Her lunch arrived, and she dove into her Cobb salad with gusto before opening her laptop to check blog comments. And there it was. The newest comment from him, in response to her assertion that his work wasn’t funny. He wrote:
My work is entertaining and significant, Ms. Sunjoy, hence the Newsome Award. When was the last time your happy-happy-joy-joy syrup earned the same? Go ahead and review. I’ll wait. ZZZzzzzz…
Merry’s ears heated and she stopped herself from growling out loud.
No one on earth could get under her skin like that odious man. She stared at the thumbnail image that accompanied his comment and shook her head. Obviously an artist’s depiction. It looked like the lovechild of Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow and the horrifying doll from the Chucky movies.
Scurvy Rickets. Why would any author choose such a pen name? Which begged the question, who was he really? Probably a bitter old crank with nothing better to do than play the role of online troll when he wasn’t writing books for adolescent pre-teens obsessed with gas.
Merry slapped the laptop shut and let herself fall back into the pillows. She had to think of a witty response this time because, damn him, he was right. Her books had earned more than one award, but none of her titles had ever scored a Newsome. She had never cared about that before. She had only cared that children and their parents loved the stories she wrote, and she’d hit a homerun with her Foundling Faeries series about three orphaned faeries on a mission to save their parents.
The evil leprechaun, Heroone, had used his magic potion to trick the faerie parents. He turned them, and hundreds of other victims, into shiny pebbles for his garden. Everyone told the Foundling Faeries their parents were dead, but they knew better. They knew if they looked long enough and hard enough, did good deeds, and believed with all their might, that one day they would find their parents and rescue them from Heroone. At the heart of it, the three faeries wanted what every child wants—love, acceptance, and a sense of safety and belonging.
Not that this desire had ever helped Merry and her sister Holly save their mother from her personal lifelong demons.
Merry rubbed her forehead and frowned, pushing the thought into a dark corner. She couldn’t think about her mother right now. No, what Merry needed to be concerned with was Scurvy Rickets, because she was tired of dealing with the negativity and having to always be on her toes for witty responses. Every time her phone pinged a social media notification, Merry’s heart sped and her stomach clenched as she feared Rickets had dropped another verbal bomb on her. Why the man had chosen to pick on her she didn’t understand, but it was exhausting. Her agent had sympathized and promised to reach out on her behalf, see if he could stop the nonsense. But so far all he’d done was beg her to continue with the silly back-and-forth because it had been great for sales. For reasons Merry didn’t understand, discord grabbed more attention than niceties, and thanks to that rotten old Rickets, her book sales were up.
She closed her eyes and her mind drifted back to . . . oh, fiddlesticks. What was his name? Rick. No, wait. Rick made her think of Rickets, and the sexy gentleman on the beach was certainly no Scurvy Rickets.
Nick. That was it.
She imagined him walking toward her again, the sun giving the ends of his hair a burnished glow while the muscles of his lean athlete’s body riveted her attention like a dream-come-true. After that, she couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. Hazel, glowing green and gold, and when the sun touched them—oh, my!
Yessiree, bub. The Ray-Bans came off and those thick-lashed eyes lived up to the promise delivered by the rest of him. She hoped to see those eyes again, up close next time, so she could decide if they were more green or gold and whether or not the soul behind them was genuine. Unfortunately, in her experience, men who looked like Nick were usually lying, narcissistic assholes.
Still, it was possible he was that most elusive of all creatures: an honest person who could be believed and trusted.
She emitted a mighty sigh. Yeah, right. A man like that is as fictional as the Foundling Faeries.
Her ex-husband’s face swam before her eyes. If the man had ever uttered a single whole truth, she’d not been the one to hear it. Merry’s mother had offered up nothing but a lifetime of lies also, but that was because her addictions did the talking for her.
Annoyed with her negative thoughts, Merry pushed them away. If years of therapy had taught her nothing else, she had learned that she had the power to control her own thinking.
She replayed in her mind the image of Nick walking toward her on the beach. She closed her eyes and let herself drift . . .
“Is he real?” Moonflower whispered, peeking at the creature from behind a palm frond. It was an effort to still the fluttering of her gossamer faerie wings.
“I think he’s real,” said Sunbloom, her blue eyes wide.
“I think he’s false,” Skyblossom huffed.
“Why?” said Moonflower and Sunbloom together.
“Because.” Skyblossom’s wings drooped and she lowered her eyes. “Nothing that beautiful can possibly be real.”
Merry opened her eyes and frowned. She didn’t like being bitter, and she had promised herself she was ready for a fresh start.
Merry jumped when her cell phone blared. She recognized the ringtone as her sister’s and scrambled for the phone on the bedside table. “Holly—hello!”
“Hello yourself. How’s your working vacation?”
“Fine, and cut the small talk. How’d your doctor appointment go?” Merry asked, her heart pounding like a runaway train.
“The doctor said there’s nothing wrong with me. It’s nothing but bad luck.” Holly’s harsh laugh tightened Merry’s chest. She knew when her sister was fighting tears. “He said Ben and I should wait a few months and then try to get pregnant again. Maybe third time will be a charm.”
“I’m sorry about the baby. But honey, it is great news that it’s only, you know, bad luck.” Merry gulped back tears of her own. “That sounds so lame, but it’s true. At least you know you’re healthy. And somewhere up in heaven is a little soul waiting to belong to you and Ben. Maybe he or she isn’t ready to flutter down to earth yet.”
“You always find a way to make bad stuff sound not so bad. Thanks for that, I guess.” Holly blew a sigh through the phone. “So how’s your vacation going? Any chance you can fly back here for the weekend? It’s the anniversary of Mom’s—look, I know you know the date. I thought we might go to the cemetery together and lay some flowers.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re at the beach,” Holly said, her tone dry. “I think the saltwater and sand will still be there when you get back. The only reason you chose to go down there now was so you could avoid going to the cemetery.”
Merry considered her words as the silence stretched. “I’m only here for a couple weeks. I already told you I’ll be home for Christmas and New Year’s.”
“Mom’s death was a hit to both of us. You don’t own the corner on anger or guilt here. I’m having a tough time, same as you.”
“You’ve got Ben, Holly. You don’t need me. And why do we have to make a big deal out of the anniversary anyway?”
“Because it will be symbolic. Cathartic. Ben will be there, of course, but I need my big sister, too,” Holly said. “And we aren’t making a big deal out of it. We’re going to lay flowers and help ourselves come to terms with this.”
“Holly, it isn’t only her death. She got drunk and high three days out of rehab and slammed my car into a tree. That rehab center cost us a damn fortune, in case you forgot the reason I sold my condo and moved into your guest room.”
“You know you can stay as long as you want or need to,” Holly murmured.
“That isn’t the point, and you know it. I gave up literally everything I worked hard for to help her—again. It’s fortunate she didn’t hurt anyone else. Look, I’m sorry, but I haven’t forgiven her yet.” Merry sighed and struggled for the words to explain. “I’ve
spent my life dropping everything, giving things up, to take care of her. My teen years were a blur of cleaning up puke and hiding empty booze bottles at the bottom of the trash so the neighbors wouldn’t see. So you wouldn’t see.”
“I know that. But Mer—”
“And then the drugs started up. She brought heroin into my home, Holly!”
“I know,” Holly said quietly.
“Saturday is the anniversary of her death, but waiting another week or two to lay flowers isn’t going to make any difference. It’s not like it will matter to her.”
“Hey, are we sure this is my big sister Merry I’m talking to? Because Merry always looks on the bright side. Merry always finds a silver lining. Moonflower, Sunbloom, and Skyblossom are going to disown you if you don’t show your sunny side.” Holly’s attempt at humor fell short of the mark.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be my cheery self when I get back.”
“You promise?”
“Yes,” Merry said. “I’ll have my sunshine on. Love you like mad. Hugs to Ben.”
Merry ended the call and opened her laptop. She brought up her Twitter account, stared at the tweet left by Scurvy Rickets, and let her shoulders slump. She couldn’t deal with that jackass. Not right now.
She mentally replayed her conversation with Holly and said a silent prayer that the doctor was right and Holly’s two miscarriages were bad luck and nothing more. The emotional pain derived from the losses, combined with their mother’s behavior and the grim result, had taken a heavy toll on both sisters.
Guilt pressed itself against Merry’s chest. It wouldn’t kill her to take a couple of days from her beach vacation to spend time with Holly on the anniversary of their mother’s death, especially as Holly continued to grieve this second miscarriage. Merry would get through the flowers-at-the-grave thing. It was a small price to pay for the silver lining, which was to offer support to her sister and brother-in-law.
The more she thought about it, the more she knew it was the right thing to do. She could go back to Asheville tomorrow and stay with Holly and Ben through the weekend, returning on Monday to continue her beach vacation. She’d let Ben know she was coming as a surprise for Holly.
She called the front desk, pleased that they had no problem accommodating her change of plans. Then she booked her plane tickets and, satisfied with her decision, opened the file of her latest Foundling Faeries story. Pushing aside all negative thoughts, she opened her mind to her plot and characters and let the joy of them flow into her heart. No matter how dire their situation, the Faeries held hope and sunshine in their hearts.
Happy-happy-joy-joy syrup. . .
Scurvy Rickets’s dig pushed under her skin.
Merry reminded herself that readers loved her books. She imagined children smiling as they read the escapades of her Foundling Faeries. She thought of Scurvy Rickets walking the plank. Into the cold, deep ocean. Swarming with sharks. Hungry, hungry sharks.
And then she put her fingers on the keyboard and got to work.
Chapter 3
Nick checked his phone when it vibrated, expecting to see a reply tweet from Merry Sunjoy. He thought she would have responded by now, but she’d remained silent as deep space. Instead, he read a disjointed text from his agent, Phoebe. It featured a lot of exclamation points, implored him to check the weather reports, and asserted her lack of knowledge regarding the presence of Merry Sunjoy at the Casa Blanca resort. She begged him to continue the social media feud which was inexplicably fueling sales for both Pirates and Faeries.
Ms. Sunjoy is on board 100%! Her agent told me so! Stop worrying! Keep up the verbal sparring! Now get back to work!
Merry Sunjoy hadn’t sounded “on board” at the beach. Annoyed was more like it. Nick wished he could ask her straight up, tell her he was the bully she’d complained about and have an adult conversation, but he couldn’t, not without breaking his contract.
Nick slipped his phone into the pocket of his khakis and left the villa, bound for Junonia and what he hoped would be a terrific dinner. He’d eaten at the restaurant on previous visits, and Chef Ian Browning had never failed to impress. Nick expected no less this evening.
He took his time, meandering along the paver-stone pathways, in no rush to get to the restaurant. He’d worked on the newest Pirates book all afternoon, and his muscles needed the movement, especially since he’d foregone the gym in favor of the beach this morning.
He paused to watch a green lizard sitting on a rock, looking like it thought it was king of the world. The creature stood motionless except for the rhythmic pulsing of the pink dewlap beneath its jaw. A moment later, the reptile leapt from the rock and darted beneath a bush loaded with red flowers. Nick watched the tail disappear into the foliage, and he breathed in the myriad scents of the tropical paradise—the spicy flora, the salty Gulf waters, and—warm vanilla?
He looked up to see Merry Sunjoy barreling toward him. She gasped and tried to bring herself to a halt, but her momentum was too strong. She slammed into him with an “oomph!”
Nick staggered back a step and caught her by the shoulders in an effort to steady both of them. He noted the surprise in her morning-glory blues and the embarrassment in her cheeks, now blooming red as the flowers on the bush he’d admired a moment earlier. And he inhaled more of the soft vanilla scent that he would now forever associate with her.
“Oh, my goodness!” she said, staring into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I only glanced down for a second, and when I looked up again—”
“I wasn’t paying attention either.” Nick released her and breathed in again. God, she smelled good. “We collided pretty hard. You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“Just my pride.” Her adorable dimple appeared. “I told you I’m a klutz.”
“You’re in a real hurry. Everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She stepped back and looked up at him, smiling. “I was in my room working all afternoon—I write children’s books—and I’m sore from so much sitting. People don’t realize how hard it is to sit for hours on end.”
“I understand,” he said. “I’m on my way to an early dinner at Junonia. Would you care to join me?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he told himself spending time with her was a good idea, the better to ensure she had no clue he was Scurvy Rickets.
“I’d love to, but”—she spread her arms and looked down at her denim cutoffs, baggy tee-shirt, and flip-flops—“as you can see, I’m more dressed for the Mini Mart.”
“A rain check, then?”
“Unfortunately, something personal has come up, and I have to leave tomorrow. I won’t be back until Monday.”
“Wow, you’re really making me work for this,” Nick said, and laughed when she began to protest. “Tell you what, Miss Merry Sunjoy. I’m staying at one of the villas, and as it happens, there’s a huge container of jerked chicken and rice brought to me by Poppy Washington who, if you don’t know, is one of the housekeepers here. She’s Jamaican, so I promise you the food is authentic. What do you say? I might even be able to scrounge up a salad.”
“Well, I—”
“Please say yes.”
Merry’s eyes darkened as she struggled with apparent indecision.
Nick tucked his hands in his pockets and waited, wondering if she hesitated because she knew he was Scurvy Rickets, or because she didn’t really know him at all.
***
Green and gold both, with a little cinnamon color thrown in for good measure, Merry thought, staring into Nick’s eyes. Oh, my goodness. Beautiful.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. The man was too good looking. There had to be something wrong with him, didn’t there? Of course there did. But she’d never discover what it was if she left Casa Blanca without getting to know him better. And, dear Lord, it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to enjoy the company of a man. Even if he turned out to be a jerk, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a nice dinner.
/>
“Yes. I’d love to share the jerked chicken with you,” Merry said, and cursed the heat that flooded her cheeks the moment his smile bloomed. “I’ve never met Poppy personally, but I may have seen her. Earlier I saw a woman with a Jamaican accent arguing with an elderly gentleman about which of them prepares a better lasagna.”
Nick grinned. “Yep, that’s Poppy, probably feuding with Nino. They have a longstanding battle over which of them is more skilled in the kitchen.”
Nick offered his arm for Merry to hold and led her down the path, turning off on the one that ran parallel to the water.
Thunder rolled, and they paused to look at the bruised horizon beyond the wide expanse of choppy Gulf waters. The distant grayness lit with a flash of lighting, but overhead the sky shone blue, and the waning sun cast its rays through a canvas of pink-and-orange-smeared clouds.
“I’m always amazed how the storms roll in here,” Nick said as they resumed their stroll, Merry’s arm still tucked into his. “Most of the time they last all of twenty minutes and then the sun shines again. But for that twenty minutes, it pours like hell.”
“Life is like that. The rain comes, but there’s always a rainbow somewhere, always something positive if we don’t mind waiting or searching for it,” Merry said, thinking about her decision to visit Holly for the weekend.
Nick paused their walk and faced her. “It isn’t simply a platform for you, is it? You really believe the things you write about. That there’s always a silver lining, I mean. That there’s good inside the bad.”
“You know my work?” she asked, surprised. He inclined his head, and she said, “Of course I believe it. I’d go crazy if I didn’t. Don’t you?”
“No, honestly, I don’t,” he admitted and drew her forward to continue their walk.
“Well, I’m sorry for you, then,” she said. “I don’t think I could go through life lost in the bad stuff. It’s why I write the stories I do. Bad things happen, but kids need to know that there are safe places.”
The Write Man Page 2