With Lovely’s lawsuit out of the way, Steven got busy elsewhere. Its rather sudden completion freed up hundreds of hours and he fell into a more relaxed schedule. Diane hazed him into renting nicer office space, and she was finally able to give away the damned card table. They hired a full-time secretary who had no legal training but could handle the front desk. She was also about to spend half her time with the Nalla Foundation, though she had not been informed of that.
Diane worked tirelessly establishing her new foundation. She wrote grant proposals by the dozen, solicited donors, gave interviews, and played the social media game. After a slow start, the money began coming in, small checks at first from individuals, then bigger ones from other foundations. In July, the African Burial Project sent a check for $50,000. More importantly, it agreed to share its donor list on a confidential basis. Diane went after the donors with a slick direct-mail attack and raised $120,000. She gave herself a reasonable pay raise and informed Steven that she was taking a ninety-day leave of absence from Barrier Island. She did not request one. She just took it.
She had tea on the porch with Lovely and Miss Naomi each afternoon and lunch every Wednesday at a barbecue place in The Docks. In the weeks after the trial there were dozens of requests to interview Lovely, all of which were directed to Diane, who distrusted journalists almost as much as Lovely. However, she had learned that her client and friend was a powerful fundraiser. Her story was irresistible and she was fun to talk to. Each interview, in print or on camera, generated more interest in the Nalla Foundation, and more income.
Bay Books had sold over six thousand copies of her book.
It was during tea one hot afternoon when Diane first noticed the hesitation. Lovely was talking about her latest visit with Mercer the day before when she got stuck on the “water.” The “w” sound would not come through. Her lips quivered and she closed her eyes. Diane shot a look at Miss Naomi, who looked away. It happened again moments later. Then she complained of a sudden headache and wanted to take a nap. Walking back to Miss Naomi’s, Diane asked, “Has that happened before?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It started last week, at least that’s the first I noticed it.”
“Has she seen a doctor?”
“She doesn’t like doctors, says she trusts the spirits.”
“Please call me if it happens again. There’s definitely something going on.”
“I know, I know. I’m so worried about her.”
Mercer passed 110,000 words in mid-August. The trial, and the ending, was in sight. She wrote for four hours each morning, took a long hot walk on the beach with Thomas, then lunch and a nap. By two she was back at her desk. She was worried about writing too much, always a concern for her because she believed, and taught her students, that most books were too long. No one can tell a writer when to quit or what to cut. A strong editor can make changes or even reject a book for its length, but generally speaking, a writer is on her own with few limits.
Thomas had become quite the consultant. With his submarine story finished and due to appear in the October issue, he devoted his time to Mercer and her work. He read and edited every page, offered no shortage of editorial comments, and listened to her worries and complaints. Because he had lived so much of the story during the past year, he knew the material and still found the history of Dark Isle remarkably compelling.
Two days before they packed for their return to Ole Miss, Mercer invited Diane to lunch and an afternoon of reading. They dined on salads and avoided the wine, and when they finished Mercer handed over the manuscript.
“Are you finally finished?” Diane asked.
“Almost. I’ll polish it up next month and turn it in October first. You’ve read the first half. Here’s the rest.”
“I can’t wait.”
“We’re going into town. Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Make yourself at home. Here’s a red pen, the one Thomas loves, so don’t be shy about your comments.”
They left and Diane made a nest on the patio, under a ceiling fan, with the ocean in the distance, and was once again soon lost in Lovely’s world.
In September, Gifford Knox settled his bogus personal injury suit against Old Dunes for $35,000. He gave one-third to his lawyer, spent $4,000 on uninsured medical bills for nonexistent injuries, and walked away with about $20,000. He sent half of it to the Nalla Foundation and kept the rest as compensation for his troubles.
Also on the legal front, at Diane’s urging Lovely finally agreed to sign a simple will. She had trusted Steven for a long time and was happy for him to prepare one. With no blood heirs, she left her home and personal property to her dearest friend, Naomi Reed. As for her “money,” the cash in her two bank accounts, she gave half to Naomi and the other half to the Nalla Foundation.
