The Accidental Bestseller (39 page)

“Well,” Mallory said. “The writing is good. I’m flying through
Safe Haven
and the news is good about
Hidden Assets
. I’m thinking about calling Paris Hilton’s mother and thanking her for teaching her to read.”

Kendall laughed. “And how are things with Chris?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line.

“Not quite so great,” Mallory finally admitted.

There was another pause and Kendall thought Mallory was going to change the subject. But the normally closed book of Mallory’s personal life had apparently fallen open a crack.

“It seems as if I can only have one or the other: my career or Chris.” She cleared her throat. “He’s waiting for me to prove that ‘we’ come first, but I have no idea how I’m supposed to do that. I think I can write less than I have, slide my deadlines back a bit, but it’s such a fluky business, Kendall. You really have to take advantage of your opportunities while you’re hot. I love Chris and I miss him more than I can say. But I’m not going to give up financial security or jeopardize my career just to prove my love to him. I don’t really think it’s fair for him to ask me to.”

At home in Chicago, Faye was absolutely dying to tell the truth. She’d been feeling the weight of her secret for far too long now and there was something about the approach of Christmas and its miraculous story of Jesus’ birth that made Faye want to unburden herself and start anew.

As she’d decorated the Christmas tree, when she’d taken Becky to Macy’s to sit on Santa’s lap, when she’d shopped for gifts for the Rainbow House moms and kids, and gotten the spare rooms ready for her sons and their families’ arrival, the certainty that now was the time had grown. No matter what she was doing to prepare for the holiday, the imagined relief of unburdening herself was never far from her thoughts.

On a Thursday morning two weeks before Christmas she decided she couldn’t let another day go by without telling Steve. Whatever his reaction, however surprised or hurt he might be that she hadn’t confided in him sooner, she would tell him today.

Quickly before she could lose her nerve, she put on a skirt and blouse that he’d commented on favorably then applied her makeup and smoothed her hair with extra care. A last glance in the mirror confirmed what she knew: She looked like a well-kept sixty-year-old wife and mother; no one looking at her would ever suspect that she’d helped fund the Clearview Church of God writing erotica. Too bad
What’s My Line?
was no longer on television; she doubted Bennett Cerf or Arlene Francis could guess her secret occupation in a bazillion years.

She took a few extra minutes in front of the mirror to rehearse what she wanted to say then continued to rehearse mentally as she gathered her coat and purse in the kitchen and as she slid behind the wheel of her car. Over and over she told herself that if she just explained it clearly enough everything would be OK. Maybe she’d just start with, “Hello, dear. Have I mentioned that I’ve been writing erotica under the name of Shannon LeSade?”

The sky was a pewter gray and the air thick with the promise of snow as Faye traveled west on Central, which ultimately became Deerfield, and then continued to wind her way south and west. Some thirty minutes later she was in South Barrington where land had been more plentiful and less expensive when they’d first begun purchasing land for what would one day be the Clearview Church of God. Spotting the church’s spire in the distance, Faye marveled, as she always did, at what the years and Steve’s faith and determination had wrought. Like the area around it, the church had mushroomed over the last two decades, growing from one simple structure with a broadcast antennae into a hundred-thousand-square-foot star-shaped complex.

She continued to rehearse what she would say, using the calm, rational tone she intended to use to say it, as she pulled into the massive parking lot that surrounded the complex, parked behind the administrative wing, and walked into the reception area. She was still mentally rehearsing as she approached the front desk.

“Hello, Mrs. Truett,” the church receptionist said. “Are you ready for the holidays?”

“Almost, Evelyn. The boys and their families are due in on the twenty-third, right after the kids are out of school. How about you?” Evelyn Holloway had been manning the desk almost since Clearview Church and Steve’s mission had existed. She had permanent-waved steel gray hair and Coke-bottle glasses, which gave her a somewhat quizzical air, as if she were peering at the world from a great distance.

“Oh, Harry and I don’t fuss too much anymore. I already sent out the kids’ and grandkids’ gifts. I always get Harry something golf related. And he gets me a gift certificate for Barnes and Noble.” She shrugged surprisingly hefty shoulders. “We’ve become awfully predictable. Sometimes I wish he’d surprise me with, oh I don’t know, maybe a little black lace nightie.” She winked. “Or even a big black lace nightie.”

Faye smiled, wishing, not for the first time, that Evelyn Holloway’s open-mindedness was more prevalent among the Clearview congregants. “Is he in?” She nodded toward Steve’s closed office door.

“The pastor’s on the phone, but there’s no one waiting. He’s probably still trying to get his bearings after his meeting with the delegation that stormed his office a little while ago,” she said.

Before Faye could question the receptionist further, Evelyn asked, “Do you want me to hold his calls?” Evelyn raised her eyebrow suggestively and Faye had to bite back a smile. Despite Evelyn’s apparently wild imagination, Faye wasn’t planning to seduce her husband on the office couch. Although, now that she thought about it, she did, in fact, plan to ambush him.

Please, God,
she prayed silently, as she moved toward Steve’s office,
help me find the right words to explain.
She stopped in front of the closed door but didn’t yet knock as she framed her second request.
And please help him understand.

She knocked lightly on the door, hoping that God was in fact not only on her side, but ready to answer her prayers. When there was no answer, she pushed open the door and entered the room.

Pastor Steve was seated behind his desk, the phone pressed to his ear. His face registered surprise at seeing her and then transformed into a welcoming smile. He motioned her closer and held up a finger to indicate he’d be off the phone momentarily. Trying to remain calm, she perched on the side of his desk, facing him. For a few moments she just watched him talk while she gathered her nerve. She’d brought one of her books, hoping it would help her ease into her explanation, and she drew it out of her oversized bag and began to leaf through it. She was still flipping pages when he hung up and half rose from his chair to give her a kiss.

Faye kept a finger wedged in the paperback to hold her place as she leaned down to accept his kiss. His lips were firmly familiar, his scent, which mingled with the light lemony flavor of the cologne she’d been buying him forever, was subtly masculine.

He scooted his chair closer and looked up into her face. “Did I forget lunch?”

“No,” she said, pushing back her nervousness. She had planned to just plunge into the topic without too much preamble, but now she found herself once again reluctant—make that afraid—to begin.

“I just stopped by to see if we could talk about . . . something.” Her voice trailed off uncertainly under his regard. So much for all the mental rehearsal.

“Is something wrong? Are you ill?” He sat up straighter, his expression turning to one of alarm.

So far nothing had gone at all as she’d practiced or planned.

“No!” She hated that her cowardice had sent his thoughts in a completely wrong direction.

“Are you sure?” He’d lowered his voice, but she could still read panic in his eyes. His tone carried a touch of suspicion that she was keeping something from him. Boy, did he have that right. She only hoped that when she finally spit out what she’d come to tell him, they’d be able to laugh over her secret’s insignificance in comparison to the life-threatening illness he was now imagining.

“I’m positive.” She spoke with all the certainty she could muster given how uncertain she felt. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” She smiled down at him as she emphasized her words with her hands, one of which still clutched the book she’d brought.

He’d begun to relax back into his chair when his gaze landed on the paperback. His smile disappeared. “What are you doing with that book?”

Puzzled at the tight-lipped intensity of his reaction, Faye held the copy of
Spiraling Seduction
up to examine the cover more closely. She looked back at Steve. “What do you mean?”

“I spent an hour this morning listening to a delegation of church ladies demanding that I speak out against the author, Shannon LeSade. Our daughter led the delegation.”

“Sara?” Faye couldn’t quite take in what he was saying.

“Yes. It seems she and her group are outraged by the ready availability of erotica, which they have decided, though I’m not sure how without actually reading it first, is pornography.”

“But why? What does this have to do with them?” Faye’s heart had sunk somewhere around her knees and was pounding madly.

“Apparently Borders has a large display of the author’s books in the center of the store where, and I quote, ‘anyone might see them.’ And there’s talk that the author may be coming here on a book tour, which has them completely incensed.”

Faye shook her head, trying to clear it. None of her rehearsal had prepared her for this.

“They’re planning to picket the store and organize other protests at bookstores around the country.”

Faye’s limbs felt heavy, her brain was moving too slowly to take it all in.

“It’s apparently smut,” Steve said. “I can’t imagine what you’re doing with it or why you would have brought it here. But frankly, after the uproar this morning, I don’t ever want to see that book or that author’s name again. And I don’t want you seen carrying it around, either.”

“But that’s ridiculous. That’s censorship.” Everything Faye had intended to say, everything she’d been so desperate to say, flew right out of her head. The look on Steve’s face made it clear the conversation she’d envisioned was not going to take place. “That’s—”

“That’s just the way it is.” Her husband completed her sentence for her. “And after all we’ve gone through to build this ministry together, you more than anyone should know that sometimes perception carries more weight than reality.”

Faye’s thoughts swam in a murky sea of disappointment. She saw no way now to use her book as a springboard to the conversation she’d hoped to have. Even more troubling was Sara and her delegation. How had they raised a child who was so judgmental and unforgiving? Who thought she could stipulate what others should and should not be allowed to read? To think? And how could Steve condone it?

“Did you agree to speak out against LeSade?”
Oh, God.
She tried one last prayer despite the fact that none of her earlier entreaties had been answered,
Please don’t let him say yes.

“No,” he said. “I’m not a fan of this sort of . . . trash. But I don’t believe it’s up to me to pass judgment on others’ reading material.”

He sighed as Faye tried to come to terms with it all. “Sara has a mind of her own, though,” he said. “And she’s got it set down a path that we never imagined.”

Faye eased off the side of the desk and stood, tucking the book back in her bag and slinging the bag over her shoulder. She had accomplished nothing she’d come here to accomplish, but she no longer had the heart to try.

“I think I’d better go,” Faye said, the taste of disappointment bitter on her tongue.

“But I don’t even know why you came,” Steve said. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk about?”

“No, not really,” Faye said, the lie tinged with her regret. “I just thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“All right,” he said as he walked with her toward the door. “I guess it’s hello
and
good-bye then.” He leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek then pulled the door open for her. “I’ll see you later at home.”

“OK” was all Faye could manage. Her attempt at honesty had been feeble and inadequate. Despite all the rehearsing and the determination with which she’d arrived, she hadn’t come anywhere close to confessing.

She left her husband in his office doorway staring after her. And as she waved good-bye to Evelyn and walked out into the parking lot, she realized she was going to have to set the idea of unburdening herself aside. She’d simply have to continue to live with her secret. And hope against hope that no one else ever revealed it.

32

—JACK LONDON

 

 

 

Tanya stood in the center of the trailer’s living room, trying to get her family into the Christmas spirit. “Come on, Loretta, open up some of that tinsel.”