Page 52 of The Lost Book of First Loves

The tone of the entries seemed to change, become more confident as he worked on finishing the book that would later becomePurgatory River.

There’s this strange mix of pride and shame whenever I think about my book. Pride that I’ve actually done it, shame that maybe it’s not as brilliant as I hoped it would be. I’ve never felt so fragile, so vulnerable.

Then he wrote about the agent who had finally taken him on as a client, about receiving an offer for that first book almost right away and how much courage it had taken him to refuse the offer and instead send the book to auction, where it had been sold for a staggering sum to a publishing house his agent felt would be the best fit for him.

I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, but I’m terrified of falling. The closer it gets to reality, the more I doubt myself. It’s like staring into the abyss. So much potential, but also the possibility of complete failure. I’ve always wanted this, but now that it’s close, I don’t know if I’m ready.

The second journal was all about the path to publication. The heady excitement, the whirlwind of edits and revisions and cover art discussions. Through it, he had started and discarded three other ideas for his second novel, talking at length about the dreaded sophomore slump.

She knew nearly four years passed between the publications of his first and second books, but that he wrote a book every two years after that.

AfterPurgatory Rivercame out to a whirlwind of praise and a clamor of publicity, he seemed excited at times but apprehensive, too, as if afraid to believe it was all real.

Today I allowed myself a moment of peace. I reread the book, trying to see it through someone else’s eyes. And you know what? It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. Every word, every sentence, is part of me. No matter what happens, I’ve created something that didn’t exist before. That has to mean something.

And then the tenor of the entries changed. Apparently, Carson fell in love. He met someone he called only E and he wrote about how the world seemed different now.

Theirs seemed a doomed relationship. He wrote about their one charmed week together and how his life had been forever changed. She had obviously broken his heart somehow. He seemed both angry and resigned that she had left him, taking all his dreams with her.

June read until her eyes crossed and her shoulders ached. She needed to sleep, she decided, as much as she didn’t want to leave the fascinating journals.

Early the next morning, she was doing yoga on the front porch of the cabin while the morning sun dappled the wood-slat flooring when her favorite canine ambled out of the woods. He stopped at the bottom of the porch and gazed up at her.

“Hey there, Hank. Good morning.”

As if he had been granted permission, the dog trotted up the steps and stuck his nose into her hand.

She petted him obediently, amused at how clearly this nonverbal creature could obtain what he wanted.

“Does Beckett know where you are?” she asked. In answer, the dog simply lolled his tongue.

She hadn’t had the chance to pick up dog treats for him yet, but she had some chicken she had cooked the other day. She went inside to the refrigerator and pulled off a small piece, which she handed over to the dog once she returned to the porch.

“Sorry. That’s all I have,” she said after Hank gobbled it up in one bite and gave her an expectant look, clearly wanting more.

The dog eventually seemed to accept the harsh reality of no more treats and instead settled down on his belly beside her, as if prepared to launch into one of her yoga poses.

She sighed. “You can stay for a while, then I probably need to take you home.”

She went through a few more yoga poses, feeling more refreshed than she had since she arrived in Bridger Peak.

Staying active had always been important to her. She had made a career of it, after all. It had been solace to her after her mother’s death and had provided her an emotional and social outlet in high school and eventually a college scholarship.

She loved the exhilaration of running, of finding her rhythm, of pushing her body to its limits.

She still ran the occasional 10K and half-marathon and had been considering trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon the next year. Alas, she suspected she would have to permanently table that dream.

Harsh reality pressed in, leaving her almost breathless with sadness. She pressed a hand to her chest, aware with each inhale and exhale that everything had changed.

She wouldn’t be running any marathons now. Better to focus on everything she stillcoulddo. She was still alive to enjoy the pure morning sunshine, the song of the birds and the climbing roses sending out their lush, delicious scent.

Her heart was still pumping, even if it did need the occasional shock to keep it on task.

Hank seemed to sense her turmoil. He nestled closer to her thigh and rested his chin on her leg, gazing up at her with those understanding eyes.

She smiled down at the dog, grateful for his uncomplicated affection. “All right. Let me change first and we can take you home.”

She rose to go into the cabin when a voice called out.

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