Page 6

His palms went up again. “There’s no need for talk like that.”

The waiter arrived with her cocktail, took the empty glass away. Rather than pick it up and have a sip, she simply stared at it.

“I see him every night,” she whispered.

Finnegan waited.

“I’m afraid to go to sleep because he always visits me.”

“John,” Finnegan said.

Annie bit her lower lip. “Him, too. But I welcome those visits.”

Stupid me, Finnegan thought. Of course she was talking about Evan.

“Every time, I try to talk him back inside. He’s on the ledge and I’m doing everything I can to persuade him that his goddamn cardboard wings won’t hold him aloft. He won’t listen. He looks so happy.”

Annie’s eyes misted. She looked away again, trying to hold it together. She picked up her drink and took a sip, felt its warmth work its way through her body.

“I know you’ve heard this a hundred times, but it wasn’t your fault,” he said. “No more than if some kid thought he was Superman. Did you know there were actually incidents related to Peter Pan? When it was first published, kids got hurt trying to fly, jumping off their beds and worse. Originally, J. M. Barrie had Peter and the Lost Boys flying without any kind of help, but when he heard about kids injuring themselves, he amended the story, that you could only fly if you had pixie dust blown on you. Trying to make the point that the flying was magical, that regular kids couldn’t do it.”

She still couldn’t look at him as he continued.

“Look, we’ve reached this point where you can’t do anything without legal stepping in and saying, well, that warrants some sort of caution. You want to reprintGoldilocks and the Three Bears? Maybe we need a disclaimer, that in the real world bears should not beapproached because they can be very dangerous. If creative people hold back because there’s one chance in a million someone will interpret their work in a totally irrational way, what will we end up with?”

Annie slowly fixed her eyes on her editor. “He wasn’t some nut with a gun who went on a rampage because of social media. He was six, Finnegan. He was six years old.”

“And where were his parents? Why hadn’t they explained that not everything in a book is real? That just because a penguin in a book can learn to fly, it doesn’t mean a kid can jump out an apartment building? Why’d they leave that balcony door unlocked? Who was supervising? Annie, you can’t beat yourself up forever.”

“You sound like John,” Annie said faintly. “He said all the same things. I feel like... I can’t shake the idea that what happened to John was some kind of karma. The universe trying to even the score.”

“Annie.”

“I killed that boy, and then someone killed John.” She forced a sardonic smile. “Maybe I should let it go. My punishment has been meted out. The gods have spoken.”

Finnegan couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He scanned the room again for the waiter, wondering whether he should just ask for the check, if they should get out of here.

“Oh shit,” Annie said.

“What?”

“One of them’s coming over here.”

A slender woman, late thirties, early forties, looking like she’d walked off the page of an Ann Taylor catalogue, approached, looking apologetic.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling awkwardly. “I don’t do usually do this. I really don’t. I was here one day and Al Pacino was sitting atthat table and I was dying to say hello but I didn’t, but you’re Annie Blunt and I just had to tell you how much our family has enjoyed your books.”

Annie forced a smile onto her lips. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“We got your books when our daughter was little and read them to her every night and even though she’s older now we always get the new one and she has them all on the shelf in her room. I so wish I had one of them with me that you could sign for her. Her name is Emily.”

Annie continued to smile but said nothing, thinking that maybe if she didn’t speak, the woman would go away.

“We think Pierce would make a great animated series. Do you think they’ll ever do something like that?”

Finnegan stepped in. “There have been offers, of course, but, and I think I can speak for Ms. Blunt here, we think Pierce works best on the page and in the reader’s imagination. But rest assured, you’re not the only one who’s mentioned it.”

“Well, anyway, that’s all I wanted to say,” the woman said. “Enjoy your lunch!”