A Secret Identity (18 page)

“I do. I can’t imagine a worse fate than being somewhere without a book.”

Dr. Reasoner turned to Todd. “You say she’s a…” pause “client?”

Todd nodded. “We drove down on business to visit Elizabeth Yost.”

I waited for the normal questions and comments, things such as
Do you know her, Dad?
And,
No, Toddy, I don’t
, or
Yes, I do
. Or,
Was it a good visit?
But there was nothing. Todd sat in a kitchen chair that he dragged to the porch. His arms were folded, his face set. I sat in Dr. Reasoner’s reading chair at his silent insistence as he waved a hand in its direction and bowed me toward it. He took the only other chair on the porch, a webbed folding aluminum one. He proceeded to fold his arms exactly like Todd. The lines of his face weren’t as set, though, because he was obviously curious about me.

I immediately became engrossed in reading the title beside me.

“
Beowulf?”
I read in surprise. I picked up the book. “In the original?”

“I don’t want to lose my Old English skills.” He said it like keeping such skills alive was as common and reasonable as crossing a street at the light.

“How about you?” I said to Todd, waving the book at him. “You ever read this?”

He shook his head. “Milton was about as dedicated as I ever got.”

Again the men fell silent while I struggled to make sense of the text in my hands. I looked up, smiling. “How about if I read one of those Harry Kraus medical thrillers instead?” I pointed to a couple of titles on his book-filled table. I indicated a couple of other paperbacks. “I’ve already read all those Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker ones.”

“What did you think of Dekker?” Dr. Reasoner asked.

“Well…” And then we had a wonderful discussion of writing styles and plot versus character-driven fiction and which was best and why. Every so often Dr. Reasoner or I looked at Todd to give him a chance to enter the conversation, but he merely sat there, looking somewhat stunned. Finally, when I glanced at him for the hundredth time, he spoke.

“Cara’s a writer,” he said with all the enthusiasm of a fisherman confessing that the fish had all gotten away. “Published too.”

After a minute of astonished silence that Todd had actually spoken, Dr. Reasoner turned back to me. “Tell me how you got started. I love how-I-got-started stories.” His brown eyes, so much like his son’s, sparkled with anticipation.

I looked at Todd and found him staring at his father, obviously astounded. He felt my eyes on him and turned toward me. I winked and he gave a little snort of surprise and a half smile. This was certainly not turning out to be his usual visit with his dad, I could tell.

“I’d just graduated from college with honors in business administration,” I said in answer to Dr. Reasoner’s request. “In fact, it was actually graduation day itself. Pop and Mom and my brother, Ward, were all there. Everyone was talking about the future, and several of my friends were telling Mom and Pop their job news. They were going to be teachers and sales reps and engineers. Some were off to graduate school. When there was a brief lull in the activity, Pop looked at me. ‘Sounds great, doesn’t it, Cara?’ He turned back to my friends. ‘But Cara’s going into the family business, and I’m proud as a peacock.’”

I looked from Dr. Reasoner to Todd. “I still remember the terror I felt at that point. Pop was such an achiever, such a moneymaker, so successful. What would he say when I made my confession? ‘Pop,’ I said, my mouth so dry I could hardly form the words. ‘I don’t want to work in the family business. I want to be a novelist. I want to write romances.’”

I looked quickly at Dr. Reasoner when I said the word
romances
, just like I’d looked at Pop, though for different reasons. I’d been afraid of Pop’s reaction because he was Pop and I’d always pleased him to this point, always done exactly what he wanted, including majoring in business. I was not exactly afraid of the reaction of a scholar like Dr. Reasoner to my chosen field, but I was slightly intimidated. A man who read
Beowulf
in the original wasn’t likely to be at all impressed by
romances
. And I had to admit that I wanted Todd’s father to like me. I continued my story.

“‘Is there any money in it?’ Pop asked. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Probably not, especially not at first.’ ‘How about job security?’ he said. I shook my head. ‘Benefits?’ I shook my head again. ‘Just the benefit of doing what I love—if that counts. In fact, I already have one novel almost finished. I started it last summer, and I’ve been working on it ever since.’

“Pop studied me for several minutes while Mom, Ward, and the couple of friends with the courage to stand by me fidgeted in the background. I felt like I was dying a slow death, waiting for his pronouncement. I knew I’d end up writing regardless of what he said, but his response would determine whether writing would be my profession or my hobby, at least for the time being.

“‘I think God’s called me to this, Pop,’ I said, desperate to make him understand. ‘I have all these stories in my head. I see these scenes and I hear these conversations, and these people are so real!’”

Dr. Reasoner nodded his understanding at my last comment, a fact that Todd noticed and frowned slightly over.

“‘Well, Cara,’ Pop finally said, ‘I think you should do what you want to do, what you feel called to do. You can live at home at no expense for the time being, and I’ll bear the expense of keeping you on our insurance for now, but you must earn all your personal money and begin to pay your own insurance as soon as it’s feasible. So I suggest you keep your usual summer job as cashier at the Silver Spring Bentley’s.’

“So I sent out that first novel and wrote days while I worked late afternoons and evenings at Bentley’s. That novel never sold, but my next one did to a flat-fee publisher. By my fourth sale, I was with a bigger publisher on a royalty basis, and soon after that I got an agent. My writing career has been getting better and better.”

“I’m so glad he recognized your call,” Dr. Reasoner said. “I’m sure he’s very proud of you.” He glanced at Todd, who was diligently studying his feet. “I’ve always been so proud of Toddy.”

Todd jerked at that, head whipping up to his father, mouth all but hanging open in shock. But Dr. Reasoner had turned back to me and didn’t see the struggle between disbelief and joy on his son’s face. I did though, and I wanted to cry. How tragic that Dr. Reasoner saw fit to tell me this highly important fact instead of telling the man who desperately wanted to hear it.

“I’d like to read something you wrote,” Dr. Reasoner said gallantly.

I pulled my eyes from Todd and smiled at the old gentleman’s kindness. “I’ll give a book to Todd to give to you.”

“Wait!” Todd said, suddenly coming to life. “I’ve got one in the car.” And he almost dashed from the room. In no time he was back with the copies of
As the Deer
and
So My Soul
that I’d given him.

I sighed a great mental sigh. It was painfully obvious that he had not even cracked the covers. Not that he’d had time to read them yet, but he could have at least taken them into his house instead of forgetting them in the car. He could have at least looked inside the covers, read the first page, even read the last page.

Todd glanced at me as he handed the books to his father, who immediately began reading the cover blurbs. He turned to page one. The porch fell silent. I tried not to squirm. What would a scholar like him think? Did I want to know?

After about fifteen seconds the silence got to Todd. He blurted, “We’ve got to go. It’s a long trip back.”

Dr. Reasoner walked to the door with us, reading as he walked. “The cover copy makes these sound wonderful. And I like the hook of the opening. It’s obvious you’re not working a cash register anywhere these days.”

“Nope, not at all.” I shook his proffered hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” I said sincerely.

I had noticed that he and Todd hadn’t touched when we arrived. Not that I expected to see a hug or anything overtly demonstrative, but they hadn’t even shaken hands. Nor did they hug or shake hands goodbye. Todd sort of nodded in his father’s general direction; Dr. Reasoner sort of smiled vaguely. And then we were gone.

The car had barely begun to move when Todd looked at me with something close to excitement in his face.

“Did you see that?” he exclaimed. “Did you see that?”

“Uh, what?” I asked, even though I knew what he was talking about.

“That visit! That was the best visit I’ve had with my father in years.”

“I was afraid of that,” I began, but he wasn’t finished.

“And I have you to thank.” He reached over and squeezed my hand as it lay in my lap. “Now tell me how you did it.”

“How I did it?” I couldn’t believe he was serious.

“Yeah. How did you get him to talk to you?”

“All I did was talk about something he likes,” I said.

“Books?”

“Books.” I had a moment of panic. “You do read, don’t you? I mean, if you don’t, what do you do in the evenings in your house all alone?”

He turned off Route 10 and onto 340.

“Well,” he said, “I work on the lawn. I watch the Phillies. I do e-mail and Facebook. I explore the Internet.” He shrugged. “Stuff.”

“But not reading.”

He shook his head. “I read the Bible every day and the newspaper. And of course I read lots of legal documents, but fun reading? Not a lot. I think the detail of the reading I have to do professionally has slowed my reading speed so much that reading’s not a pleasure.”

I stared at my hands, deeply disappointed. Can a writer have a meaningful relationship—now there was a trite phrase if ever I thought one—with a nonreader?

“I saw your face when I gave your books to Dad,” he said. “Did you mind that I did that?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “It was nice of you.”

“Then it was the fact that I hadn’t read them that upset you.”

He was too perceptive. I took a deep breath. I knew I had to be completely honest.

“I admit that it hurt me that you hadn’t even taken them in from the car, let alone begun to read them.” I was surprised at the tears that sprang to my eyes as I spoke. This man had too much effect on my heart.

He nodded. “I thought that was probably it.”

We were silent for a few minutes, the only sound the soft wheeze of the car’s air conditioner.

“Did Pop and Ward read your books?” Todd suddenly asked.

“No. And that hurt me too, but I learned to live with it. At least Mom and Marnie read them.”

He turned to me with a challenging expression. “How’d you like to read some of my legal opinions? I’ve got a great one I just finished on an obscure point of business law in MacKenzie vs. MacKenzie, Inc.”

“Mmm,” I said thoughtfully. I’d never considered that I was a prejudiced reader too. “Point taken.”

He stretched out a hand palm up. “I won’t make any promises about reading, Cara. I’m too afraid I’ll break them. But I’ll always defend your right to write and be proud of you for being published. Can you live with that?”

I looked at him and then at his hand. I nodded. “I can.” At least for now. And I slipped my hand in his.

Chapter 9

I
lay in bed reading, propped against my pillows, Rainbow asleep beside me. The house was quiet, the darkness outside my screened windows deep and black with no street lights sending funnels of illumination. The night was weighted with heat and humidity, and I yearned for previously taken-for-granted air conditioning.

My new fan oscillated warm air over me, head to toe, toe to head, trying to convince me it was making me cool, but we Bentleys are not that stupid. Rainbow’s hair puffed like a filament cheering wave as it moved past her, and every so often she stretched with pleasure.

I was trying to turn my thoughts off enough to fall asleep, but my mind refused to stop skittering, much like leaves helpless before an autumn wind. First Todd, then the adoption search, then the meeting with Alma raced across my mental movie screen. I felt as if I were at a cerebral speed photography screening, image flashing to image.

After reading for a half hour, I finally felt my eyes growing heavy. I closed my book and reached to turn off my lamp. I had maybe five minutes to fall asleep before my mind started up again.

A car roared down the road, its loud sound tearing the stillness. It slowed for an instant, then sped on. Rainbow raised her head, blinking sleepily at the rude interruption of her peace. My eyes snapped open, and hopes of slumber were gone. I groaned in frustration. How long would it be before my busy mind was once again lulled toward dreamland?

The bang was so loud, so unexpected, that I froze in a moment of stunned incredulity. Rainbow gave a bleat of terror and leaped from the bed. She threw herself beneath it to cower in safety, poor baby.

The ice of shock quickly melted, leaving my limbs with a tingling sensation. My heart began to pound, and my breathing became jerky. What had just happened? All I knew was that the sound had been very near…scarily near.

I raced to the window. Had the car that just passed crashed? But it wasn’t the right kind of noise for a crash. It was one quick loud boom, like fireworks, only there were no lovely bursts of color lighting the sky.

The black night hid whatever had happened.

I grabbed a pair of slacks and a shirt and pulled them on. I could hear John and Elam calling to each other, and I saw Jake’s lights flick on and stream out from his apartment, the soft glow illuminating the yard and the road. I looked out the window again, but I still could see nothing amiss, no clue to what had caused the horrendous noise. At least I didn’t see a car wrapped around a tree. The only movement was Hawk, let out of Jake’s apartment and jumping the rail of the wheelchair ramp, racing for the road.

Feet thundered down the stairs, and the front door slammed open and closed. John and Elam raced toward the barn to make sure the livestock were all right. Jake’s door slammed seconds later.