“Just wanted to come by and check on you.” Inside his blue eyes, watery now with age, she saw that there would always be a fear in him that she might not be okay. She supposed that was the price of love. Along with it came constant fear that it would be torn from your arms. She’d risked it once, and all of her fears had come true. Somehow, she was still standing.
“All is well, Daddy.”
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay.”
She waved at her father as the FedEx truck came rumbling down the drive, passing her father’s truck on his way out. The deliveryman hopped out, carrying a medium-size box. “Good afternoon. Sign here,” he said, handing her a digital signature pad. Jules took the box from him, wondering what it could be. She hadn’t ordered anything that she could remember.
At her kitchen counter, she pulled the tab that opened the box. Inside, neatly bound, was a manuscript titled The Living End. By Patrick Reagan.
She stared at his name, breathless. She had hoped—prayed, even—that he would contact her. But as Christmas passed and winter faded into spring, she’d heard nothing and assumed that he had permanently disappeared.
The manuscript was thick. The paper, a heavier stock, was crisp, pure white. She put her hand on it as though she might be able to feel its heartbeat.
An envelope, sealed with a burgundy wax stamp with the fancy letter R, peeked out of the edge of the box. She’d almost missed it. Opening it carefully, she found a handwritten note.
Dear Juliet,
I was delighted to hear that you decided to release your novel under your real name. I was not certain Blake Timble and I would ever be acquainted as friends. But you, dear one, will always be my friend. I hold you in high esteem and have resigned myself now that there are better writers in the world than I. Your talent is immense. I know you’ve found your destiny.
My destiny has come and gone. I know you will respect that I must go away. I want to live out my days alone and in peace, writing for myself, writing for the pure pleasure of it again. I realized over these past few months that I was attempting to write about a world I no longer understood. And maybe I no longer wished to understand it. I’ve become good at hiding from it. I thought that Amelia and I could live in solitude and enjoy each other and be everything to one another. Even if she had lived, I realized that she could never fulfill every need in my soul. It seems we were created to be filled by something—Someone—greater than ourselves. As much as Amelia loved me, she could not reach the bleakest corridors of my being. Perhaps more than the cancer, I ate away at her life by trying to keep her all to myself, by hiding from the very thing I sought to write about.
I suppose we understand each other, as your own journey took you to a closed and confined space where you peered out into the world through a tiny window. But maybe we can learn from each other as well. Maybe, unlike me, you can summon the courage to live openly, alongside this world, leaving the imprint of your existence on its dewy grass.
I hope I am one of those people you hold close to your heart when you sink below the surface of the ocean and delight in the way the light looks from a different perspective. I hope I have helped you not fear the waters of the deep.
Enclosed you will find my final novel, The Living End. I finished it to honor Jason. It is dedicated to you. There is nothing more raw or real than the unfinished and unpolished work of a writer. The world will see it clothed, but you have seen it laid bare.
I wish you the very best. You won’t be able to find me, but I will always be nearby. Warm regards.
Your biggest fan,
PR
“Jules?”
She gasped, looking up to find Chris standing in the doorway.
“Sorry . . . didn’t mean to startle you. The door was wide-open.”
Jules suddenly realized there was a draft, slightly fluttering the edges of the manuscript. She hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Sorry. Come in,” she said, beckoning him with her hand.
He walked in and closed the door. “You look nice.”
“I feel a little haggard. I’ve been writing since 4 a.m.”
“Haggard does not and will not ever fit you.” He grinned and pecked her on the cheek. “You ready for lunch?”
She nodded but pointed to the manuscript sitting on the table. “It’s from Patrick.”
Chris looked at it, worry flickering through his eyes. “You didn’t think you’d ever hear from him again.”
“No, I didn’t.” She glanced at him. At the beginning of a relationship that started soon after he rescued her, they’d had to agree to disagree about Patrick. Chris didn’t understand what happened in the cabin. As far as he was concerned, Patrick Reagan was a lunatic.
“Have you read any of it?” he asked.
“No. Not . . . in a while. The letter says it’s his last book. That it was written to honor Jason.”
Jules looked at Chris for a long moment. They’d been through so much in the last six months. The cops involved in the theft ring were charged, which later led to the arrest of the men who shot Jason. Patrick had disappeared before the police got to the cabin. He would be arrested if they ever found him, even though Jules never pressed charges.
Jules had met with the prosecutor and agreed to testify on Jason’s behalf if they needed her. The ADA, Robert McKinnel, told her they had enough evidence to put them all behind bars for years, thanks to Jason’s work before he died and Patrick’s work after. Chris had been relieved to know that Greg Maecoat had not been involved in the ring. They returned to being partners after internal affairs cleared them both.
“You okay?” Chris asked.
She smiled through tears. “I am.”
Chris pulled her into a tight hug.
“Thanks for being here for me,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Look, don’t misunderstand. I’m totally in this for the cool factor of dating a famous writer.”
Jules laughed. She loved his sense of humor. She was beginning to love even more than that.
“Why don’t we go get you some comfort food. How many calories do you burn per page, you think? Enough to justify clam chowder made with real cream?”
“Enough for ice cream!” she said, clasping her hands together hopefully.
“Depends on how many times you hit that heavy Delete button.”
“Too many times to count.”
“Then it’s a double scoop for you!”
She laughed and he grabbed her hand, leading her toward the door.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” she said. “Let me get my purse.”
Chris walked out and Jules passed by the table on which the manuscript sat. She paused, the tips of her fingers brushing the top page, finding their way to the middle, hovering over his name.
And he was right.
She felt him nearby.
Acknowledgments
I’D LIKE TO THANK all the people at Tyndale who continue to be teammates in this wonderful world of writing. The entire fiction team, the sales team, the support staff are incredibly gifted, dedicated, and professional and a joy to be around. Special thanks to Jan Stob, Sarah Mason, and Karen Watson for continuing to believe in my stories and writing.
I’d also like to thank my agent, Janet Kobobel Grant, for her constant guidance and encouragement. She is a fountain of wisdom from whom I draw much. Also, thanks to Ron Wheatley, my constant writing companion and technical adviser, who makes my stories read authentically.
My family—Sean, John, and Cate—bring such joy to my life and fill my days with deep meaning and purpose. It’s easy to come back from my imaginary world and dwell in the moments that are real.
And as always, thank You to my heavenly Father, who allows me to work out my faith in my stories and ask the hard questions, never harshly rebuking me but always dealing with me kindly and attentively.
About the Author
RENE GUTTERIDGE is the author of nineteen novels, including Heart of the Cou
ntry, Possession, Listen, and the Storm series from Tyndale House Publishers and Never the Bride, the Boo series, and the Occupational Hazards series from WaterBrook Multnomah. She also released My Life as a Doormat and The Ultimate Gift: The Novelization with Thomas Nelson. Rene is also known for her Christian comedy sketches. She studied screenwriting while earning a mass communications degree, graduating magna cum laude from Oklahoma City University and earning the Excellence in Mass Communication Award. She served as the full-time director of drama for First United Methodist Church for five years before leaving to stay home and write. She enjoys instructing at writers conferences and in college classrooms. She lives with her husband, Sean, a musician, and their children in Oklahoma City. Visit her website at www.renegutteridge.com.
Discussion Questions
At the beginning of Misery Loves Company, Jules writes in her blog that Patrick Reagan has lost his spark as a writer. In what ways can any of us lose our spark? Can that loss be prevented or a spark restored once it’s gone? How?
Jules copes with the loss of her husband, Jason, by retreating from the world and looking forward to seeing Jason in her dreams. What do you think was healthy or unhealthy about her response? Have you ever turned to your dreams or imagination to cope with grief?
Jules’s father, the Lt. Colonel, says in chapter 1 that “instinct can carry you an awful long way, but full analysis can save your life.” Explain what he means by this. When have you had to put “full analysis” into practice?
In chapter 5, Jules considers the purpose of death: “What was this life for if not loving and living and changing and breathing? What was the point of it all if death took it away?” Have you ever struggled with similar questions? Were you able to reconcile your thinking about death, and if so, how?
In chapter 6, the Lt. Colonel says that technology is ruining our society. Considering the story line in Misery Loves Company, is there some validity to his concerns? How should we apply wisdom in our use of technology? What are the pros and cons of social media in our culture?
When Patrick asks Jules if she told the truth about his writing on her blog, she answers him honestly despite being his captive. Have you been in a situation where telling the truth was risky or costly? Explain.
In chapter 8, Patrick asks Jules, “Did you intend to harm me?” in reference to her blog post about his writing. If you were writing a review about someone’s work on your blog and knew the author would read your words, how would that knowledge affect your writing? How much responsibility do you think reviewers have to consider the feelings of the author?
Have you ever found yourself in a terrifying situation? If so, please share, if you feel comfortable, how you coped.
Jules describes herself as someone who only functions in a well-ordered environment, as opposed to Patrick, who is “fond of chaos.” Describe how you best function and discuss why you believe God formed you this way.
“You can’t find peace because there is no peace without truth,” Patrick says in chapter 17. What does he mean by this? Do you agree that there’s a relationship between peace and truth? Explain.
Later Patrick says, “Writing is about finding truth. But you can’t find the truth if you don’t see everything,” describing how writers closely observe their world. Do you need to look more closely at your world? What would change if you did so?
Leona Patterson tells Chris in chapter 21 that “writers play God, don’t you see? They create their people, their creations, and . . . then send trouble into their paths.” In literature, obstacles are essential to good storytelling. What would our lives be like without trouble? What purpose do our problems serve?
Consider Patrick’s words in chapter 25: “We need people, Juliet, to show us our selfishness, to extract ugliness that reveals itself in our hearts.” How do people play this role in our lives? Can you think of a time when you either allowed someone to play this role or prevented someone from doing so?
Patrick asks Jules if there is a time when killing is merciful. How would you answer him? How would you handle an end-of-life situation if you were in the place of Patrick’s wife? What would you do if you were in Patrick’s position, watching someone you loved suffer?
As Patrick and Jules consider God’s role in their lives, Patrick remarks that “the hardest thing to understand about God is why He answers a prayer for a good parking space at the mall but won’t hear the cries of a man desperate to save his wife. Why He wouldn’t hear the plea of such a woman as yourself, that her husband might not die on a sidewalk in the darkness of night.” Have you wrestled with similar questions about answered and unanswered prayers? How would you answer Patrick?
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