truth of his words, something about the way he said it offended her. ‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s suffocating.’
‘This is my last one anyway. I have to go out and get more,’ he said. But he continued to smoke. ‘Now about these changes.’
‘Yes,’ said Eden evenly.
‘Most of them don’t appeal to me. But I agree with you that we have to acknowledge what happened. I was thinking of this.’ He pulled out a clipping from the local paper and showed it to her. The headline read ‘Murder/Suicide of a Mother and Her Disabled Son’. The article detailed the deaths of Tara and Jeremy.
Eden blanched at the sight of it.
‘I thought we could just run this,’ he said. ‘You know, in the front. As it is. Without any commentary. Just let them know, going in, what they are really reading about. That this is how the story ended. I mean, why not just put it out there?’
Eden tried to collect her thoughts. ‘It seems a little … sensational, for such a serious book.’
‘Sensational,’ he said scornfully. ‘Please. You represent a publisher. Sensational is what sells books. It’s what’s going to sell this book. No one but a few literature students would be interested in my pitiful life story if this,’ he said, shaking the clipping, ‘hadn’t happened. At least be honest and admit that.’
Eden forced herself to remain calm. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. This … incident—’
‘Crime,’ he interjected angrily.
‘This will certainly be a part of the promotion for the book. I’m not denying that. We both know it.’ Eden hesitated, choosing her words. ‘But don’t you want to write about this? Don’t you think the reader deserves, either as introduction or epilogue, to hear from you about this tragic event? Your thoughts, your feelings?’
‘Are you kidding?’ he cried. ‘It’s only been what … six weeks since I lost my wife and my son? It will take me years before I’m ready to write about this. Don’t you know anything about this process?’
‘I believe I do,’ said Eden evenly.
‘Well, you couldn’t if you think that I could write about this so soon after.’
‘No one forced you to send in the manuscript before they were even cold,’ she said.
Flynn looked at her with narrowed eyes. He took a last drag on his cigarette and smashed the butt into the ashtray. Then he took a deep breath. ‘That’s fairly hostile,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ she said, though what she was thinking was quite different. How could you have married this guy? she asked her mother in her mind. She needed to calm down. Writers are like children, she reminded herself. Wayward and difficult. Everyone in the business knows that. She forced herself to be conciliatory. ‘Look, let’s just take it easy. I can run your idea about the clipping before the editorial director and get his reaction. Then get back to you.’
‘This is not negotiable. I can’t write on command,’ he said gruffly.
‘Understood. As for the rest of these changes—’
‘Any that are grammatical are okay,’ he said, trying belatedly to show how cooperative he could be. ‘I can even shift a few of these paragraphs that you mention.’
There was the sound of footsteps outside in the hallway and then Aaliya appeared at the door. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘But do you have any more cartons? I have already filled the ones you gave me.’
‘Down the basement,’ he said.
Aaliya nodded and withdrew from the room. Eden watched her go, frowning.
‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Well, she’s a student intern. Not a servant,’ she said.
‘She wants to help,’ he said defensively. ‘She offered.’
Eden drew in her breath, unconvinced. ‘We can come back to this idea about the article after I talk to Rob.’
Flynn stood up. ‘Okay. Let’s leave it for now.’
Obviously, the meeting was at an end. Eden stood up.
Flynn turned around and rummaged through some boxes that were piled on a chair. ‘By the way,
‘This is my last one anyway. I have to go out and get more,’ he said. But he continued to smoke. ‘Now about these changes.’
‘Yes,’ said Eden evenly.
‘Most of them don’t appeal to me. But I agree with you that we have to acknowledge what happened. I was thinking of this.’ He pulled out a clipping from the local paper and showed it to her. The headline read ‘Murder/Suicide of a Mother and Her Disabled Son’. The article detailed the deaths of Tara and Jeremy.
Eden blanched at the sight of it.
‘I thought we could just run this,’ he said. ‘You know, in the front. As it is. Without any commentary. Just let them know, going in, what they are really reading about. That this is how the story ended. I mean, why not just put it out there?’
Eden tried to collect her thoughts. ‘It seems a little … sensational, for such a serious book.’
‘Sensational,’ he said scornfully. ‘Please. You represent a publisher. Sensational is what sells books. It’s what’s going to sell this book. No one but a few literature students would be interested in my pitiful life story if this,’ he said, shaking the clipping, ‘hadn’t happened. At least be honest and admit that.’
Eden forced herself to remain calm. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. This … incident—’
‘Crime,’ he interjected angrily.
‘This will certainly be a part of the promotion for the book. I’m not denying that. We both know it.’ Eden hesitated, choosing her words. ‘But don’t you want to write about this? Don’t you think the reader deserves, either as introduction or epilogue, to hear from you about this tragic event? Your thoughts, your feelings?’
‘Are you kidding?’ he cried. ‘It’s only been what … six weeks since I lost my wife and my son? It will take me years before I’m ready to write about this. Don’t you know anything about this process?’
‘I believe I do,’ said Eden evenly.
‘Well, you couldn’t if you think that I could write about this so soon after.’
‘No one forced you to send in the manuscript before they were even cold,’ she said.
Flynn looked at her with narrowed eyes. He took a last drag on his cigarette and smashed the butt into the ashtray. Then he took a deep breath. ‘That’s fairly hostile,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ she said, though what she was thinking was quite different. How could you have married this guy? she asked her mother in her mind. She needed to calm down. Writers are like children, she reminded herself. Wayward and difficult. Everyone in the business knows that. She forced herself to be conciliatory. ‘Look, let’s just take it easy. I can run your idea about the clipping before the editorial director and get his reaction. Then get back to you.’
‘This is not negotiable. I can’t write on command,’ he said gruffly.
‘Understood. As for the rest of these changes—’
‘Any that are grammatical are okay,’ he said, trying belatedly to show how cooperative he could be. ‘I can even shift a few of these paragraphs that you mention.’
There was the sound of footsteps outside in the hallway and then Aaliya appeared at the door. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘But do you have any more cartons? I have already filled the ones you gave me.’
‘Down the basement,’ he said.
Aaliya nodded and withdrew from the room. Eden watched her go, frowning.
‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Well, she’s a student intern. Not a servant,’ she said.
‘She wants to help,’ he said defensively. ‘She offered.’
Eden drew in her breath, unconvinced. ‘We can come back to this idea about the article after I talk to Rob.’
Flynn stood up. ‘Okay. Let’s leave it for now.’
Obviously, the meeting was at an end. Eden stood up.
Flynn turned around and rummaged through some boxes that were piled on a chair. ‘By the way,
Similar Books
