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“Wonder where the old ones are?” Kate was chopping onions.
“Good question,” Sara said but she didn’t have an answer.
It was while the chili was simmering, Jack was pounding, and Sara reading, that Kate called her mother. The call upset her, but she didn’t tell them about it.
After dinner, they went to the big couch in the living room and watched TV—their mutual form of relaxation.
Jack sat in the middle, remote in front of him, and the women took the ends. Sara was sitting sideways, reading glasses on, and deeply absorbed in the first Amanda Martin book. Jack knew her feet were always cold so he put a pillow on his lap and her bare feet on it. There was a lap robe on the back of the couch and he covered her feet.
Kate was so absorbed in her thoughts that she said nothing when Jack changed the channel to a football game. He pulled her feet onto his lap too.
“These books are her autobiography,” Sara said.
Jack wasn’t really watching the game. He put it on mute. “How so?”
“They seem to cover Sylvia’s life. I can see why she didn’t want anyone to know she was the author. The first one is about a woman in her midthirties—old to be a romance heroine—who is trapped by her older brother and her father. She makes their lives so comfortable that they won’t let her marry. They scare off any man who gets near her.”
“An historical, right?” Kate said.
“No. Contemporary. Finally, the heroine runs off with a handsome young plumber. He’s content with his job but the heroine is ambitious and they end up opening a store that sells high-end bathroom fixtures.”
“Plumbing?” Kate said. “Not exactly romantic.”
“Pays the bills and then some,” Jack said. “Sounds very romantic to me.”
Sara pulled the novels out of the bag, arranged them in order, and began reading the back blurbs. “All the books are about this one couple and what happens in their lives. In this one, they have a daughter and struggle with the shop.” She paused to read. “This is interesting. When the heroine’s father dies, her older brother cuts her out of inheriting. When she protests, her brother slaps her with a lawsuit. Next book, they have money problems because the brother’s suit has cleaned them out.”
She read some more. “The daughter goes to college—no Ivy League as they couldn’t afford that—and the heroine and her husband move to Florida to escape the brother. Uh-oh. The daughter is in trouble at school. Drugs.” Sara sighed. “And in this one the heroine’s husband dies and she’s left alone.” Sara was silent.
“What happened after that?” Kate asked.
Sara smiled. “Ah, the most glorious question a writer can hear. What happened next? That was the last book. By the way, the stories are all told in first person. It’s all seen through the heroine’s eyes.”
“Is this ordinary that novels are about a writer’s life?” Kate asked.
Sara started to answer, but Jack spoke up. “I’ll take this one. Every word our dear Sara has ever written is autobiographical. That one about the woman finding the guy she loved in high school? He was a widower and the heroine took over his life and his son. Remember that?”
“I see,” Kate said. “That was Sara and your grandfather. Oh! And the story about the young man who was always brooding about his rotten father. That was you.”
“I don’t ‘brood’ as you call it.”
Kate and Sara laughed. “Heathcliff could take lessons from you. Every time you see Sheriff Flynn, your eyebrows draw together.” Kate demonstrated.
Jack rolled his eyes.
Kate looked back at her aunt. “I think you should read the last book next. Maybe Janet is in it. And maybe it tells why Sylvia wanted to end her life. But then, a greedy brother, a daughter on drugs. It seems like her whole life was one tragedy after another. The only friend she had was her husband and when he died...” Kate sighed. “I’m beginning to understand her suicide.”
“Well, I’m not!” Sara sounded angry. “I’m seeing that Sylvia Alden was a fighter. In every circumstance, she fought back. Her brother and father tried to keep her at home. But she eloped with a gorgeous young plumber. But all he did was repair toilets. So Sylvia opened a store that sold products that rich people would buy and she made a fortune. When her father died and her brother took everything, Sylvia left the state and got away from the bastard. It was an Up Yours gesture.”
Kate was looking at her aunt in admiration. “I didn’t see it that way.”
“When someone
hits you, you either get up or you stay down. Nothing in between. Sylvia leaped up.”
“And the daughter?” Jack asked. “What about her?”
“I don’t know yet. I need to read all the books—in order. I want to know more about this woman. I like her.” Sara dumped the books back into the bag, said good-night, then went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
