Page 72 of The Ghostwriter

“Your mother struggled a lot with depression,” he says, his voice resigned. “In fact, she reminded me of my own mother, spending days in bed, unable to get up to do the most basic tasks of caring for you. For me.”

“Did she drink like your mother?” Because I’d been so young when she left, I doubted any habits like that would have registered with me.

But my father shakes his head and says, “No. Never. She hated feeling out of control.”

“What about therapy? Medication? Surely there were solutions other than abandoning her only child.”

“She tried medication for a while. But back then, the only ones available left her feeling like a zombie.” He looks down at his hands. “Believe me. She was heartbroken to leave. But we both felt it was best.”

“I grew up without a mother because you thought it would be best? My whole life, I thought she didn’t love me or want me. Do you know what that does to a person?”

He’s silent for a moment, but when he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “When you get to be my age, there will be many moments—many decisions—you’ll wish you could go back and make again. Choose a different path. That’s one of mine.”

I stare at him, wondering what good it does me to know that now. To understand that he feels regret without actually having to make amends for any of it.

***

Back in the guesthouse, I collapse onto the bed, exhausted from the day. It seems ages ago I sat across from Mr. Stewart and listened to him defendhimself about taking my mother for an abortion. About his denial that he was the father. But before I can get to work transcribing the interview and figuring out how it all fits into the narrative of that time, I need to call Nicole.

Even though it’s late in New York, she picks up right away. “Jesus, Olivia. Where have you been? We’ve got a situation here.”

“I know,” I tell her.

“How in the hell did Calder find out? This isn’t good.”

I tell her about the email he sent to my father, pitching the book. And the confirmation that Tyler Blakewood had been the leak. “My father and I emailed Neil and Sloane tonight about it.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can pull them back. I hear an intake of breath and Nicole says, “Hold up. Yourfather?”

My stomach twists and I close my eyes, wishing I could hang up and pretend this call never happened. I’d love to blame John Calder for the slip, but the truth is, the fault is mine for keeping such a monumental secret from my agent for so long. “I haven’t been honest with you about a couple things,” I say. Not the best start, but maybe I can get her to understand the complicated history of my relationship with my father and my family history. Maybe I can get her to understand why I haven’t told anyone who I am.

So I start talking. Telling her what my father was like when I was young. The treasure hunts. The two of us against the world after my mother left. How I first heard about Danny and Poppy, and my father’s slow unraveling over the decades. The rift and my desire to cut him out of my life completely. When I’m done, I say, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”

She’s silent for a moment and I wonder just how angry she is. How badly I’ve betrayed the trust we’ve built between us over the years. Finally she says, “I can understand your hesitancy. Your desire to cut ties. But we need to disclose this to Monarch.”

I panic. “They can’t pull me off the book. This is my family. My story to tell, and to be honest, I don’t think my father will talk to anyone else.”

“You misunderstand me,” she says. “Olivia, this is explosive. The only child of Vincent Taylor, a famous ghostwriter in her own right, returned home to reveal the secrets he’s kept for decades. This is marketing gold.”

I hadn’t really thought that far. Up until now, it had been made clear to me that this would be one of those projects where everyone believed the subject wrote the book himself. My father—at one point—was certainly capable of that. But I can see what Nicole is saying. This collaboration is too good to conceal.

“This is going to be huge, Olivia,” Nicole continues. “This is going to make that thing with John Calder seem like a tiny grain of sand in your shoe.”

“Speaking of John Calder,” I say. Then I tell her about the Mac Murray book. “I’m sure my father would be happy to connect with the Books editor at theNew York Times. They’re old friends.”

Nicole laughs. “I think we can quietly arrange that,” she says. But then she sighs. “Even though it would be great to see that man get what he deserves, you’re still going to have to pay him. Though the good news is that you probably won’t have to sell your house to do it.”

A flutter of joy passes through me as I imagine calling Renee. Telling her to take the house off the market. And then my mind lands on Tom, and how he will feel when this information goes public. When he reads about it in the paper or on social media, and how he will feel betrayed all over again. “I need my connection to this project to stay quiet until I finish the manuscript,” I tell Nicole.

“I don’t know, Olivia. The marketing team will need some lead time to change their strategy. To start pitching it right away…”

“Please,” I tell her, an idea forming in my mind. Of a way to give Tom the entire truth, all at once. In a format I can control. “Let me just get to the end of this story.”

Nicole sighs, thinking. “Fine,” she says. “But can we say no later than end of May?”

That’s only six weeks. It’s going to have to be good enough. “I can work with that,” I tell her.

“So on that note, tell me how things are going,” Nicole asks. “Neil seems pretty happy with the chapters you’ve sent so far, and I agree, they’re good. Very atmospheric. And yet, sort of heartbreaking too.”

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