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We sit silently for the better part of an hour, him staring at his dreadful mobile device, me glancing over my notes. Twice he tries to engage me in conversation—I assume about why he’s come—and twice I clear my throat and wave him off. Finally, dusk sweeps over the horizon outside my window, and I realize it’s time for dinner. Eve is very punctual, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.
I stand and motion toward the door. “That’s all for today.”
“It’s okay,” he replies without looking up. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be.”
“Pity.”
He seems surprised by my response. Even more so when I usher him out. “I could read over your notes.”
“It’s supper time.”
“I don’t mind.”
He follows me down the hall, his footsteps falling in time with mine, too close for my liking. “I do.”
“Look—I know this isn’t what you wanted—me being here.”
I turn on my heel, and we come eye to eye. Well, almost. My shoulders hunch a little more than I’d like these days. “That’s the first accurate thing you’ve said.”
“But,”—he cocks his head—“I’m being paid to do a job and frankly, I could use the money.”
“We could all use the money. That’s why you’re here.”
“Yes, but it would be very helpful if—well…uh…you know— if we could get things sorted rather quickly.”
“It’s a novel. They don’t just get sorted.”
“No,” he says. “No. I suppose they don’t, do they?” He looks at me as though he’s expecting something profound. When nothing comes, he fills the silence. “That’s why I’m here. To help you finish the book. And…you see…I really need it to happen sooner rather than later…”
“This seems important to you,” I say. Not because I really care but because it’s important to find out what a person’s motivations are. The sooner the better.
“It is.”
“Why’s that? Why not just write your own book?”
“It’s complicated.”
Chapter Four
He waves once and then he is gone, disappearing as easily and effortlessly as he appeared. I watch his taillights fade and I wonder, is he as glad to go as I am to see him leave? For a young man his age, it must be a relief to go back to his bustling life in the city. But if that’s the case, then why was he so reluctant to go?
Standing in the driveway, the dust settles as the sound of his car fades further in the distance. I take a minute to survey the grounds, to refocus, to breathe in the evening air. Our first encounter went better than I thought, and yet, I could see it in his eyes, he is going to be a challenge.
For one, he is of the impression that he wants this. This being what exactly, I am not sure. The estate? The acclaim? The years of blood, sweat, and on many occasions, tears?
No, I doubt any of that is what he is after. Just the success. The stifling, suffocating success.
If I were a betting man—and trust me—I am, anyone who has been in this business as long as I have is no stranger to risk—I’d be willing to bet that he’ll have it. He has that certain something. Something you don’t find all that often. There’s a quiet hunger about him, a gentle curiosity, the kind that isn’t quick and flaming, the kind that won’t easily burn out.
He has staying power, this Liam character, which is what keeps me in the garden long after the sun has set and a steady chill has filled the air.
His presence worries me. I am in the position to be dependent on him, which is the worst kind of position to be in. It’s not a good look for me.
In fact, he worries me enough to know that change is in order.
There’s something about having a visitor, after all this time, something about this particular visitor, that reminds me I’d better call the lawn guy. He hasn’t come in nearly a month, maybe two. If I had to guess, I’d say his absence has something to do with his invoices going unpaid. A problem I have the power to fix. I am lazy, but not yet completely broke.
