Rough Draft by James W. Hall Page B

down with Gisela and examine the book with more care, try to deciper that crazy code. Something to joke about, another anecdote for the endless speaking engagements. Library groups, universitywomen’s clubs, the rubber-chicken dinner circuit. Maybe she’d take the book along, read some of the marginal scribblings to the audience, get an easy laugh or two. Say something pithy about the danger of taking her books too seriously.
    She turned the flyleaf over and looked at the dedication page.
    This time the air hardened in her lungs. Her heart began a long tumble.
    To my parents, who taught me everything important I know.
And to Captain Dan Romano, who taught me the rest.
    Beneath the dedication, in the same tiny script, was a signature that shook her heart.
    J.J. Fielding
    â€œSomething wrong, Hannah?”
    She forced down a breath and looked up at Janet English. Randall was standing at her side. They weren’t touching. Randall was stiff, distant. Something had happened in his session.
    â€œThis book,” she said, holding it up. “Is it yours, Janet?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Dr. English came over and took it from her hands.
    â€œThis is your first novel.”
    â€œThat’s right. I found it here, on the coffee table.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t put it there, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    â€œThen who did?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’m sure it wasn’t there this morning when I came in. I remember straightening up, putting all the magazines in nice neat stacks.”
    â€œMaybe one of your other clients.”
    â€œMonday I do my writing. Reports, all the crap I haven’t gotten to. Randall’s the only client I see on Mondays.”
    â€œNo one else was in today?”
    â€œWhat is it, Hannah? What’s the problem?”
    Randall was staring at her too. His face tightening in worry.
    She drew a slow breath, tried to soften the strain in her face.
    â€œNothing,” she said. “It’s nothing at all.”
    â€œYou can have the book if you want. It doesn’t belong to anyone I know.”
    She handed the book back to Hannah.
    â€œCould you come in for a couple of minutes, Hannah? A quick chat.”
    Hannah followed her into the back office. Her pulse surging. A stab of panic flashed through her gut. She looked back at Randall. He was sitting on the couch, paging through the tattoo magazine. Studying the lavish blue designs and the woeful bodies they were etched on.
    She shut the door. Janet was sitting behind her desk, tapping a pen against her ink blotter.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Hannah.
    â€œRandall’s quite upset.”
    â€œWell, of course, he is. That’s why we’re here.”
    â€œNo, this is something new. This is something that’s just emerged.”
    â€œWhat? What is it?”
    â€œSit down, Hannah. Relax.”
    She had the copy of
First Light
in her hand. It was as heavy as iron. Her ears buzzed with static.
    â€œI’ll stand. I can’t stay long.”
    Janet English said Fine, stand, sit, it didn’t matter.
    Hannah took another sip of air. Feeling her heart rolling around, a seasick wobble in her legs.
    â€œWhat is it? Tell me about Randall.”
    â€œHe’s extremely agitated. As upset as I’ve ever seen him. But he can’t articulate it. He talks around it, so I know its shape. I know it’s large and I know it’s scaring him. But he can’t open himself to it.”
    â€œSoccer? His wardrobe? I know it can’t be that.”
    â€œThose are manifestations. He wants new clothes becausehe wants a new identity. Soccer takes him outside in the open, makes him vulnerable, exposes him. He wants to hide, wants to disappear from view. He wants to stay inside where it’s safe.”
    â€œSafe from what?”
    â€œThink about it, Hannah. What would he fear the most? What began everything?”
    â€œFinding his