Chapter 27

I glanced in the rear-view mirror while I was stopped at a traffic light, and I thought idly, look at that idiot behind me, grinning like he’s won the lottery. Then I realized it was me I was looking at. Well, I kind of did win the lottery, didn’t I?

At home I collected yesterday’s mail and let myself in. I sat down on the couch and leaned back, thinking about yesterday and today, every detail. When I looked at my watch again, almost two hours had passed. I had no idea if I had fallen asleep or had just been lost in my memories. I was almost afraid to move, for fear of losing the feeling.

But I had to pee, so I got up. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror and I was still smiling. After I washed up, I made a sandwich, then tried to remember that scene from Singing In The Rain where Gene Kelly dances down a rainy New York street, and without the least embarrassment I tried duplicating what I could recall of it. I felt that good.

I did some cursory house cleaning and took out the garbage. When I came back, it was about time to call my mother. She expected a call about this time, and if it didn’t happen she convinced herself that I’d been in a traffic accident and was lying on the asphalt somewhere, bleeding out. She was a nice woman, but tended towards the dramatic.

So I called and told her about my week, asked about the family, the usual conversation. And, like she was following a script, she paused at the end and said, “So. You seeing anyone?”

I knew she was expecting, and would be frustrated by, my normal answer, “Nobody serious, I’ve gone out a couple of times, nice women, but no sparks.”

So when I responded with, “Actually, yes,” I could almost see her ears perk up over the phone. She probed and begged, implored, beseeched, but I would only say, “I like her a lot, she likes me, she’s smart and beautiful, but it’s early days, so that’s as much as I’ll say for now.” She kept at it for a little longer, but she knew when she was defeated.

Later, I called Liz. It was a little strange, talking on the phone for the first time, but we got over the awkwardness soon and talked naturally.

“I’ve been writing like a madwoman since you left. It’s like someone turned on the faucet and the words pour out. I can’t really type fast enough. I haven’t decided if it’s any good yet. I’ll stop soon and read what I’ve done more closely. I’m close enough to the end, Sam, that I think I won’t give you any more to read till it’s done.”

I could understand her reasoning, and said so. I told her about my weekly phone call to my mother, and her stock question. Liz laughed out loud when I told her how Mom had reacted when I mentioned her.

“She doesn’t know anything, not even your name, but she’s desperate to see me married so she’ll keep poking at it.”

“Well, you’re right, it’s early days, but I’d like to meet her some time.”

We talked about that for a little while, then we said goodbye. Before we hung up, she said, “Sam, it’s important for me, from a work standpoint, that we keep our relationship quiet. Nobody should know, we should act as we always did around each other at work. Okay?”

I understood her position, so I agreed, and we said goodnight. I read a book until bedtime, then dropped right to sleep, trying to decide which memory of the naked Liz I liked best.

I’m going to skip some big chunks of time here, jumping ahead as needed, because the details become less important as time goes on.

On the Wednesday after our first weekend together, Liz showed up in the cafeteria at snack time looking businesslike in her white blouse and gray suit with pencil skirt. Except now I was able to visualize what was underneath it. It made snack time much more enjoyable.

We chatted in a friendly way, like business associates, and she said, “Sam, here’s the last chapter of the book. Why don’t you wait till you get home before you read it, then we can talk tonight. I want to get your thoughts before I give this to Deb Morrow.”

I said I would, though I was a little surprised to hear her add this caveat. She finished her tea and got up to leave, and this time I was able to mentally remove the skirt and imagine her bare ass walking toward the elevators. I had to sit for a couple of minutes till my erection went away.

After work I got takeout for dinner and brought it home. I sat at the table and while I ate, I read her last chapter.

I’m not an emotional guy, but I could feel the tears welling up as I got toward the end. Why did she do that? I had to stop for awhile and walk around, before I could come back to it.

Around nine, I called Liz. She said hello, then she was silent.

It took me a few moments before I could organize my thoughts. “Part of me was shouting at you, ‘No, no, don’t do that, she’s a good person, she shouldn’t die.’ I was a little angry at you, Liz. I told you on the drive out that I had grown to like these characters, that I wanted nice things to happen to them, and I especially liked Rebecca.

“When you killed her off, I couldn’t understand your reasoning, especially considering how hard it hit the other characters.”

I paused while I caught my breath.

“But when I came back to it, and I read through to the end, I saw what you were doing, I think, how it changed the vector of everybody’s life, and made them better in the end. Part of me still hates that you did it that way, and another part admires what you did.”

She didn’t say anything. After a while I thought I heard her crying. “Liz? What’s happening? Are you okay.”

She choked out, “Wait.”

It took her a couple of minutes. She coughed and cleared her throat. “So, does it work?”

I thought about it. “Deb Morrow may be a better guide on this, but I’d say, yes, it works. I didn’t like that you’d done it, but I can see why you did it. Her -- I’m not sure of the right word here -- her directive throughout the book was to help others work through their problems, clear the obstacles, and her final gift, through her death, was to smooth the road for the other primary characters. It was a hard ending but, damn, really powerful.”

“Sam, I struggled with this. I like fairy tales as much as the next kid, and part of me wanted them all to live happily ever after, but life’s not always like that. So I took the rougher road, the one with more meaning.”

“Give it to Deb, the whole thing. Let her read it over the weekend, see if she concurs. Liz, you’re really good at this. I can see this grabbing people, making them talk, not just about the ending, but about the characters and their lives. Go get some sleep.”

We said good night, and she blew me a kiss over the phone.

That next weekend, we went out to dinner and a movie on Saturday. Over dinner she said, “I did what you said. I printed the whole thing out, two copies, in fact. I put the file on a thumb drive and went to a copy shop and had them do it.

“I’d called Deb already and told her I was bringing her the whole thing, and asked her if she could wait a little later for me on Friday. She sounded really excited, and she did wait for me. She said she’d read it over the weekend and we’ll talk again on Monday. Sam, I’m really nervous now, wondering if I did the right thing with those characters.”

“Liz, she’s really smart and she knows what readers are looking for. If it’s not right, she’ll talk to you about it and suggest changes. But I think you did the right thing. Don’t worry about it till Monday. As far as you know, you’re done. Your first book. And all those people who were so superior to you in your writer’s group? They’re gonna be walking around telling all their friends, ‘Oh, yeah, Liz Conway, we were in writer’s group together, good buddies, I showed her a few things.’”

Liz laughed at that, picturing the scene. “I think I do need to write up some of these things that happened when I was learning how to do this. They’ll make good stories, and maybe other writers starting out can take some comfort from them. And maybe they’ll learn to recognize some of the types that frequent these groups, and learn how to deal with them.”