Page 6 of Modern Persuasion

Fredrick's editor, Christi, sat at the table with me, as did Louisa, who had been assigned to help Christi that morning. There was too much tension at the table, but it was lost on Louisa.

"How do you know Tom Scott?" Louisa asked before the breakfast started.

"My father used to be his publisher, and they're still friends," I said, trying to avoid looking at the table on stage where Fredrick sat talking to Tom.

"Why aren't you his editor?" Louisa asked, picking at a muffin on her plate.

I wasn't really in the mood to answer these questions. I wanted to be alone, to think. How had I missed that Fredrick was going to be moderating this panel? How did I even forget that he would be here? Had someone deliberately kept this from me? What was he talking to Tom about? I was sure they were talking about me.

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. None of this was Louisa's fault, and I knew she didn't deserve to bear the brunt of my anxiety. "Tom found a new publisher before I started working," I explained.

"I think you should be his publisher," Louisa said with a sharp nod.

I smiled at her. Only in Louisa's world would it be so black and white. She knew nothing about my history with Fredrick - nobody here did. I turned to face Christi, who was glaring at me at that moment. Maybe I was wrong about nobody at the event knowing our history.

I leaned closer to Louisa, who sat between Christi and me. "I didn't realize that Fredrick's book was being promoted this week," I said to Christi.

My colleague's eyes narrowed. "We decided, since the book just came out, that we should bring him since he is kicking off his book tour here in NYC in a few days. He's doing a book signing at the booth later. You should come by," Christi said.

"OMG, Emma, you should come by. I bet it will be a zoo!" Louisa said, remaining blissfully oblivious.

I didn't say anything but pulled Fredrick's book from the tote bag and looked it over. I realized I had read this book before. In fact, it would be fair to say that I had been its first editor. Fredrick had written it the summer we met.

"This is pretty much a collection of nightmares I had as a child," Fredrick had said when he handed me the printed story ten years ago.

We lived in the same apartment for a week, and it had been weird and tense. That night, we talked and realized we were both English majors with different concentrations. I was focused on literature and criticism, but he was focused on writing. The stories had come out when he found out I was an editor for the department literary journal.

Fredrick had run into his room and come out with a stack of papers held together with a massive black binder clip. He took a deep breath, and I could hear the waiver as he exhaled before handing it to me.

"Do you want to submit them to the journal next year?" I asked as I flipped through the first few pages.

His face fell, and I knew he wasn't ready to let strangers read these. How difficult it must have been to let me read it when we barely knew each other.

"Probably not," he said before dropping on the sofa again, "but it would be great to get some feedback on them."

I stayed up all that night reading the stories. They were full of monsters, witches, and creatures. He managed to scare me, which was rare. I found areas I thought he could expand and finesse the story, thinking about what I liked from horror books when I was a kid. Our entire relationship started over those stories. It helped us grow comfortable with each other, but that was before a screenwriting class shifted his focus. He put the stories away, which was the first time I had seen them since.

Now I was listening to Fredrick talk to a room of five hundred book lovers about why he wrote his book.

"I wrote this book before I started screenwriting," he said from the podium next to the table. "With a double major in English and psychology, I was trying to see if I could bring the two worlds together. This book was my first attempt, but once I learned to write for television and movies, I found a better way to achieve what I wanted. This story was never too far from my thoughts. The first person to read it, an ex-girlfriend, provided the encouragement I needed when I needed it the most. Even though the book sat untouched for almost ten years, the support she gave me has fueled my entire career. Even now, I don't think I would be so successful if it hadn't been for her."

I was glad Tom was the first speaker after Fredrick, but he didn't make me feel much better. It was touching to hear that he didn't simply remember me as the woman who broke his heart. I had to fight back my tears, and if I hadn't been determined to hear Tom speak, I probably would have left.

Tom didn't get up to the podium. Instead, he pulled a table-top microphone closer to him, pulled his notes out of his shirt pocket, and adjusted his glasses before clearing his throat.

"This book was inspired by one of the most fascinating women I have ever met in my life," he said before looking up and meeting my eyes before giving me a small smile. "It's amazing how people change in the wake of grief. When I wrote my first novel thirty-five years ago, my editor was a young woman right out of college. She was one of the most important women in my life. Until the day she died, she was my biggest cheerleader, my biggest critic, and, after her death, one of my greatest sources of inspiration. I saw how her death changed the people she loved the most. I wondered for years what she would think of the way these people had changed. If the dead really are aware and watching over us, what would they do if they didn't like the way people changed?"

During that opening, we kept our eyes locked on each other. Tom talked more about death and grief, but I understood why he had made a point of inviting me. My mother's death had changed all four of the people she left behind. My father still lived deep within his grief. I had been dealing with it and trying to bring him out of it since I was fourteen. It was overwhelming to have both Fredrick and Tom talk about me. Hearing Tom speak about my mother right after Fredrick spoke about how important I was to his book made me realize how much I wished she had been able to help me when I graduated. While Tom spoke, I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. Once the tears started, it was impossible to keep them at bay. I quickly grabbed my bag of books, waved to the people at my table, and made my way out of the room when Tom was finished. I found a quiet bathroom (a rarity at an event like PubCon, but I knew where the best bathrooms were) and cried in a stall.

Chapter Five

I tried to hide for most of the day. I had a few appointments and took some time at lunch to walk around with Mary and grab free books. I had recognized the weird things that could happen this week, but I had no idea they would be happening to me. I wanted some time to clear my head and not think about Fredrick.

"I can't believe you didn't get me invited to the breakfast!" Mary whined as we tried to navigate the aisles of booths with heavy tote bags filled with books. "The boys would love a copy of Fredrick's book. Plus, Tom knows me too! Can I take your copy of the two books?"

I looked at my sister as if she was insane. Her sons were toddlers and had no use for a copy of Fredrick's book. "No, I would like to read them both. I think Tom's book is about Mom," I said as someone bumped into me.

"What?" Mary said with a humph. "Then why wouldn't he invite me?"