Page 2 of Finding Michael

“There wasn’t a signature on this letter?”

“No,” Tristan said. “Nothing. Not even an initial. The writer simply wants me to create a town based on Lewiston. I have no idea where that place is.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Me either.”

“I’ll be careful, sir, and I think you should, too. I’ve got some laundry to finish. When you need me, let me know.” Dennis turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving Tristan with his thoughts.

Tristan cracked his knuckles, then placed his hands on the keyboard. He hadn’t been to his uncle’s home in years. Was Sullavan, Ohio, still on the map? He brought up the street map, then located the town. Not any bigger than he’d remembered, but still in existence. If he wasn’t mistaken, the small town was about an hour’s drive from Cleveland. Not great, but it’d give him time to plot a new story. Besides, Sullavan would be good fodder for his trademark small-town setting. His spirits brightened. He had no idea what he’d inherited, but if he could use the situation to plot his next book, he’d be golden.

Half an hour later, Tristan had the plane tickets purchased and a rental car secured for when he arrived in Cleveland. He’d emailed his editor and explained the situation—he had an outline started and would be getting her up to speed within the next week, but after he spoke to the lawyer about his uncle’s will. He shut down his laptop and placed the three memory sticks in his messenger bag. He’d finish gathering his writing things together once he’d packed.

Tristan headed down the hallway to his bedroom. Dennis had left his open suitcase on the bed. Instead of thinking too hard about what he had to do, Tristan set about putting his bathroom essentials into his bag.

Dennis strode into the bedroom with a basket of clean clothes. “What should I do if your Aunt Salina calls? Should I tell her where you’ll be?”

Tristan zipped his bag. “No. I’m not on her social calendar unless she wants something. She’s obsessed with her step-daughter’s wedding and I, the son of her only brother, don’t matter. Babsy is much more important than I ever will be.” Not that he cared. He hadn’t been particularly close to his father’s side of the family and they only liked him when they wanted to flaunt his status in the book world or to bolster their place on the social registry.

“Don’t refer to your cousin Jean as Babsy.” Dennis tucked the bag into the suitcase. “It’s her mother’s right to want to spoil her.”

“Whatever.” He didn’t fault his aunt for the spoiling part, just the lack of interest.

“Youcould have a wedding,” Dennis said. “It’s not illegal.”

“Ah, but no one wants to marry me.” He pulled a stack of T-shirts out of the dresser. He laughed, despite not finding the situation amusing. He’d like to be with a man who craved him, not one who wanted his money. “I can’t seem to keep a relationship going. That doesn’t sound like the right start for a marriage.” He paused. “I should probably find a man before I get too deep into planning the wedding, too.”

Dennis took the shirts from him. “Alec wasn’t too bad. He seemed sweet.”

“Anyone’s sweet when they see dollar signs.”

“What about Cody? You liked him. I believe you were going to have him move in with you.” Dennis packed the T-shirts, then opened the closet. “What about pants? Are you wearing jeans or do you need something dressier?”

“Denim.” He counted out seven pairs of jeans, then offered them up to Dennis. “Cody was a good man, but I couldn’t compete with him. Every time I turned around, he’d be checking himself out in the mirror. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m not awful. When I stood beside him, I felt so…ugly.” He turned his back on Dennis. Truth be told, whenever he looked at his reflection, he saw the chunky kid he had been in junior high. Growing twenty years older hadn’t changed his body image problems. He’d worked out, lost the weight and ate much better than during his school years, but his inner chubby kid lingered. He closed his eyes. Now wasn’t the right time to let himself think about his inadequacies.

“And Justin was bad, how?”

“He wasn’t.” Justin hadn’t been the issue. “We clicked in bed, but there wasn’t anything otherwise.” Tristan had gotten himself so wrapped up in his own self-esteem problems, he hadn’t given Justin enough of a chance. But that was in the past. He needed to move forward.

“Uh-huh.” Dennis nodded once. “This trip is about the will and research, isn’t it? You’ll get a book out of the situation if it kills you, won’t you?”

“That’s the plan.” He tossed underwear and socks into the suitcase. “My career is off track. This will be the push to get it righted.” He hoped. “Where are my notebooks?”

“In your office,” Dennis said. “I’ll get them and your fountain pen set.”

“Thanks.” Tristan walked into his closet and appraised his collection of shoes.Christ.He had money. He didn’t have to work. Using the trust fund cash wasn’t horrible. Lots of others lived perfectly happy lives paid for by the money from someone else’s hard work. Why couldn’t he do the same? His parents had given him the cash without question. He grabbed his running shoes and a pair of casual ones, then closed the door.

He’d built his career as a writer. Constant funding and huge paychecks weren’t guaranteed. He’d lived on less and done just fine. He could do so again—especially if the story panned out and he found his muse.Who knew a will could hold so many possibilities for creativity?

* * * *

One day he’d have a decent office… Michael Kane sat on the floor of the shed next to the Sullavan library and flipped through the box of books. His ass ached. He’d been in a folded-up position on the plywood floor for too long, but he didn’t have a desk. He counted the remaining boxes of donated books. If each of the six boxes had twenty or so books… He closed his eyes. A dull ache formed in his sinuses. He’d never get out of the shed.

No, he had to finish sorting. The little library box in the center of town needed more books and the ladies from the Friends of the Sullavan Library would want more novels for the used book sale.

Maybe he should’ve brought a folding chair along for this task. At least then he’d be off the floor. He would’ve rather been in the main library building, but then he’d never finish sorting. He scanned the titles of the books in the box—all popular paperbacks bought at the Sullavan general store. He wished the library were bigger. If it was, then he’d be able to put a few more of the hardly used books on the shelves. But Sullavan wasn’t big enough as a town to handle a full library. The former one-room schoolhouse sufficed. Everything within the building had been repurposed or donated and most of it had started out in the shed. The other workers at the library were all volunteers. He brought in a paycheck, but it didn’t cover his monthly costs.

He kept telling himself he’d look for another job in a larger town so he could have a proper office. The head librarian needed a space to deal with the inevitable paperwork, to sort through donations and to eat his lunch in peace. Not in his case. He shared his space with the circulation desk. Wouldn’t his buddies from college laugh? They’d all gone on to bigger, better libraries. Not him. He moved to Sullavan.

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