The Story Keeper Read Free Page B

disintegrating conditions at her workplace. With the rise of e-publishing and fashion blogging, her future at the magazine was a massive question mark.
    “Sorry. I’ll try to look appropriately glum. But it is Friday.” I heard something in the last word of the sentence. The faintest stretching of the i in Friday . The hint of an Appalachian twang I thought I’d expunged years ago.
    I’d been listening since George Vida’s startling observation. It bothered me that he’d picked up on it so quickly. Had anyone else over the years? Maybe just not said anything?
    I could’ve asked Jamie, but that would have opened the door between the two worlds that I had worked all my adult life to separate. Between before and after .
    The great thing about moving far from the place that began you is that it’s a chance to rewrite your history, wrinkle up andthrow away entire pages of the past and pretend that they never were.
    “I’m happy for you,” she promised, tossing the rest of her smoothie in a trash can as we stopped in front of her building. “I am, really, Jen. I can’t wait for you to discover the next book that goes crazy wild. When it debuts on the Times list, I’m going to buy a hundred copies of the newspaper and send them to that wicked ex-boss of yours. Along with a hundred copies of the book. I will never forgive her for taking so much of the credit on the Tom Brandon thing after you brought it in.”
    I hugged her, still clinging to my smoothie, which I intended to consume to the fullest before finally slurping the bottom dry. I’d learned early in life not to waste food. “You’re such a brute, but I love you. Try to have a great day, okay?”
    “Do my best. Catch a show this weekend?”
    “I’ve got a date with a pile of proposals and manuscripts. You wouldn’t believe how much paper they still shuffle around that place. George Vida doesn’t think you can really get the feel from e-material. It’s primeval, but in a nice way. My desk came with a stapler that looks like it’s been knocking around the building since about 1920. And I have a three-hole punch. I haven’t been close to one of those since high school English class, I think.”
    Jamie rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. Now, you’re just making me jealous. Once you get all settled in there, you have got to sneak me in and show me the famous slush pile. Is it true that Vida found the stuff stuck in the corner of the basement and had it moved to the board room?”
    “That’s what Roger tells me. And it’s George Vida , sort of like all one name   —just so you’ll have it right when you come to visit.”
    Jamie walked backward up the steps of her building, herbottom lip pooching into a frown. “I’d stay away from Roger, if I were you. He’s always had a thing for you, you know?”
    “ Ppp ff f ! Roger’s got a thing for anyone under fifty in a skirt.”
    We shared the look of rueful understanding that passes between single girls in the city, equally unlucky in love. All of a sudden, Jamie was deeply bothered by that. Maybe it was crossing the big three-oh mark, or maybe it was all the magazine stories about wedding fashions, or perhaps her sister’s recent engagement, but she had it in mind lately. When Jamie finally did plan a wedding, it would be a gorgeous, lavish affair filled with loved ones and paid for by the bride’s family. That kind of thing was as far from possible for me as the earth from the moon. If you know something isn’t going to happen, it’s easier to just arrange your life so there’s no need for it. The secret to happiness is to love where you are, and it’s hard not to love autumn in New York, especially when you’ve finally landed your dream job.
    I was floating about six inches off the ground when I walked into Vida House. So far, I’d felt that way every day as I scanned my key card at the front door and circumvented the reception desk, still empty this early in the morning. Beyond the lobby, I