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Julia shoved her phone back in her pocket and took her mulled wine back from Anna. Her cheeks were pale.
“That didn’t sound good,” Greta said, returning to the fold from another craft stall, where she’d purchased a handmade scarf.
“I have this new client,” Julia explained. “Smith Watson.”
“Great name,” Aunt Ella said.
“It’s a sellable name,” Greta agreed.
“I signed him a few months ago,” Julia went on. “He shows tremendous promise. But he’s been through a lot in life. I don’t know if he can pull everything together for me. For himself. For his career.” She scrunched up her face.
“He’s writing a novel?” Greta asked.
“A memoir,” Julia said. “He draws from his incredibly difficult past in a way I find incendiary.”
“What happened to him?” Aunt Alana asked. A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows.
Julia waved her hand. “I can’t even get into it. Suffice it to say, it’s a miracle he’s still alive today.”
Greta looked contemplative. She glanced at Anna, who furrowed her brow, trying to read her grandmother’s expression. It always seemed like Greta was up to something. Like she was ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“Why don’t you invite him to The Copperfield House?” Greta suggested.
Julia raised both eyebrows.
“We only have two people staying in the residency right now,” Greta pointed out, “so there’s plenty of space for him to stay. And maybe here, you can help keep him focused on his memoir. You can guide him gently toward his goals.” Greta beamed.
“Mom! That’s a brilliant idea,” Julia said.
“If he’s as talented as you say he is, he belongs at The Copperfield House,” Greta said, touching Anna’s shoulder.
“What about his family?” Aunt Alana asked. “Are they around?”
“There’s not much family to speak of,” Julia offered. “Just his mother. And she’s the poisonous center of the memoir.”
“I take it they don’t talk,” Aunt Ella said.
“Not at all,” Julia said. “Smith says he won’t go within an hour of her place.”
Something cold and hard dropped into Anna’s stomach. Protectively, she touched her pregnant belly and closed her eyes. She hated thinking about a future in which her son hated her, in which he told people he wouldn’t go within an hour of her place. What if she failed as a mother? What if she had no idea what she was doing? What if she unknowingly made him run away?
Chapter Two
Back in Julia’s office at The Copperfield House, she pulled up the chapters Smith Watson had sent her thus far and rubbed her palms together. Already, she could envision the book's cover, with its working title, Mediocre. She was thinking bright, bold colors. She was thinking New York Times Best Seller list.
But in order to sell, Julia needed Smith to write at least sixty thousand words—and he’d only finished fifteen. They had a soft deadline in April, just a few days before her wedding, and a harder deadline by May, at which time the editor needed to take over. The book was planned to go to print by August, with initial sales in October, just in time for the holiday season. Mediocre was set to bring in the biggest sales of Julia’s career. She couldn’t wait.
The title Mediocre had been taken from Smith’s mother’s own lips. Apparently, that was the refrain his mother had given him, regardless of what he’d done or how hard he’d worked. He was never good enough. He never pleased her. And that manifested in about a thousand horrific ways throughout Smith’s young life.
Smith was twenty-six and living in Brooklyn with three roommates and a spunky dog named Luka. Julia had seen Luka on video chat several times, watching Luka shower Smith with kisses. Smith had said, “He’s the only thing in the world who loves me.” Julia’s heart had felt bruised.
Now, Julia pulled up Smith’s phone number and called him back. She regretted that she’d spoken to him so sternly before. She needed to nurture him in ways his mother hadn’t.
Smith answered on the third ring. “Hello?” In the background, Julia heard numerous barks, presumably all from Luka. “Sorry, I’m at the dog park.”
“Smith, hey!” Julia hated how optimistic she sounded. “Listen. I’m sorry about earlier.”
Smith’s tone melted. “It’s all right. I get it. You gave me an enormous opportunity, and I’m messing it up.”
