Page 13

Nine

Stella

The sun started to break through the clouds just as I pulled up in front of Huck’s rental cabin.

I found him inside, tucked in a corner, tapping away on a laptop keyboard.

I didn’t want to disturb his writing, so I stood for a moment observing him before shutting the door behind me as quietly as possible.

The electronic lock beeped, and he looked up.

“You’re back. How was it?” Huck’s voice was bright and he took off his glasses and shut his computer, giving me his full attention. He didn’t seem to mind the interruption.

I settled onto the couch, tucking one leg under the other. “Transcendent. I’ve honestly never seen water that clear. We took a bunch of video and pictures— Shit, Teddy has the camera with him.”

“Wait, he’s not here?”

“He had what seemed like a date with the guide.”

Huck shook his head, chuckling. “That guy. It’s so funny to me that we haven’t seen each other in years, but he hasn’t changed a bit. Still, she must’ve been impressive if he chose to go off with her and send you back on your own.”

“She was exquisite,” I admitted. “And there was something about her knowing the executive chef at this restaurant in the city that Ted had been dying to go to. You know how he is—determined to eat, drink, and sleep his way through every new place he visits.” My stomach grumbled with envy at the mention of eating.

“Are you hungry?” Huck asked. He must’ve heard my stomach. I flushed. “Because I’m ravenous and all I have left around here is a licorice-flavored chocolate bar and strange bottle of some local liquor.”

“I’m famished,” I confessed.

“That settles it. We’re going out. I’m sure there’s someplace nearby that we can go for food,” he said. He eyed his phone for a moment. “It looks like there’s a pizza place a few miles south. They should be open. Pizza okay with you?”

“Pizza’s perfect. I hate to admit this as I consider myself an adventurer, but I did not care for the Icelandic hot dog I had the day before yesterday.”

“Was it the onions two ways, or the sauce?” he asked.

“It was the whole package. I wanted to love it. I tried. Teddy liked it—he ate four.”

“I think we both know that he will eat anything. You know, back when we were in school, he was known for making weird concoctions in the dining hall and eating them purely for everyone’s amusement.

For a whole month, he got super into making a sandwich and pouring different liquids on it each day.

He called it marinating his food and ate it with a spoon while everyone cheered him on. ” Huck chuckled at the memory.

“Sounds like Teddy.”

“Meanwhile, I can’t even handle the licorice in my chocolate bar. I bought it by accident.”

“I never was a licorice girl.” I flashed him a conspiratorial grin. “Give me peanut butter with my chocolate any day, but never licorice. Let’s go.”

···

The pizza place was still serving, thankfully.

Huck opened the door for me and my stomach did a little flip; I couldn’t be sure if it was a result of his gallantry or the enticing aroma of food.

A waitress led us to a booth nestled in a dark corner at the back of the restaurant. We settled in with our menus.

“No pressure, but I’m expecting sparkling conversation given your literary chops.”

“Oh, I’ll take that challenge, Stella Moore. I have so many questions for you as soon as we order.”

We fell into a comfortable silence while we examined the menus.

I picked a specialty pizza that sounded intriguing, featuring an Icelandic cheese assortment in conjunction with jam; the description had me convinced that it would either be sublime or super revolting.

Huck went with a standard Margherita-style pizza.

We got úlfrún beer in golden cans, which we clunked together too hard, sending a bit of foam spilling over.

“So you have some questions for me,” I said when the waitress had departed.

Huck nodded. “I do. But I’ll warn you, these aren’t the standard what’s-your-favorite-film and what’s-your-family-like kind of questions.”

“Fine by me.” The last thing I wanted to do was spoil the evening by talking about my family.

Huck leaned forward a bit. “First question: If you could have dinner with anyone—besides your current dinner companion, of course—who would it be and why?”

“Okay, I was not expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something like Why’d you order the pizza with the jam, especially after the hot dog let you down…”

He grinned at me. “Oh, I know why you ordered that. You thrive on danger! You still owe me an answer, though.”

I pondered his question while I laughed.

I wanted to say something cool and light, but somehow this question had steered me to the one place I didn’t want to go.

There was only one person who I would’ve asked for…

my dad. But I knew it wasn’t possible. He was gone and had been since that day at the beach in Corolla.

And I didn’t have a habit of asking questions I probably couldn’t handle the answers to, like, Why did you leave me all alone when you’d promised that you’d be back and we’d go hunt together, when I needed you? I fiddled with my napkin.

“This is hard!” At least that part was honest. “I gotta go with Amelia Earhart. I mean, one, she was amazing, way ahead of her time, totally brilliant and ballsy, right? And then two, I’ve always been desperate to know what exactly happened to her. It’s like one of those great mysteries.”

“Mmm, solid choice. You know, I actually wanted to write an Amelia Earhart book a while back. I had it all outlined, but there wasn’t a lot of interest at my publisher for it. They’re less hearty nonfiction and more heart-pounding adventure, I suppose. Definitely an easier sell.”

“Their loss. Seriously. That would’ve been amazing. Just think, if I had dinner with her, I could tell you what happened and then you’d have a bestseller on your hands.”

“Let me know if it works out, because I absolutely would take you up on that. Stella and Amelia Have Dinner .”

“Title might need some work.”

Huck laughed. “Maybe so. I try not to get too invested in my titles since they often change.”

“How so?” Though I’d been trying not to bring up his career too much, I was genuinely curious about the whole writing and publishing process with the same level of interest that he’d shown earlier when I was telling him about Gunnarsson.

“Well, not sure if all publishers do this, but mine changes a lot of my titles. I guess I’m not great at naming my books.”

“Okay, well now I need an example.”

Huck thought for a moment. “My third book in the Casablanca Chronicles was originally called Everybody Loves Clark’s Bar .”

“Like the candy?”

“I’ll have you know that it’s peanut butter and taffy combined then dipped in chocolate and has been around for over a hundred years, so clearly an epic candy choice for a title.

Way better than licorice. You’d love it.

But I didn’t name it for the candy. In fact, I didn’t even realize it at the time.

It was supposed to be a reference to Everybody Comes to Rick’s —the play that was adapted into Casablanca— though my editor said no one would get it and that the sales team found it boring. ”

“Your editor told you that?”

“No, he’s way too kind to tell me that they thought it was boring. He said something a million times more tactful and sent a couple of suggestions.”

I laughed. “That’s interesting. Now I have to know who you’d pick to have dinner with. Is it Humphrey Bogart or Ingrid Bergman?”

“Honestly, my current dinner companion is tough to top. But since this is a hypothetical, I guess I’d have to say Tolstoy?

” he said, like he was asking a question.

“He’s written some of the most amazing books of all time, at least in my humble opinion.

I’d like to talk literature with him, and maybe ask him if he ever got writer’s block and how he got over it. ”

“Good plan. Do you speak Russian?” I took a sip of my drink.

“Well, I figure in this magical world where a deceased writer can eat dinner with me, we wouldn’t have a language barrier, but that is a good point. Maybe I should keep working on that one and have a backup plan just in case.”

“Google translate? A guest interpreter, maybe?”

“I really didn’t think through the stipulations of this question before I asked it. It’s turning into a Schrodinger’s cat situation.”

“Ask me another one, then.”

Huck took a leisurely sip of his beer, thinking. “Hmm…okay, how about this one? Do you ever get the feeling that you know how you’re going to die?”

“Jesus!” I said. “You just go right for the emotional jugular. Not even a what’s your favorite sexual position , just straight to death.”

He choked on the sip he’d taken. “Sorry,” he said, and cleared his throat. “A while back I read an article where they shared all these questions that would help you get to know someone on a deeper level. I can’t claim ownership of these. I think I may have gotten the order wrong.”

“It does make sense that a person might need a bit of an icebreaker before discussing their eventual demise, but I’ll give you a pass about your death question.

Consider yourself saved by my generous nature.

” I tried to suppress my grin. “I don’t have a sense, but I hope it’s glorious.

I want it to be doing something I love, like having some great adventure. ”

“?‘To die will be an awfully big adventure…’?”

“ Peter Pan ?”

He nods. “I always loved that one, except for the racism, of course. Once upon a time I toyed with trying to write a modern version but didn’t think I could do it justice.”