Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I can’t look at the bookshelf as I pad quietly out into the hall to use the bathroom. I’ll save the shower for later. I want to head into town and pick up some provisions—I can’t cobble together a breakfast like I cobbled together a dinner. I doubt Summer would go for another round of cheese and crackers.
I have a car here, but it’s a hunk of junk. I keep it for days like this, when there’s so much snow piled on the ground I doubt my bike would make it very far. I don’t even expect it to start, and it sput-sput-sputters as I crank the key before finally rumbling to life. I pat the dashboard like I’m patting a loyal pet then set out for Sedbergh.
If I want to do a big grocery haul, I have to drive all the way to Kendal. For times like this though, where I can get by on the essentials, the grocery store on Main Street is fine. I skip past the British fare like baked beans and black pudding and instead grab some cereal, milk, eggs, bacon, English muffins, fresh coffee, and orange juice. Martin is manning the counter with one eye glued to the television propped on the counter. It’s a rerun of a football game, and I assume it’s Kendal Town F.C. until I hear the announcer mention Ferguson.
“Man United up?” I ask, grabbing a few pounds out of my wallet.
Martin grumbles as he rings up my items. “Not until later. Scholes scores against Barcelona in the last few minutes. I still remember losing my voice during this game. Got company?”
I don’t usually get this much food when I come in.
“Something like that.”
He nods but doesn’t ask me anything else. I’m sure gossip will spread. Sedbergh is a small sleepy town, but everyone knows each other, and everyone knows of me, the famous American.
People mostly keep to themselves around here though. I know Martin spends his days running this shop. Occasionally, he’ll go down to the Red Lion for supper with his wife. I see him there sometimes, and we get on. It’s nice. No one really bothers me about work. Everyone’s just happy to argue about football and rugby over a pint.
Usually I would stay here and chat with him for a bit, but today, I’m in a rush to get back before Summer wakes up. I don’t want her thinking I abandoned her. I still have one more task though. When I’m back in my car, provisions sitting in bags on the passenger side floorboard, I call my agent.
Main Street is about the only place with reliable cell service in Sedbergh, and I have to take full advantage, even if that means waking Patrick up in the middle of the night.
Like the dutiful agent he is, he answers quickly. “Nate—” He clears his throat, trying to sound like I didn’t just pull him out of a dream. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“Sorry about the hour.”
I hear him sigh, and then there’s a pause, sheets rustle, and a door closes quietly. He’s married and likely doesn’t want to disturb his partner.
“No problem. Listen, I was getting worried. I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks now.”
“I’ve been busy.”
I wait for him to call me out for the lie, but he doesn’t. Patrick is likely picking his battles with me these days.
I have to be his most difficult client. I’m impossible to reach, for one. For two, I’ve forced him into playing middleman between InkWell and me, a position no one would covet at this point. If it weren’t for the money, he would have pushed me out of his agency a long time ago.
“As you know, Nate, InkWell has been lenient with you. With us,” he amends, linking us as a team, likely so I don’t go on the defensive. “However, they made it clear to me in our last meeting that they’ve reached the end of their rope.”
“Is that why they sent Summer?”
“So she arrived?”
“Last night.”
Patrick sighs. “What do you think of her?”
The question feels loaded in a way he didn’t intend. I recall the image of Summer sitting curled up on my chair in front of the fire last night. What I think of her—the honest truth—feels inappropriate.
I refocus on what’s important. “I won’t work with her. I’ve told you I’m uninterested in teaming up with someone on this.”
Patrick sighs, and then there’s a tense silence. I brace myself for what’s to come, suspecting the worst even before Patrick speaks with a somber tone.
“The contract with HBO fell through.”
It’s like he’s just laid a bomb at my feet.
“Dan sent word last week,” he continues. “They were tired of waiting to see if you were going to finish the series before filming.”
I wince and then wipe my hand down my face, scrubbing my jaw.