“Are you going to tell me what’s so special about this island, or will I have to guess?”
Ryan laughed softly. Lauren thought he might have blushed, but the lighting was too dim to tell for certain. “When I was a boy, I went through a prolonged pirate phase,” Ryan said, smiling at the memory. “My grandfather told me the story of Captain Kidd and his treasure, and it captured my imagination.”
“And who, exactly, was Captain Kidd?” Lauren asked, giggling when Ryan gave her a stare of mock horror.
“You’ve never heard of Captain Kidd?”
“Not that I can recall, no.”
“Captain Kidd was a seventeenth-century Scottish sailor who became a notorious pirate. Legend has it that he buried part of his treasure right here on Hog Island. The greater part of his loot was said to be buried on Gardiner’s Island off the coast of Long Island. He was arrested and eventually executed. The treasure he left behind was never unearthed, either here or on Long Island, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. People have been looking for it for centuries. If you row out to the island, you can still find broken shovels and dug-out pits where treasure hunters tried their luck. It’s believed that he revealed the exact location of the loot to his wife in one of his letters, but no such letter ever came to light. When I was a boy, I was convinced that I would be the one to find the treasure and become rich and famous.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Lauren asked, trying to imagine Ryan as a boy.
“Not well. Like many others before me, I failed to find any trace of the booty.”
“That’s a shame,” Lauren replied.
“Don’t I know it. When I was about ten, being a pirate seemed like the most romantic of occupations. Had someone told me I’d be neutering dogs and putting beloved pets to sleep, I would have had them walk the plank.”
“Life has its own plan, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does.”
“And what does your daughter want to do? Would she like to follow in your footsteps and become a veterinarian?”
Ryan looked momentarily blank, then smiled and nodded as if he’d just gotten the punchline of a joke. “Merielle is not my daughter. She’s my little sister. She’ll be going to UMass in the fall, but she’s helping me in the office until then. She says I’m a great boss,” he added smugly. “Really understanding.”
“Is a lot of understanding required?” Lauren asked, curious what he meant.
“She’s an eighteen-year-old girl who likes to party. Need I say more?”
“No, I guess not. I haven’t had any dealings with teenagers since I was a teenager myself, but I can imagine.”
“So, what do you do when you’re not skulking around historic houses?” Ryan asked.
“At the moment, I work as a ghostwriter.”
“What does that entail?” he asked.
“Ghostwriters are usually hired by people who want to write a book but don’t have any writing ability to speak of, most often for the purpose of writing an autobiography. Sometimes, established fiction writers hire ghosts to increase their output. They provide the ghostwriter with an outline and have them write the story in the writer’s name, preferably copying their style of writing.”
“Isn’t that cheating?” Ryan asked.
“It’s perfectly legal. Many big-name writers use ghosts, but they usually give them credit for the work.”
“Are you working on something now?”
“I’m writing an autobiography of a well-known reality star.”
“Anyone I’d be familiar with?” Ryan asked.
“Oh yes, but I can’t tell you her name. I’d be violating the terms of the contract.”
“And how is it progressing?”
“With excruciating slowness. I usually have a good working relationship with my clients, but this woman could probably make the Dalai Lama lose his cool. It’s nearly impossible to get her to concentrate for longer than a minute. She’s constantly on her phone, checking the number of her Twitter followers and posting selfies. She thinks I can write the book without her input.”
“Have you ever tried writing under your own name?” he asked, watching her with interest.
“Yes, but I haven’t written anything new since… I’m sorry, I can’t…” Lauren looked away as tears threatened to fall. She didn’t want to talk about Zack or her reasons for leaving Boston. She was shocked to realize that until Ryan had brought up the past, she’d gone a whole half hour without thinking about Zack, something that hadn’t happened since he’d left on his first tour. Lauren angrily wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek and fumbled in her bag for a tissue.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Ryan said, his expression somber. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Lauren made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Look, I’m sorry, but I should get going. Thank you for the drink.” She stood, and Ryan instantly sprang to his feet.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for another drink?”
“Thanks, but no. Have a good night.”
Lauren grabbed her purse and headed for the door, hurrying to her car as if someone were giving chase. Once safely inside, she drove back to the house and let herself in, tears spilling down her cheeks as she scooped a sleepy Billy out of his crate and carried him upstairs to her bedroom. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She’d been having a nice time. Perhaps she simply wasn’t ready. After Billy used the wee wee pad in the upstairs bathroom, she deposited him on the bed, changed into her favorite pajamas, turned off the light, and climbed into bed.
As Billy settled himself against her hip, her gaze slid to the moonlight-painted desk beneath the window. Her laptop and notepad covered most of the surface, her modern pens and highlighters occupying the very place where the inkwell had stood. As Lauren lay sleepless, she couldn’t help but wonder if the mysterious woman would come to her again. Who was she, and what kept her tethered to this world?
The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8) Page 32