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“He thinks I’m a rotten person and said he wanted no part of me.”
“You call that loyal?”
“Oh, he’ll be back.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Fairly sure, yes.”
The sun had sunk below the tree line by the time the
y reached the derelict cotton gin. The gathering dusk made it appear even more forlorn than it did in full daylight. Its enshrouding vines seemed to be hugging it tighter, as though to protect it from the onset of darkness.
Noah assessed the dilapidated building. “I can see what you mean by the place still needing a lot of work.”
Parker reached into the trailer for his wheelchair and swung it to the ground. “It’s not the homestead, but it’s an interesting building. As long as you’re here, you might just as well get a taste of local history.”
He wheeled his chair into the gin, leaving Noah no choice except to follow. Inside, waning sunlight squeezed through the cracks in the walls. The holes in the ceiling projected miniature disks of light onto the floor. They looked like scattered coins. Otherwise, the interior was gloomy with deep shadows. The air was so heavy and still it almost required conscious thought to inhale it.
Like a tour guide with a rehearsed spiel, Parker pointed out certain aspects of the gin and related some of its history and fact-based legends, as he had related them to Maris, including the failed plan to convert to steam power.
Noah tired of the monologue and interrupted Parker in midsentence. “I read your book.”
Parker slowly brought his wheelchair around to face him. “Of course you did, Noah. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. When did you receive it?”
“This morning.”
“Quick response. Every anxious writer’s dream.”
“I only had to read the first few pages to realize where the plot was going. It’s very good writing, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“I chartered a private jet to ensure the shortest trip possible. On the flight, I scanned the remainder of the manuscript.”
“But you already know the story.”
“I know it’ll never see print.”
Parker shrugged goofily. “Just goes to show how wrong a person can be. Here I was thinking that maybe, after all these years, you’d be ready to relieve your conscience.”
“Cut the bullshit, Parker.” Noah’s voice cracked across the stillness like a whip. “I assume this Envy is the manuscript that Maris has been raving about?”
“The very one. She’s read every word. Several times. Likes the story. Loves the concept, the dynamic of the competitive friends. Says the characters are vividly drawn. Thinks Roark is a prince and Todd is… well, not a prince.”
“She’s easily impressed by melodrama.”
“Wrong. She’s a good editor.”
“A schoolgirl playing dress-up.”
“She’s a classy lady.”
“Jesus.” Noah snickered. “You’ve fucked her, haven’t you?”
Parker clenched his jaw and refused to answer, which caused Noah to laugh.
“Ah, Parker, Parker. Your hair is graying and your face has more lines than a road map. But some things haven’t changed. You’re still the chivalrous lover who never kisses and tells.”
