Page 39 of The Lost Book of First Loves

She was Carson’s daughter, even if she didn’t know it yet. Loyalty to his friend compelled him to help her, even if she clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

“What about the journals?” he said suddenly. By the expressions of all three women at the table, he realized his outburst probably interrupted a conversation about something else.

“What?” Alison asked, clearly confused.

“Sorry. That was random. Go on with what you were saying.”

“We weren’t talking about anything important,” Loretta assured him. “I was only telling Juniper about a few events on the schedule for the bookstore this summer. What journals are you talking about?”

“Carson’s journal entries.”

“Oh, those journals. He was always writing in them,” Loretta said with a rueful smile.

“Right. There are at least thirty years’ worth.”

“More. He kept them before he ever published his first book.”

“Ali and I had talked with his publisher about possibly coming out with a collection of short essays from his journal entries at some point,” Beck said.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t had a minute to go through them,” Alison said. “You haven’t either, have you?”

“No. I’m afraid not,” Beck answered. In truth, he might have been able to carve out the time, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sort through his friend’s most intimate thoughts yet.

“Beck and I are the cotrustees of his literary trust,” Alison explained to June, who was looking blank.

“I’m not familiar with a literary trust.”

“It’s a legal entity intended to protect an author’s legacy after he or she passes away. Carson assigned all the copyrights for his work to the trust before his death, which allows Alisonand me as the cotrustees to make decisions about republishing his work or assigning sub-rights.”

“Movie deals, foreign editions, that kind of thing,” Ali explained.

“If you’re interested,” Beck said, “perhaps you could start reading through his journal entries and flagging some you might think might be of interest to his readers, if we ever decide to publish some of his journal entries as possible essays in book form.”

Her eyes lit up with more excitement than he had seen there in the short time he had known her. “Are you serious? That would be amazing! I would love it!”

Her enthusiasm faded a little. “I don’t have any more experience in the literary world than I do in document preservation, though. You should probably do it yourselves.”

“I wouldn’t be able to get to it until after the bar exam,” Ali said. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I’ll be able to bring myself to read his journal entries for a while. It’s still hard for me to read anything he’s written, even the books and short stories I’ve read before. I can only imagine how painful it would be to read his personal thoughts and reflections.”

Beck felt the same way. He knew that state of affairs would eventually change, but right now the loss seemed too sharp.

“You don’t have to feel pressure,” he assured her. “It was only an idea. And if youdidwant to read through them, we certainly wouldn’t expect you to make any final decisions. You would only be flagging those entries you find meaningful or particularly insightful as a reader and fan. Anything that might help the world get a better picture of Carson, both the man and the writer.”

“I would love it,” she said again. Her face seemed to light up from more than the dying rays of the sun. He liked seeing her animated instead of defeated and lost.

“It sounds like a perfectly lovely idea,” Loretta said. “How kind of you to even consider it.”

“I would be honored to read any of Carson’s writings, especially anything the general public hasn’t yet had the chance to discover.”

“Your perspective would be wonderful,” Ali said. “I also love that through reading his journals, you can come to know Dad a little better.”

That might be overplaying her hand, Beck thought. June blinked in confusion, as if wondering why Ali might want her to come to know Carson better, though she didn’t ask the question.

“When can I start?” she asked instead. “Tonight? Where are the journals?”

He had to smile at her eagerness, grateful the idea had come to him. “They’re actually in a fireproof safe in the walk-in closet of his office. You might have noticed it.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t been in that room yet. It seemed... presumptuous.”

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