Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
I rolled my eyes. “If by goods you mean the manuscript and the letters, I haven’t decided yet.” I rubbed my forehead as a lump formed in my throat. “I wish I could ask her what she wanted, but I feel like I already know. If she’d wanted the book finished, she would have done it herself.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“She told me once that it was kinder to the characters to leave them with their possibilities, but she didn’t talk about it much, and I never pushed her.”
“Then why are you considering this?” she asked softly.
“Because it’s something Mom wants that I can give her.” I smiled when Danielle dumped a cup of water over my toes.
“If that’s not a loaded statement…” Hazel muttered with a sigh. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” There was no judgment in her tone, merely curiosity.
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“I get why. Gran would get it, too.”
“I miss her.” My voice broke as my throat constricted. “There have been so many times I’ve needed her over the last six months. And it’s like she knew it, too. She set up all those little packages and flower deliveries for me.” The first had come on my birthday, then Valentine’s Day, and so on. “But everything has fallen apart since she died—my marriage, the production company, my charity work…all of it.” The production company had been hard, since Damian and I had started it together, but leaving it behind had been the only way to move forward. Losing the charity work, the foundation, now that made it blatantly obvious that I needed to find something to fill my days. A job, volunteering…something. There were only so many times I could clean the house, especially since Lydia had come back to help.
“Hey,” Hazel snapped, forcing my gaze to meet hers before she softened. “I get leaving the production company. You hated all the movie stuff, but the charity was more than his connections. The blood, the sweat, and the tears that went into it? Those were all yours, and now your future is yours to do whatever you want with it. Go back to sculpting. Blow some glass. Be happy.”
“The lawyers are drawing up papers so I can start putting that money to work.” The only caveat in her will when it came to her fortune was that I give it away to what charities I saw fit. “And it’s been…years since I did anything with glass art.” My fingers curled in my lap. God, I missed the heat, the magic that came from taking something at its melted, most vulnerable state and reshaping it into something uniquely beautiful. But I’d given all that up to start the production company when I got married.
“I’m just saying that I know Gran didn’t throw away your tweezers—”
“They’re called jacks.”
“See, it hasn’t been that long. Where’s the girl who spent a summer in Murano, who got into her first-choice art school and put on her own show in New York?”
“One show.” I held up a finger. “My favorite piece sold that night. It was right before the wedding, remember? The one that took me months.” It was still in the lobby of an office building in Manhattan. “Did I ever tell you that I used to visit it? Not often, just on days I felt like Damian’s life had swallowed mine. I’d sit on the bench and just stare at it, trying to remember how all that passion felt.”
“So go make another one. Make a hundred of them. You’re the only person who gets to put demands on your time now, though I wouldn’t argue if you ever want to come volunteer at the center.”
“I don’t exactly have a furnace, or a block, or a studio—” I paused, remembering that Mr. Navarro’s shop had been up for sale, then shaking my head. “I could definitely volunteer with the reading program, though. Just let me know when.”
“Deal. You know Noah Harrison is going to turn that book into a pain fest, right?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m counting on it.” It couldn’t end any other way.
…
Three days later, the doorbell rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was time.
“I’ll get it!” Mom called, already clicking her way to the door—which was fine with me, since dread had my butt anchored to Gran’s office chair, debating my choice for the thousandth time since telling Helen to send the final contract.
Three days. That was all it had taken them to hammer out the details. Helen had assured me it was more than fair, and we didn’t give up anything Gran wouldn’t have, including the performance rights—those, she’d only ever sold to Damian, and he sure as hell wasn’t getting any more. In fact, it was the best contract of Gran’s career, which was one of the reasons my stomach churned.