Page 53 of Forever Endeavor

“You mean you’d actually consider staying in Mayberry?”

“I can’t get ahead of myself, and besides, Sonny hasn’t asked me to stick around.”

“Whatever’s in the tap water down there, you sound bubbly and bright like your old self again and I have a suspicion that it’s done wonders for your writing. So, speaking of happily ever after, tell me about your work in progress.”

“It’s a modern-day fairy tale inspired by a story that Sonny’s uncle told me. I’ve fictionalized the names andmany of the details, of course, but it has all the makings of an Amethyst Jayde title. Only problem—”

“Problem? Oh dear, I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I don’t have an ending, at least not yet. You see, it’s a second-chance romance that spans over several decades, but I still need to work out a way to reunite them.”

“I’m intrigued,” Carmen said. “Tell me more.”

“He’s a dashing police officer on the verge of taking his own life. Fate intervenes when he meets a beautiful young woman the night of her engagement party to a wealthy man she doesn’t love. Tragically, they only get a very short but memorable time together that changes the trajectory of both their lives before she disappears without a trace. Neither one knows what happened to the other, yet neither has ever forgotten that night.”

“It sounds incredible, Billie, it does. It also sounds verrry familiar. Hold on.”

“What? How can it sound familiar? I haven’t shared my draft with anyone.” She heard the rustling of papers being shuffled on the other end of the line before Carmen came back on.

“By chance, does your officer and his beloved meet during a Christmas Eve blizzard?”

“Yyy-yes,” Billie stammered. “But how in the world did…?”

“Chicago? 1982?”

Her brain was scrambling as her heart raced double time. “Carmen, I don’t understand. How do you know that already?”

“Because, my dear, I read about it inUSA Today. It’s splashed across every major daily from Boston to Bakersfield. It’s even gaining traction on some of the cable news networks.”

“What is?”

“The story of the cop looking for the woman he met in the snowstorm of ’82. Isn’t that your story?”

Billie’s phone slipped out of her hand.Oh holy shit.

Her fingers furiously burned up the keyboard. Bart Fielder’s quaint little article in the Evanston Echo had been picked up on the news wire for national syndication. And there, RIGHT THERE, was Cal’s police academy photo. “FUUUUUUCK!”

Somewhere in the distance, Carmen continued squawking. “Billie? Billie! Are you all right? Answer me!”

Billie scooped her phone off the floor. “Oh God, I’ve fucked up royally, Carm. I’ll call you back.” Click. She immediately logged in to her Star-Crossed Connections account to see if Fielder had sent any advanced warning of the impending shit storm. Instead, she was met with a stern notice that her inbox had exceeded maximum capacity.

Sonny

Cal and Sonny worked in separate areas of the house, packing up goods to be loaded into a storage container parked on the driveway. Sonny wasn’t waving a white flag yet, only preparing for the worst like his lawyer suggested. It was surprisingly therapeutic to sort through years of accumulated junk and heave out the useless shit they’d been hoarding to make way for new possibilities.

“Son…?” Cal called out. “Think it’s beer o’clock. Time to take a break.”

“I’ll meet you out on the porch.” Sonny bubble-wrapped the last of his mother’s hand-painted teapots, gently placing it in a box with the rest of her treasured porcelain figurines. As a boy, he was told that such pretty, delicate items were only to be admired from a safe distance. Mom would remind him that some things were simply too precious to be handled with anything but the utmost care. If it was fragile, it was not to be played with.

After sealing up the box, Sonny grabbed two beers from the fridge and joined Cal outside. He took a seat on the step next to the old man, pulled back the tab on the can to release the hiss before the first icy, wet gulp slid down his parched throat. They sat in silence, staring into the street that passed by the house. Sonny wondered what Billie was doing at that very moment. Probably writing up a storm, adorably deep in thought. A master at work. He had to admit, he was curious about what her novel was about, but until she was ready to share it with him and the rest of the world, he was content to serve as her source of neck rubs and other tension relief.

“Did ya ever notice how Billie smells like summertime?” Sonny said, breaking the silence. “It’s not her perfume or her shampoo, but actually her. It’s nice, right?”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “Summertime? Uh no, can’t say that I’ve noticed.”

Sonny shrugged. “No? Maybe it’s just me.”

“Maybe.” Cal started to chuckle and had a sip of beer.

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