Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(85)

I’m only a few feet from Ian’s desk when something catches my eye.

A book sits on the edge of his desk. It’s open to a page near the center. That’s not unusual. What’s unusual is that the book is one of those thick, three-hundred-page, leather-bound drawing journals with unlined artist’s paper and a silk ribbon to mark the pages. I lower my brow and step closer. The page that the book is opened to is filled with ink sketches.

I take a sharp breath and run my hand over one of the drawings.

It’s me.

It’s a sketch of me.

Or, at least me as I looked fifteen years ago. I recognize the T-shirt I was wearing, it was my favorite band, and I have on the thick-rimmed glasses I decided I needed to wear as a “fashion statement.”

What is this?

The hair on my arms rises in goosebumps. I look back at Ian, but his back is turned away from me. He’s looking out over Midtown, snarling into his phone.

I glance back at the journal.

Ian didn’t know me when I was a teenager. He didn’t meet me until seven years ago.

I look at the page again. Opposite the sketch of me are the scrawled words—anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

What is this?

Slowly I reach out and turn the page. It’s a sketch of a shaggy dog with floppy ears and a tongue that hangs from the side of his mouth.

I know this dog…it’s Dodger. Josh’s dog. He died almost fifteen years ago. Under the drawing of Dodger are the words a friend is someone who accepts your past, loves you in the present, and believes in your future.

My word.

Oh my word.

I bend over the desk and flip through the journal. It’s full of Josh’s sketches. Hundreds, no, thousands of drawings. There’s a sketch of his childhood home, his dad reading a book, our school, Dylan laughing, me again, a landscape, a picnic basket. Every page, nearly every drawing has a quote under it. I recognize every single one.

Because Ian has used all these quotes in his books, on his website, in his marketing campaigns. My skin goes cold and clammy as I comprehend that the last seven years of my life have been based on a lie.

I turn the pages again and stop at a picture I see.

“What…”

I remember this day. It’s the last time that my family went on a picnic in the park together. Leah had almost finished college, Dylan had just turned sixteen and liked to sulk, I was fifteen and feeling incredibly awkward. Josh tagged along for the picnic. I think Dylan invited him, or maybe my mom did.

After we’d eaten, my mom and dad called us all to come and lay in the grass and look at the clouds. Dylan and I both balked but finally gave in. So, for the last time (even though we didn’t know it was the last time), we stretched out in the grass, held hands, and looked at the clouds.

Josh captured that moment with his drawing. Each one of us is looking up at the sky.

Except him.

His head is turned to the side and he’s looking at me.

Underneath the drawing are the words, love is the best gift I’ve ever had the privilege to give.

My heart thunders in my ears and the world feels like it tilts on its axis, turns everything upside down, and then realigns itself.

Josh.

When I felt like I was broken after my divorce it wasn’t Ian’s words that pulled me up, it was Josh. When I felt that I couldn’t go on after my diagnosis, it wasn’t Ian who helped me, it was Josh. Every time I quoted Ian to Josh, I was actually quoting Josh back to himself.

Why didn’t he ever tell me?

Why didn’t he ever say anything?

“I didn’t know that was you in the drawings until this year,” Ian says.

I look sharply over at him. I was so engrossed in the journal that I didn’t hear him walk up. He gestures at the picture. “Your looks improved with age. Lucky for you.”

A hot anger rises in me. “You stole Josh’s book.” It’s half-question, half-statement. Then, Ian smirks, and like a movie shown in replay, I remember all of Ian’s questions about Josh, his gloating reaction to Josh outside the restaurant. I remember how Josh stared at the quote on my wall, how he seemed annoyed whenever I told him to stop quoting Ian, how I thought that some of the quotes sounded just like something Josh would say. I remember all of it. And all the missing pieces click together to make a new picture. “You lied. Josh never took your work. At the start-up, you stole his work. You made a company from his ideas. You’re the thief.”

I look at Ian with a whole new level of disgust. I’d thought he was a sleaze that knew how to write inspirational words, but no, he’s a sleaze that steals other people’s words.

“You’re disgusting.”

Ian lifts his eyebrows, then shrugs. “Unfortunately, half my fanbase agrees with you. The microphones were on during your practice introductory remarks and someone fed them to the live stream.”

I narrow my eyes. What’s he talking about? Then I remember. He showed his true colors and someone must have aired him to twenty thousand people.

I remember Lavinia glaring at us, sitting behind the sound board. There wasn’t any reason for her to be there. Except…

“You know who did it,” Ian says. His eyes narrow on my face.

“I don’t,” I say.

I turn back to the journal. “This belongs to Josh.”