Page 4

ALANA

“That’s a cow.” Franky’s eyes widen behind his glasses, his jaw dropping open when we do, in fact, pass a cow. “It’s a whole cow, Mom!”

“Yep.” Giddiness and anxiety wreak havoc on my nervous system. Both thrilling adrenaline as nostalgia bustles through my veins, but dread, too, because I’m absolutely not ready to drive the final three miles and arrive at my old driveway.

I want so badly to get out of the car and stretch my limbs, and yet, there’s a very real, dangerously vocal portion of my brain that insists I turn around and hightail it back to New York.

Where it’s safe. Where anonymity is comfort, and my past isn’t likely to jump up and bite me in the ass.

“Mom!” Franky rotates in his seat, staring out the opposite window. “It’s three cows! There are three cows, and they’re just… they’re…” His lips open and close, guppy fish style. “They’re wandering wherever they want. Is that normal?”

“They’re not actually free.” I point toward a large sign leading toward a much, much larger house. “All of this land belongs to Dave Dingus. He has fences that keep his animals where he needs them, so even though they kinda look free, they’re not.”

“Dingus?” He scrunches his nose, pushing his glasses back up to sit properly. “His name is Dingus? ”

“Yeah, and no, you don’t get to say anything if you meet him. It’s an unfortunate name, but teasing isn’t very nice.”

Do I tell my son I rode Dingus’ name when I was a kid, the way a bull rider clings on for their eight seconds and takes the trophy home at the end of the night?

No.

“Dave is an extremely wealthy man. He owns at least half of Plainview and a fair bit of the next town over, too.” Which means he could have gone down to the courthouse and changed his name. But alas… “He was always pretty nice to me,” I admit. “Despite how cranky Grandma Bitsy made him.”

“Horses!” Franky smacks his hand on the side window, hissing from the pain and hurriedly tapping the button to move the glass out of the way. “There are horses, Mom!”

“There are.” I set my elbow on my doorframe and my chin in my hand. “Those are Dave’s, too. And before you panic, you should know he has pigs as well. And bulls.”

His eyes widen. “Bulls?”

“Yeah.” To mount an unwilling cow and make babies. “It’s a farm. That’s what farmers do.”

“Fun fact.” He goes back to glancing out the side window, awe playing across his features while Dave’s horses race us as far as their fences allow. “Did you know you can breed sheep by making a red sheep and a blue sheep kiss?”

“Uh…” My son said breed. He said breed ! “What?”

“When they stop kissing, there’s a purple sheep. That’s how you do it.”

“Well…”

“But that’s in Minecraft. Not real life. Everyone knows that’s not how you breed animals in real life.”

What the everloving fuck? “Okay…”

“To breed animals in real life, you need to make them marry first. Do you think Farmer Dingus marries his animals so they can make new animals?”

“Yep. Absolutely. They have to be married first. It’s the law.

” My phone trills through the speakers, my agent’s name flashing on the screen.

And though I’ve declined a half dozen of her calls in the last week, I frantically accept this one.

Anything to change the subject. “Hi, Helen. You’re on speaker in the car. ”

“Oh, hey. Hi Franky. You in there, too? ”

Sour, he folds his arms and flops back into his seat, wrinkling his lips and nose.

“He can hear you,” I answer for him. “But he doesn’t want to talk right now. We’re almost at my mom’s, so we’re both a little tired. What’s up?”

“Okay, so I was talking to the editor over at Elyte Publishing; she’s willing to accept your manuscript as is.

They’ve made an offer above that which we’d last discussed, so I emailed that to you, too.

I told her you were traveling this week, so you probably wouldn’t be able to take a look for a few days.

So she’s expecting a reply next week sometime. ”

“She wants to accept it as is?” My heart whips painfully against my diaphragm, knocking the wind from my lungs and leaving me anxiously searching for more. In my haste to escape breeding , I’ve run face-first into books. “She didn’t like the main male lead. She wanted to change him.”

“She didn’t say she didn’t like him. She said he was harsh and tossed around the idea of softening him a little, that’s all.”

“But I didn’t…” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. “I refused, so I expected them to rescind their offer.”

“Well, now they’re proposing more money, and Marianne is happy to take him as he is. That’s great news!”

“That’s…” I noisily exhale, slowing the car as we round a bend.

God help me; a bull is doing the blue sheep-red sheep thing right there in broad daylight.

“Hey, Franky?” I point to the other side of the road.

“See that windmill? It harnesses the power of the wind to turn, and then it uses the friction it creates to pump water out of the ground. Isn’t that cool? ”

To him? To his brain? Hell yeah, it’s cool.

“That’s a lot of money, Helen. Why would they offer more and accept a manuscript they didn’t like before?”

“They never not liked it! In fact, they loved it. They just worried the hero was too critical, especially in the third act. His anger makes for amazing tension, but that doesn’t negate Marianne’s concerns with how he’d be received. She was worried he wouldn’t earn every reader’s forgiveness.”

“Why would she offer more money when I refused to change him? Her concerns remain unresolved.” Why am I such a self-sabotaging asshole?

“He’s still harsh. He’s still unlikable.

And ya know what? Oh, Franky, look!” I point toward the lake as we pass, and the massive, picturesque home Edwin Sanderson built for his wife eons ago.

God, I always looked at that home and wondered what it would be like to live that life.

“My hero is still unlikable, Helen. He’s mean and flawed.

He probably won’t convince all readers he’s the right choice for the heroine.

” I pause, lifting my shoulder in a shrug, though she’s not here to see it.

“I’m not sure Elyte realizes the risk they’re taking. ”

“This is Marianne’s job, Alana. This is not her first day in the office, and you’re not the first writer she’s dealt with. If she’s making an offer and allowing you to slide through with no major edits, it means she believes in the story. You should take the deal.”

No. I don’t think I should.

“Kinda makes me wonder if she’s even good at her job.

” Pettiness seeps into my veins, kicking out the remaining dregs of being-in-Plainview anxiety.

I only have room for one. “She should want to change stuff. There’s no way the story is flawless.

That she wants it as is makes me think she’s phoning this in and doesn’t believe in the story at all.

Like she has a quota to fill and books to buy before her boss gets mad at her. ”

“Literally not how the industry works,” she drawls.

“And you’re talking yourself in circles.

You worked your butt off for this, Alana.

You put in the hours, sweating and bleeding for it, but now that someone on the outside wants the book, you’re tying yourself in knots trying to get out of making a deal.

If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you even want to be published at all. ”

Franky’s scoff reverberates all the way to the front seat.

“Of course I want to publish. I just don’t want to give my book to the wrong team and risk it being fumbled.

I want an editor who truly understands what I wrote.

A house that believes in the story and intends to have it read by the masses.

Marianne allowing me to keep a hero she hardly likes is a red flag. ”

“You’re being intentionally difficult.”

“More cows, Mom!” Franky pokes his head between the two front seats. “Do you see them?”

“I see them.” I saw them every single day of my childhood. I was raised in this hellhole . “We’re about a minute out, Helen, so I’m gonna let you go.”

“Read the offer!” She taps at her computer keyboard, the click-clack ricocheting through the line.

“Read it, consider it. Then think about what that money could do for you now that you’ve moved.

You could buy a shoe box in New York, sure, but you could buy an entire house out there in the sticks.

Mortgage free. And your mom isn’t doing so well, so having a little extra cash in the bank can only be a good thing. ”

“Oh, good. Business discussions, with a side of emotional manipulation. I love it when that happens. ”

She clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “You’re obtuse on purpose.”

“No, I’m just not interested in talking deals with an editor who lacks any semblance of a spine.”

“Alana—”

“I’ll call you sometime next week to go over the offer. But I doubt I’ll accept it. Marianne was adamant that the hero change, and now she’s just letting it go. She was wrong in both instances, and that’s two strikes too many in my eyes.”

“Is that a…” Franky’s voice trembles. “Mom! Is that a llama?”

Oh god. Here we go. “I’ll talk to you later, Helen.

” I end our call and swallow the lump of nerves nestled in the base of my throat, then I slow the car as a million memories sprint forward and smack me in the face.

This is the road I’ve walked too many times to count.

The mailbox shaped like a—God help me—sheep, perched out front.

Our fence isn’t like Dave Dingus’, where that rich old coot has money for days and a vested interest in keeping his animals inside his property. Our fences are more of a gentle suggestion. Rotting, white timber with missing sections, a llama thoroughfare, and animal droppings on the road.

My breathing grows thicker as we approach, and horrifyingly, tears itch the backs of my eyes.