The Plot полностью

“Well, it never made much sense. The person said he’d stolen the story of Crib, but there were no details, really. It was an empty accusation, but in Jake’s world even the accusation felt ruinous. He was devastated, and having to defend himself to his agent and the people at his publisher, and worrying about how it would impact him in the eyes of his readers if more people became aware of it, it just destroyed him. Eventually, I could see he was becoming depressed. I was worried, but you know, I thought about depression the way most people do. I looked at my husband and thought, He has a hugely successful career, we’ve just gotten married, surely that’s more important than this ridiculous thing, so how can he be depressed? I’d flown back here to Seattle for a couple of days, to deal with my old storage unit and see friends, and that’s when Jake took his own life. I felt so guilty because I’d left him alone, and also because he used the medication I’d been prescribed for an old condition of my own. We had dinner together at our apartment before I went to the airport, and he seemed absolutely fine. But over the next day or so he didn’t respond to any of my texts, or answer his phone. I started to get worried. Finally, I called his mother to ask if she’d heard from him. That was awful, having to do that to his mother. I’m not a mother, so I can only imagine the pain of losing a child, but it was terrible to witness that.”

“But you can’t blame yourself,” said Candy, which was of course the correct thing to say.

“I know that, but it’s still hard.” Anna Williams-Bonner was silent for a moment. The audience was silent with her.

“It’s a very difficult journey you’ve been on,” Candy observed. “I think the fact that you’re here tonight, speaking with us about your husband, his struggles as well as his accomplishments, speaks to your own strength.”

“Thank you,” said the widow, sitting up very straight. Her silver braid had slipped forward over her left shoulder, and she was twisting the end around and around her fingers.

“Tell me, do you have plans of your own you can share with us? Are you moving back to Seattle, for example?”

“No.” Anna Williams-Bonner smiled. “I’m sorry to say, I truly do love New York. I want to celebrate my husband’s wonderful new book, and the fact that Macmillan is honoring Jake with the republication of the two novels he wrote before Crib. And when the film adaptation of Crib comes out next year I plan to celebrate that as well. But at the same time I’ve started to feel that maybe it’s time to begin focusing on myself. I had a professor at the University of Washington who used to say: Nobody else gets to live your life.”

“So wise,” said Candy.

“I’ve always thought so. And I’ve had some time now to really think deeply about what I want from my life, and how I want to live it. It’s a little embarrassing under the circumstances, but deep down I realized that what I truly want to do is write.”

“Really!” said Candy, leaning forward. “But that must be intimidating. I mean, as the widow of such a famous writer …”

“I don’t feel that way.” Anna smiled. “It’s true that Jake’s work was known all over the world, but he always insisted he wasn’t special. He used to tell me: Everyone has a unique voice and a story nobody else can tell. And anybody can be a writer.”

Seldom have I been so grateful for my chosen career as I was during the spring and summer months of 2020, not just for the opportunity to work at home but for the chance to escape, on a daily basis, into another reality. I am beyond thankful for my wonderful agents at WME, Suzanne Gluck and Anna DeRoy, as well as Andrea Blatt, Tracy Fisher, and Fiona Baird, and for Deb Futter, Jamie Raab, and their extraordinary team at Celadon, including Randi Kramer, Lauren Dooley, Rachel Chou, Christine Mykityshyn, Jennifer Jackson, Jaime Noven, and Anne Twomey. This book was born in Deb’s office. Sorry for the mess.

My parents, under house arrest in New York City, devoured every word of this novel as it was written. My husband brought coffee in the morning and alcoholic beverages promptly at five. My sister and my kids cheered me on. My beloved friends have sustained me during the writing of this book, and I can’t adequately express my appreciation to them, most especially Christina Baker Kline, Jane Green, Elise Paschen, Lisa Eckstrom, Elisa Rosen, Peggy O’Brien, Deborah Michel (and her devious daughters), Janice Kaplan, Helen Eisenbach, Joyce Carol Oates, Sally Singer and Laurie Eustis. Also Leslie Kuenne, but that’s, literally, another story.