I didn’t tell anyone about Max’s book signing because I wanted to go alone. I dressed carefully—cargo pants, a white blouse, and sandals with a small heel. It was still raining, but it looked like it might be letting up. I hooked my Burberry raincoat into the crook of my arm and tiptoed downstairs. It was a stealth operation.
Guy was visiting, as usual. The whole family was sitting around the fire in the living room, and to get to the front door, I had to slip past the open French doors that led from the living room to the front hall. I could try the back kitchen door. That was a possibility. I went into the dark kitchen. Our habit was to lock it from the inside and leave the key in the door, but the key wasn’t there. I fished around in the closest drawer and found nothing. I checked my watch. I didn’t want to be late. My sandals made clicking sounds on the tiles of the kitchen. I should have worn sneakers. I turned and started toward the front hall.
I was almost at the door when I heard “Jane, where are you going?” It was Miranda.
Guy stood up and came toward the French doors.
“You look very nice,” he said.
“Thanks.” I turned to go out without saying anything else, then Miranda came up behind Guy. She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Where are you going?” she asked me again.
Since this group wasn’t the type that would rush to go to a book signing in the rain, I might still be safe even if I told them. In ordinary circumstances, they wouldn’t be quick to follow me. But they’d been lounging around all day and almost anything would be better than more lazing about.
Even Teddy left the stifling living room and followed Guy and Miranda out to the front hall, where I stood with my hand on the doorknob.
“Jane, for a minute there you looked just like your mother.”
This compliment, probably the highest my father could give, was bittersweet, but I had no time to get tripped up on emotion. I had a mission.
“I’m going to a book signing,” I said.
“That’s so boring,” Miranda said. She turned and started back toward the living room.
“I don’t think it’s boring. Not at all. Jane, if you can wait just a minute, we’ll go with you,” Guy said.
“I don’t know,” Miranda said.
“I’m going,” Guy said.
“Well, then.” Miranda was on her third martini. One more and it might have been impossible to pry her from the house. Oh, for one more martini.
“You know,” Teddy said. “I think I’d like to join you. Veronica mentioned something about a book signing when I saw her the other day. It’s that Max Wellman, isn’t it? Our tenant’s brother?”
“Yes,” I said. I looked at my watch, a thin diamond heirloom I’d inherited from my mother. Why did my family choose this, of all times, to be interested in books?
“Oh, him,” Miranda said. “He’s very attractive. Didn’t we see him at the pub the other day?”
I kicked one foot against the other. “Look, I’ll go on ahead and save seats. You can meet me there.”
“We’ll be ready in a minute,” Guy said. “In fact, I’ll come along with you and the rest can come when they’re ready.”
“I don’t want to rush you. Take your time and I’ll see you there.”
Before he could say another word, I was out the door, and despite the strappy sandals, I walked at a brisk pace toward Main Street. Usually when I enter a bookstore, I feel immediately calm. Bookstores are, for me, what churches are for other people. My breath gets slower and deeper as I peruse the shelves. I believe that books contain messages I am meant to receive. I’m not normally superstitious, but I’ve even had books fall from shelves and land at my feet. Books are my missives from the universe.
This time, when entering the Bunch of Grapes, I was far from calm. I must have looked like a bird pecking for feed, head turning here and there in short nervous bursts. Then there he was. He was sitting at a table at the back, signing extra stock.
He looked up when he saw me and smiled. I gathered my nerve, took off my coat, and hung it over my arm. The storm was ending in a soft drizzle that probably left me looking bedraggled after my sprint up the street. Still, I walked straight toward Max. There were other people milling about who looked like they might want to talk to the famous author, but his literary escort, a small woman with a linebacker’s shoulders, blocked the way. I lifted my chin and said in my most Miranda Fortune voice—haughty and dismissive—“personal friend.” The little spark plug of a woman moved aside.
“Will you sign one for me?” I asked.
“Signing’s later, Miss Fortune. You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else,” Max said. I was stunned. The little lady smirked at me. Then Max broke into a smile and laughed. “Just kidding. Jane, you used to know when I was kidding.”
“You haven’t been so funny lately,” I said.
He reddened. “I suppose not,” he said.
The little woman sidled up to the table.
“Everything okay, Mr. Wellman?”
“Fine, Janice. This is the woman who gave me my start. Jane Fortune.”
Now, Janice turned the same fawning expression on me that she used on Max. It was as if I were suddenly someone important.
“Oh, Miss Fortune,” she said, “you’ve done so much for the new writer. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Call me Jane,” I said.
I picked up a book from the table and handed it to Max. He wrote in it, closed it, and handed it back. I wanted to know what he’d written but didn’t have the nerve to open it right there.
“We can get that book comped for you, Miss Fortune,” Janice said.
“Jane. Please call me Jane. Thank you, but I’d be happy to pay for the book.” I already had a copy, of course, but buying extra books never bothered me. Buying a book is a vote for the author—a direct contribution. Max didn’t need my contribution, but nonetheless, it can be awkward to go to a signing without buying a book.
“No, no. We couldn’t let you pay.” She took the book and disappeared toward the front of the store.
I turned and looked behind me. The room was filling up, and if I didn’t choose a seat, I might not get one. Max looked up also, and just as he did, Guy, Miranda, Teddy, and Dolores came in. I hadn’t saved seats for them and now seats were scarce.
Guy saw me and smiled. He came up to us, put his hand on my upper back, and kissed me on the cheek. He always staked his claim in the way climbers put flags on the top of Mount Everest. It infuriated me, not only because he had no claim but also because since he’d come to the island, I’d given him no reason to think he did. I stepped away from Guy, hoping that Max would see and understand my feelings, but I was not good at communicating in general, and I was, apparently, worse at communicating through body language. Max greeted Guy with a calm, distant smile, then went back to signing books as if I weren’t there.
“Did you save seats?” Guy asked.
“I forgot.”
“I’ll get us some.” Guy was airy and pleasant as always. “Looking forward to your reading,” he said to Max, then Guy took my arm and led me away.
Guy found five seats, two in one row and three just behind them. He took one of the front seats, then patted the chair next to him to indicate that I should sit there. I moved toward the other row, but just as I did, Dolores, Miranda, and Teddy shoved by me and sat down, forcing me into the seat besides Guy.
Janice came back with my book in a paper bag and gave it to me with a bit of a flourish as if I, not Max, were the celebrity. The itch to open the book and look at the inscription was severe, but I couldn’t open it, not with everyone watching.
“So what’s this book about?” Guy asked.
“A family coping after September eleventh,” I said.
“Sounds absolutely dreadful,” Miranda said from behind us. “Why don’t people write about happy things?”
“I hear it has some humor in it,” Dolores said. “That’s Wellman’s signature style.” This coming from Dolores was a surprise. “I read a review,” she added.
“Jane’s such a great reader,” Guy said, ignoring Dolores. “It’s wonderful. So few people really read anymore. Someday writing will be a lost art.”
“I certainly hope not,” I said. “People will always have to communicate.” I sounded like a librarian in a 1950s musical.
“E-mail, text messaging—it’s the way of the future. It’s a sound-bite culture,” Guy said.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Ever hopeful. You’re such an optimist.” Guy turned such a beneficent smile on me it made my stomach turn.
The reading was about to begin. A cozy-looking woman from the bookstore walked to the podium. She wore a shiftlike dress, had long brown hair and green-rimmed glasses. She reminded me a little bit of me before I’d started to pay more attention to my appearance. She introduced Max as one of the finest writers of his generation. Yes, well, I was the first one to see that, wasn’t I? At least that was something.
Guy leaned toward me and tried to say something, but I shushed him. Max stood. He towered over the podium. He looked out at the audience and caught my eye. I smiled and lit up. No matter what Max did or where he went, no matter how many years passed, there would always be a link between us. Maybe it wasn’t the same for him, but for me, there would always be a spark that never went out.
“Before I begin,” Max said, “I’d like to thank someone in the audience without whom I don’t think I’d be the writer I am today.” He paused. My stomach did a little flip. I hated to be acknowledged in public. “Duke Franklin,” he said.
Everyone turned and there was Duke standing at the back. Duke was a rock star of the written word. He was far more famous than Max and the room went into an immediate buzz. Cameras flashed.
“No cameras. No cameras.” Little Janice jumped up and waved her arms. A few more flashes went off, then everyone sat down and waited in hushed anticipation.
“Some people have criticized me for taking on this subject,” Max said. “There were days when I criticized myself.” He looked down, then up again. “It’s been said that I’ve exploited something I don’t really understand. And that might be true. It’s been said that I lost my sense of humor when I wrote this book—and that might be true—though I hope not. We all want to express ourselves, don’t we? Not just writers. We all want to say something when we are in pain or when we feel joy. I don’t believe any subject is taboo. Not really. Anyway, this is just a family story when you come down to it. I didn’t want to write in a vacuum. I wanted this book to live in the world of today. We live in a certain time in history and I wanted to reflect that. I only hope I’ve done it well.”
The room broke into applause, and when it became quiet again Max began to read. Because I’d never read the book, I could listen with fresh ears. I’d been predisposed to dislike it, like most of the critics. The scene Max read was a little domestic scene, but within the frame Max had built for it, it glowed with significance.
I knew I was no longer objective. I was, as I had always been, besotted.
When Max finished reading the crowed cheered and clapped. When they quieted down Max spoke.
“Before I take questions, there’s another person in the audience I should thank. She usually prefers to remain in the background and I wanted to honor that. Still, I’d like to thank Jane Fortune of the Euphemia Review, who is here tonight. She gave me my start, and I am forever grateful. Jane, do you want to stand up?”
I did not, but I stood, smiled, and sat down again. My hair follicles itched. I wasn’t accustomed to public acknowledgment, but I had to admit I was glad he hadn’t forgotten me.
Teddy leaned over and whispered, “Well, well, Jane, what do you know?”
“At least that Euphemia Review was finally good for something,” Miranda said in a loud voice.
A lady behind Miranda asked her to be quiet.
“Oh, mind your own business,” Miranda said without turning around.
“I’d like to hear what he’s saying,” the lady said.
“Then get a hearing aid,” Miranda shot back.
Teddy put his hand on Miranda’s arm.
“Now, dear, that isn’t very gracious of you.”
Teddy turned to apologize and there was Veronica Buffington with a sour look on her face.
“Veronica, what a surprise. We didn’t even know you were coming. You must have slipped in behind us. And where’s Glenda tonight?”
“She’s off-island.”
“Maybe you’d like to have a drink later?”
“Fine.” She cut him off. “Please, I want to listen.”
I turned to see Dolores, who was sitting on the aisle seat, put her hand on Teddy’s leg and give it a squeeze. Everyone was laying claim to territory tonight.
Miranda had once told me that you can usually make a person catch your eye if you stare at them long enough and with enough force. She was staring at Max with an intensity that far outweighed her minimal devotion to literature.