Envy(54)
“At first my father was concerned about my entering into an office romance. He was also worried that Noah is ten years older than I. He encouraged me to date other men and even dabbled in some blatant matchmaking with sons and nephews of his friends and associates. But Noah was the one I wanted. Luckily he felt the same. We married.” She bobbed her head for punctuation. “There. Satisfied?”
“How long have you been married?”
“Almost two years.”
“Children?”
“No.”
“How come?”
She glared at him and he held up a hand in conciliation. “You’re right, that’s too personal. If you’re sterile—”
“I’m not.”
“So it’s him?”
She was about to come off the crate again, but he patted the air between them. “Okay, okay, the topic of children is taboo. I won’t go there.” He paused as though realigning his thoughts. “So you were seeing Noah every day at work and fell head over heels in no time.”
“Actually I had had a mad crush on him even before I met him.”
“How’s that?”
“I had read his book.”
“The Vanquished.”
“You know it? Oh, of course, the article again. It referenced Noah’s novel.”
“Yes, but I was already familiar with it,” he said. “I’d read it when it came out.”
“So did I. About fifty times.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. I love it. The main character, Sawyer Bennington, became the man in my romantic fantasies.”
“You have fantasies?”
“Doesn’t everyone? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Maybe not for you. But I’ve had some fantasies that were pretty shameful. Want to hear them?”
“You’re irrepressible.”
“That’s exactly how my preschool teacher described me to my mom.”
“When…?”
“When for three days straight she caught me in the boys’ restroom test-driving my new favorite toy.”
“I won’t even ask.”
“You’d be better off not to. Anyway, what were we talking about?”
“Sawyer Bennington.”
“Right. Your hero and the object of your romantic fantasies. Which strikes me as strange.”
“Why?”
“Wasn’t he a criminal of some sort?”
“A thief and a murderer.”
“Generally considered criminal.”
“But his crimes were justified because of what was done to his wife and child. When he discovered their bodies, I cried buckets. I still cry every time I read it.” Her expression turned dreamy and wistful.
“Sawyer is such a hard man. With everybody except Charlotte. They loved so passionately, and it was the kind of love that even death couldn’t destroy. When they hanged him for his crimes, he was thinking about…”
Her voice trailed off. Embarrassed, she gave a slight shrug. “Forgive me, Parker. I guess you can tell how much I love that novel.”
“You talk about the characters as though they’re real.”
“Noah did such a fantastic job of drawing them that sometimes I forget they’re fiction. I actually start missing them. When I do, I open my copy to any page and read a few paragraphs, and it’s like I’ve visited them.”
“Didn’t they make a movie?”
“It was junk that didn’t do the book justice. But to be fair to the movie makers, I don’t think any movie could have. Some critics touted The Vanquished as the best historical novel since Gone with the Wind.”
“Strong praise.”
“But, in my opinion, warranted.”
“So what’d he follow it with?”
“He didn’t.” Her exuberance waned considerably. “Noah got very involved with publishing The Vanquished and decided that his calling was in that arena, not writing. And, I suppose, when your debut novel receives such critical and popular acclaim, the thought of following it with something equally good is daunting. Even terrifying. He never wrote again. Not until recently.”
Parker’s gaze sharpened. “He’s writing again?”
“He’s set up an office specifically for that purpose. I’m very pleased.”
But she didn’t look very pleased, or even moderately pleased. A shallow but distinct vertical line had formed between her eyebrows. Parker doubted she realized how revealing her facial expressions were or she would school them better.
After a quiet moment, he asked, “What other fictional characters have played key roles in your fantasies?”
“Several,” she admitted with a light laugh. “But none to the extent of Sawyer Bennington.”
Parker leaned forward in his chair and spoke only loud enough to be heard above the pounding rain. “Maris? Is it remotely possible that you fell in love with the character and not the author?”
Her expression turned angry, but the anger came and went with the speed of a lightning flash. She smiled with chagrin. “Considering the way I’ve carried on about Sawyer, I suppose that’s a fair question. I’ve had authors tell me that readers frequently superimpose them onto a character they’ve created, and that when readers meet them at book signings, they’re disappointed to find that they’re ordinary people. They don’t live up to the larger-than-life image the reader had formed of them.”