Page 25 of Wish You Were Her
As Jonah stood in the green room, checking authors in, he couldn’t help but overhear other volunteers as they expressed doubts about Pamela H. J. Wilcox’s arrival.
“She won’t come,” one volunteer murmured to the other, as they arranged physical copies of the program.
“She hasn’t done an interview since the show came out,” said another, filling the mini-fridges with sandwiches and drinks. “She’s sick of people asking about the last Court of Bystanders book. She’s definitely not coming. Courtney couldn’t even get her on the phone.”
Jonah was starting to feel a little nervous himself. Allegra had promised to arrange the author’s appearance when Quentin Morrison had dropped out—but Allegra had yet to appear. He was apprehensive about Pamela’s presence, even without his gossiping colleagues.
A children’s author suddenly marched into the tent, having just finished his story-time reading in the smallest venue.
“How was it?” asked Kerrie, appearing on Jonah’s left. She spoke to the author warmly but he ignored her, going straight to the mini-fridge. He withdrew two bottles of white wine, shoving them unceremoniously into his satchel. Then he was off.
“I didn’t know children’s authors could be so thirsty,” Jonah mused.
“They write for kids, that doesn’t mean they drink like them,” Kerrie said, as they both watched the author march to his car. Jonah met her gaze and they both shared a laugh.
“Are we okay?” Jonah finally asked her, keeping his voice low and his tone gentle.
“Yeah,” she said, just as quietly. “We’re good.”
“Great.”
“But only because you’ll never get her,” she added, a little venomously, in a way that felt totally out of character.
He saw a flicker of shame cross her face, but underneath it he could see she was hurt and embarrassed.
He couldn’t blame her. He watched her blink back tears as she walked away and he cursed himself for being so clumsy with her.
Obliviousness did not excuse the fumbling of someone’s heart.
Kerrie went to help with setting up the main tent, clearly determined to make it presentable whether Pamela H. J. Wilcox arrived or not.
“The whole event sold out in eight minutes,” the first volunteer whispered. “That’s never happened, in the history of the Lake Pristine Book Festival.”
Jonah did not need them to finish their thought. If Pamela did not show, after such a reception, it would fall onto the festival and they would have to give everyone their money back with a groveling apology. The possibility made Jonah feel ill.
The invited authors were always told to arrive at least ninety minutes before the start time of their event, and so the green room was starting to fill up with literary figures.
Some were nervous debuts, others regular guests of the festival.
Jonah watched with interest as a face he recognized appeared at the entrance to the green room.
A young publicist was bustling one of Jonah’s favorite literary fiction writers toward the table he was manning. The publicist smiled up at Jonah but he felt his heart deflate in weak disappointment at the rude manners on display from her companion.
“Food better be nicer than the crap they serve at—”
“Let’s just sign you in, Rodger.” And then, turning to Jonah, genially: “Rodger Altringham. He’s here for his event at noon.”
Jonah’s eyes drifted to the author, but the man was glaring angrily at his smartphone.
“Here’s his pass,” Jonah said, handing the publicist Rodger’s laminated name badge and lanyard. “Welcome to the Lake Pristine Book Festival.”
Rodger did not even spare him a glance, heading for one of the green room sofas instead. His publicist offered up an apologetic smile, but Jonah continued to feel dejected.
“Oh, my God, here she comes!” The slightly hysterical chattering from the young volunteers alerted Jonah to Allegra’s arrival.
While the volunteers all wore bright yellow t-shirts with the festival name printed on them, Allegra had elected to wear a pale pink sundress with large dark glasses.
She smiled at the volunteers and then nodded at their matching apparel.
“Mine didn’t fit, I’m afraid.”
“We can get you a different size,” one of them said instantly, their words a little garbled and overly loud.
“She’s fine,” Jonah said. “She’s perfect.”
Allegra finally looked at him and, for the first time since their initial unfortunate meeting, he dropped the mask. He let her see all of the things he had been terrified of anyone noticing—especially her.
The wanting, the pining, the curiosity and the hope.
She quickly looked away, but he refused to be dispirited. She had shown up, despite the way they had left each other the night before. Despite all of the things they had said and done to one another.
Jonah’s mystery girl had stood him up, but Allegra was not hiding away.
George arrived moments later.
“Any sign of our big name?” he asked Jonah.
“Not yet, and Courtney can’t get hold of anyone,” he reported, feeling strangely thrilled by his mentor’s attention
“It’ll be fine,” Allegra said smoothly. She clearly had complete faith in Wilcox. “She told me she would be here.”
“Yes, but that was a while ago now, darling, just after Quentin dropped out,” George said, speaking to Allegra as though she were eight and not eighteen. “Authors are temperamental.”
“She promised me,” Allegra said, speaking of the novelist with deep familiarity.
After confirming Wilcox as a guest to the festival, Allegra had suggested that they invite a debut fantasy author to the event to act as chair. Melena Banks, said debut, had now arrived, entering the green room with obvious trepidation. Allegra moved swiftly to greet her.
“We might have to shove my daughter onstage to appease the Wilcox fans if she doesn’t show,” George said to Jonah.
Jonah frowned. “That wouldn’t be the safest thing for her. It’s unsettling that she’s in town without security as it is. And that she was announced so publicly during the launch.”
He felt his boss glance at him. “I was only joking, son.”
Jonah shook himself. “Sorry. Yes. We will definitely need something to keep them calm if she doesn’t show.”
“Funny you mention security though,” George went on, lowering his voice as they both watched Allegra chat to the young author on one of the sofas, putting her completely at ease. “I’ve worried a lot about that. Her mother and I discussed it when she suddenly decided to spend the summer here.”
“It’s a miracle everyone has kept her presence quiet,” Jonah acknowledged, thrilled that he and George seemed, at last, to be getting along again. “Can’t stop people staring like losers, but it’s lucky that nothing has got out.”
“There are social contracts in this town,” George said, conspiratorially. “People know to keep their mouths shut; they don’t want even more outsiders descending on us. This is the only time of year that they tolerate it. But you’re right, we have been lucky.”
“Maybe this could be her home in the long run,” Jonah heard himself say. “If it’s safer, quieter for her.”
George examined him, suspicion starting to bleed into his expression. “But what about you?”
Jonah blinked. “What about me?”
“Surely you don’t want to stay here for much longer? What about an education? A life? A girlfriend?”
“I can have two of those things here. And higher education isn’t for me.”
“Come on, Jonah,” George said, and Jonah was shocked by the irritation in his employer’s voice. “You’re too smart to stay here and never see the world.”
“I work in a bookshop,” Jonah reminded him. “The world comes to me. I don’t need to find it.”
“And that’s a nice, romantic idea. But you need to live your own life, have experiences outside of the things that you read.”
Whatever Jonah had been about to say next was swallowed up, because gasps could suddenly be heard all throughout the green room. Jonah and George looked over to the doorway and both were struck with silence.
It was Pamela H. J. Wilcox.
She was tiny and slender, wearing a clean but worn white cotton suit with one bright teal bangle on her left wrist and a pair of tennis shoes that were slightly scuffed.
Her long silvery hair was tied back in a sensible braid and the only thing glamorous about her was her dark sunglasses, not unlike the pair that Allegra wore.
The famous recluse ignored people’s stares and astonishment, choosing instead to survey the room, and when her sharp gray eyes landed on Allegra Brooks, her thin lips twitched into an almost-smile.
“There she is,” she said, her Irish accent full of warmth. She held out her arms and made her way toward Allegra, ignoring the small crowd of onlookers. Jonah and George watched the two embrace, Allegra towering over the small woman.
“So glad you could make it,” Allegra said, throwing Jonah a quick but triumphant look over her shoulder.
“Only because it was you who asked,” Pamela said in response, loudly enough for everyone to hear. She made her way over to the table of food, eyeing the mushroom tarts and the baked goods donated by Jonah’s mother.
It was only when volunteers started to approach Pamela that Jonah realized she had come without an escort of any kind. No publicist or publisher. She was there, quite happily, by herself.
“This is really happening,” he told Simon, who had shown up to work at exactly the right moment. “We need to get someone outside to corral the audience once they arrive.”
“They’re already starting to queue, saw them on my way in,” Simon said. “So, she’s really here!”
“Yeah,” Jonah said dazedly. “Allegra did it. She actually did it.”
“Well, let’s be fair, Allegra has probably got one hell of a little black book.”
Jonah allowed himself to take in all of Allegra as she laughed at something Pamela was saying.
Her long hair with its streaks of gold, her ears that stuck out just a little.
Her left thumb and forefinger, which were often stroking together in a soothing motion. Stimming—if Jonah did not know better.