AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He looks over at me with exhaustion written across his face and the kind of blanketed pain that tells me we’re never going to finish this book. “What am I going to do?” More than once, he sighs heavily. “How can I fix this?”
Seeing how broken-up he is, how close to the deadline we are, I tell him the truth. “If you want her, you have to trap her.”
“What?”
God, this kid, he has so much to learn. He’s smart, but not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. “Why do you think we have so many animals hanging out in zoos?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Because they make money?”
“We tell ourselves these animals cannot survive in the wild, but that’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think? They’re animals, and instincts are very powerful.”
“Yeah,” he says, and I can see he doesn’t get it. “But how can you make someone love you, if they don’t?”
“You can make a person believe anything, Liam. After all, you’re a writer, aren’t you?”
After lunch, which I eat with Liam in the formal dining room, he asks if I’d like to work outside on the balcony for a bit. It’s been a few days since I’ve felt the sun, and I could use a change of scenery. Fresh air will do us both some good.
He brings along a small notepad, he paces the length of the space, stopping every once in a while to jot something down. He appears to feel better after our talk, which is good, because it meant he actually got some work done. At one point, he writes a beautiful line, proving grief can, in fact, be profitable. My heart still has her fingerprints on it, should she ever change her mind.
“George?” He stops pacing and stares in my direction of the cottage.
“Yeah.”
“You asked me why I don’t write my own book. Remember?”
Our eyes meet. “Yes.”
“They won’t give me a book deal,” he says. “That’s why.”
“It takes time. You’ll get there.”
“You ever play sports?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“Well, hopefully you’ll follow this analogy anyway.” He stuffs the notepad and pencil in his pocket and then gestures wildly with his hands. “Let’s say you play soccer and you’re great at defense. They say it’s your strong left foot. But you know you’d be really great as a forward just the same. Only because there’s no one better than you that can step up on defense, you don’t have a chance in hell at moving up the field.”
“Okay?”
“That’s why I haven’t written my own book.”
“Perhaps,” I say, “you should stop being so damned good on the defensive end.”
Later that afternoon, we’re wrapping things up, when on his way out, Liam stops inside the doorframe and turns back. His brow pinches together. “What happened to your face?”
“We’ve been together all day and you’re just now asking me that?”
“I was waiting for you to tell me.”
“You’ll have to keep waiting, I’m afraid.”
He looks partly amused and partly like he doesn’t really care one way or another. “Where’s Eve?”
“She’s not feeling well.”
“I see…” He shuffles from one foot to the other. “Maybe I could talk to her—you know, cheer her up.”
“Maybe,” I lie. “By the way,” I say, scooting out from my desk. “Remember that kid at the school?”
