Page 79 of Smoke and Fire
“Jess,” he murmured with a slight nod. “Years ago, Dad struggled under some of Inessa's medical debt. To help out, I threw a book together to see if I could sell something that didn’t cost money to make. Dad had to retire early because of his . . . challenges . . . and there wasn’t a lot of money coming in. I’d always loved to write, so I wrote a cheesy romance novel and sent it to a bunch of people.”
“Pri?”
He laughed. “No. Pri heard about it from another agent that had just rejected it. She saw promise, so she reached out, suggested a few things, and I did them. She decided to take a chance, because she knew an editor at a mid-sized press that wanted something like it. It worked out, so I kept writing up through book ten. The publisher handled my frequent releases pretty consistently. I was able to build up a big base of books fast, although my readership wasn't super strong at that point.”
A group of people strolled by, arm in arm, then disappeared into the building. I watched them go as his story unfolded. Bastian revealed more about himself in this conversation than I had ever thought possible. Facets began to piece together. The pictures at his Dad’s house. His quiet manner. The deep desire for a veil between him and his readers.
He sighed, drawing my attention back. “Then Dad's diagnosis came.”
A pause lingered behind. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, with a little squeeze on his arm.
“Early-onset dementia.”
He said the words with a voice like steel. That diagnosis must have felt like drowning. With his mother dead at a young age, he was likely close with his father. Probably very close as they cared for Inessa together.
Did he see his father’s sickness as a betrayal? It would explain the anger I sensed in him.
“Dad regressed slowly, then all at once. He began to struggle at work with his engineering job. Then he had to quit. It worsened from there. Once he lost his routine, he lost himself. I had to put him into a memory care place a year and a half ago. His body is mostly healthy. His mind is . . . not.”
My issues of lost love and thwarted plans seemed to pale in comparison to what Bastian faced every day. Caregiver for two medically needy people. Financial supporter for them as well. No maternal influence. Now, no paternal influence either.
Who guided Bastian?
Who showed up for him?
No wonder his text messages had been so awkward when he found out that I’d taken the day off to help with the launch.
“Your father's dementia must be hard to watch,” I whispered.
He snorted. The sound was half derisive scoff, half vulnerable child.
“Torture,” he said. “My strong, indomitable father became a shell of a man. He wanders around all day looking for his wallet. His hands shake. Mumbles are almost all I can hear from him, when he speaks at all. He doesn’t know me anymore, and when I stare into his eyes, it’s like he sees all the way through me.”
His impassioned response sounded pressured, like he’d been waiting for it to come out for years but hadn’t had the opportunity. Had no one asked him this?
Had heletanyone ask?
“I couldn’t just let Dad and Inessa live anywhere. I wouldn’t let either of them be neglected, or in a place that I couldn’t trust. Which meant I had to be able to pay a lot of money every month.”
“Were the books making enough?"
He shrugged. "With wildland fire work, I squeaked by. The big numbers hadn’t hit at that point. Jess continued to grow steadily, but it was last summer that the influencers came in and Jess’s name grew.”
“And now,” I murmured when he stopped, “you’re trying to save for the future?”
With what he must be making on royalties, I had little doubt that what debt had once existed was likely caught up. I’d wager that he could meet the financial demands of both places for now.
But a middle aged man with dementia might live far longer than an older one. When the mind aged, but the body didn’t, what kind of longevity did that mean? Bastian might have to pay for full-time care for years, or maybe not. No one would have a crystal ball for that kind of situation.
And Inessa?
Both stories explained why Bastian strove to keep Jess’s financial system alive and well.
“I don’t know why I keep returning to fire work when Jess clearly makes so much money now.” He spoke more to himself than to me, but I listened intently all the same. “I think . . . I’m worried that Jess’s fame will just dry up one day. Or it’ll start to die away and I could be left stranded. Fire is something I can do that guarantees money every summer. Money and . . . escape, I guess.”
Sensing that he needed a shift of attention after revealing so many heart-driven things, I let my hand fall away. My gaze returned to the building in front of me.
“In the meantime,” I drew in a deep breath. “Shall we go check on your sister?”
