandpa in heaven. At least, I hope he’s there. He did swear a lot while he was alive. Anyway, I know you’re probably sad right now, but please don’t cry for me. I’ve missed the old fart for the past few years, and I’m happy to be reunited with him again.

By now, you’ve had to suffer through my funeral and sorting through all my junk, but here comes the good part. A few weeks ago, when I realized I didn’t have much time left, I booked a trip for you. I hope you’re not upset with me, but even if you are, you’ll get over it when I tell you where.

Remember that resort we stayed at on Kauai that time the whole family went? Well, I took the liberty of booking the same condo for you for eight weeks, starting on the first of February. I wish I could see your face right now to know if you’re mad, elated, or somewhere in between. But hear me out.

I know what a rough year you’ve had with my illness and that idiot breaking up with you. I also know that you put your writing on hold because of me. You sat at my bedside day after day, and you never complained. But now that I’m gone, you have to get back to it, Callie.

Writing is in your blood. It’s something you were always meant to do. Some of my greatest joy these past few years came from reading your books. I was so proud of you. Did I tell you that enough? I certainly hope so. Anyway, I hate to think that your “dry spell” was because of me, though I know I’m partially to blame. I’m sorry for what I put you through, and I wanted to make it up to you.

You may be thinking this is going above and beyond a grandma’s duty, but you’re wrong. The condo on Kauai is already paid for. All you have to do is book a flight, and you’re on your way. (I figured the money I left you will help with that and your other expenses.)

Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go to Hawaii, relax your mind, and get your mojo back. Isn’t that what they call it? Forget all about that idiot and what you’ve been through this past year and pick up your pen again. I wouldn’t have booked the place if I didn’t think you could do it. I know you still have a lot of stories left to tell, and the world needs to hear them.

I hope you’re not shaking your head right now or coming up with a zillion excuses why you shouldn’t go. There are none! You’re a writer. You can work anywhere, and why not Hawaii, one of the most romantic places on earth?

This will be the last time your old grandma tells you what to do, so humor me. Take your laptop, notepads, and pens and escape for eight weeks. Even if you return without a story (which I doubt), you’ll have a great tan and, hopefully, a clearer head.

I love you, sweetie. You’ve always brought me such joy since the time you were a tiny baby. Now it’s my turn to give something back. Take the trip and know that I’ll be smiling down on you and awaiting your next great romance book.

Do you think people read in heaven? I certainly hope so!

Love, hugs, and kisses,

Grandma Cooper

Chapter 1

Aloha! Callie heard the cheerful greeting everywhere as she walked through the airport, bought herself a bagel and coffee, and picked up a red Jeep Wrangler at the car rental agency.

The people are all so friendly here, and no wonder! She’d forgotten how stunningly beautiful Hawaii was. The last time she’d been there, she’d been a college student on spring break. Her parents had splurged for plane fare for her and her best friend, and they’d met up with her grandparents, two aunts and uncles, and a handful of cousins. They’d rented a block of condos on the tranquil island of Kauai and had a blast swimming, snorkeling, and exploring the beautiful beaches and quaint towns. She remembered thinking she wanted to return there someday, but the years had passed, and it had become a distant memory—until now.

If only her reason for being there hadn’t been prompted by her grandma’s death. She fought back tears as she thought about her grandma’s letter and all that had transpired over the past year. Her grandma, Irene, had been diagnosed with lung cancer, and it had been shocking since she had never smoked a day in her life. “Something had to get me,” Irene had bravely said after hearing the diagnosis.

Since losing her husband a few years ago, she’d talked about wanting to join him in heaven, but Callie had dismissed it as a joke. Irene was too spry and feisty to die yet, and Callie wasn’t ready to let her go. They’d always been close, and Callie credited Irene for her decision to become a writer. Irene had loved reading, and she’d passed it along to Callie. She had fond memories of sitting on her grandma’s lap as Irene read aloud, adopting different accents for each character in the book and making the story come alive.

From a young age, Callie had answered the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with “A writer.” And she hadn’t veered from it. In fact, as she’d gotten older, the idea had taken root in her brain and wouldn’t let go. Even when her parents had warned that she might not make much money (unlike James Patterson, J.K. Rowling, and the like), she’d dug in her heels. “It’s not about the money. It’s about following my passion,” she’d argued. “I don’t want to take some boring desk job just because it provides a steady paycheck.”

Her dad had shaken his head and said, “This is all your grandmother’s doing.” But it looked like he’d been trying to hide a smile, and Callie had noticed. So, she’d gone to college, earned an English degree, and followed her dream.

After college, she’d churned out a few novels per year until she had a successful romance series. Then suddenly she lost her mojo (as her grandma so eloquently put it). It had started when her long-term boyfriend, Adam, had broken up with her. She hadn’t realized how important a loving relationship was to a romance writer until he left. Not that everything had been perfect, but their relationship had provided plenty of inspiration, especially when it came to writing sex scenes.

While her books weren’t autobiographical, there might have been a few similarities. For example, when she wrote about falling in love, she’d recall the emotions she’d experienced with Adam. That initial excitement, anticipation, desire, and angst—she’d written about it all, assigning her emotions to fictional characters.

Even their arguments had provided useful fodder, including the little disappointments that arose over time. In addition to having her own muse, she’d also drawn on her friends’ relationships. For seven years, she’d had plenty of material to work with, and then everything changed.

Adam graduated with a degree in finance and was working his way up as a loan officer in a major bank. As his responsibilities increased, so did his hours. The more time he spent at the bank and the less they spent together caused a tear in their relationship. It was barely noticeable at first, just a general feeling of disappointment whenever he came home late or missed dinner. But soon the disappointments turned into arguments, and the tear increased.

Oddly, she’d never suspected there might be another reason he’d been spending so much time at work. How could she have been so blind? She was a romance writer, for Pete’s sake! She wrote about this stuff all the time.

She’d never forget the day she’d figured it out. After college, Adam had moved into her apartment near campus. Since she stayed home writing and he was gone all day, she’d occasionally do his laundry. Generally, she believed they were equal partners and should take care of their own laundry, but one Friday evening when he was working late, she decided to put in a load for him.

She’d been sorting through his dirty clothes basket, feeling in pockets for anything he might have inadvertently left there, when she came across a restaurant receipt. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have been surprised, since Adam often went out to lunch with his co-workers. But there were two things that tipped her off.

First, the receipt was for a new Mexican restaurant that had recently opened near his office. She’d been asking to go there for a few weeks since they were both fans of Mexican food. He’d kept putting her off since he’d been working late most nights, and afterward he just wanted to come home. Never once had he mentioned that he’d already gone there. Secondly, the time and date on the receipt rang a bell. He’d gone there the previous Friday evening at 6:30 p.m., after he’d called and said he had to stay late and finish a report for his boss. That night, he hadn’t come home until nine o’clock.