“Thanks,” Randy said, cutting off both the caller and Jake. “So you kind of make it up as you go along. You don’t write an outline beforehand?”
“I never have. That’s not to say I never will.”
“Hi there, you’re on with Randy.”
“Hi, Randy. Do you know if the city is planning to do anything about all the people doing drugs around Occidental Square? I was down there last weekend with my in-laws, and it was just ridiculous, you know?”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Randy concurred. “It’s never been this bad, and the city, it’s like: see no evil, hear no evil. You know what I think they ought to be doing about it?”
And he was off: the mayor, the council, the do-gooders handing out food and coupons, what was that supposed to accomplish? Jake looked at Anna, who was watching the host, her face ashen. There were no more scribbled signs. She seemed to have given up on that. And the time ran out.
“Okay, appreciate you coming in,” said Randy Johnson as soon as a car insurance ad began. “It was fun. I’ll look out for the film.”
“Thank Anna,” Randy said. “Her idea.”
“Well …” he started to say.
“Thanks, Anna.” It was Otis, finally in the doorway. “This was great.”
“I’ll walk you out,” said Anna. She went in front of him. He was suddenly far more nervous than he’d been while waiting for the interview to begin, or even after it had begun falling off the cliff that was Seattle institution Randy Johnson. Behind her, his eyes on her narrow back, the long gray hair between her shoulder blades, he descended the stairs to the ground floor. Then they were back in the lobby and Otis was retrieving their bags from behind the security guard’s desk.
“I am so sorry,” Anna said.
“Well, he’s not the worst.”
“No?”
He’d been pretty near the worst, actually. Anyone could be an idiot or a jerk, separately, but the combination of ignorance and mean-spiritedness—that was special.
“I’ve been asked if I paid somebody else to write my book for me. I’ve been asked to look at the interviewer’s child’s fiction. On the air. One woman on a TV show, just before it started, she said to me: ‘I’ve read the beginning and the end of your book and I thought it was just great.’”
“Shut
“Absolutely true. Of course it’s a ridiculous format: a few minutes on a radio show or a television show, to say anything substantive about a novel.”
“But he was … I just thought, y’know, he might rise to the occasion. He may not be a fiction guy, but he’s interested in people. If he’d read it he’d have been a completely different person. But obviously …”
Otis was on his phone, and frowning. He was probably ordering an Uber to SeaTac.
“Please, it’s fine.”
“No, I just, I wish I could make it up to you. Would you … do you have time for coffee? I mean, I’m sure you don’t. But there’s a good place at the Market …”
It seemed to have surprised her as much as it surprised him, and immediately she tried to walk it back. “Oh never mind! You probably need to get going. Please forget I asked.”
“I’d love to,” said Jake.
She took him to a place on the top floor of a building opposite the market, and insisted on getting the coffee. It was a local chain called Storyville, and the place was warm with a fire going and a window overlooking the Public Market sign. She had recovered her cool at some point on the walk over and seemed almost serene. She was also exponentially more beautiful with every passing moment.
Anna Williams was not a Seattle native. She’d grown up in northern Idaho and moved the rest of the way west for college at the University of Washington—“famous for being Ted Bundy’s first playground”—after which she’d spent a decade out on Whidbey Island working for a small radio station.
“What was that like?” said Jake.
“Oldies and talk. An unusual combination.”
“No, I meant living on an island.”
“Oh. You know. Quiet. I was in a little town called Coupeville, where the station was. Lots of weekenders from the city, so it never felt that remote. And you know, we’re all used to the ferries up here. I don’t think ‘island’ really means to Seattle people what it means to other people.”
“Do you get back to Idaho?” he asked.
“Not since my adoptive mom died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” A moment later, he said: “So, you were adopted?”
“Never formally. My mom—my adoptive mom—was actually my teacher. I had a really bad situation at home, and Miss Royce just sort of took me in. I think everyone in our town understood my circumstances. There was kind of a silent agreement that no one would look too close or involve the authorities. I got more stability from her in a couple of years than I’d had my whole life before that.”
Clearly they were poised at the edge of a fathomless lake. There were many things he wanted to know, but it was hardly the right moment.
“It’s wonderful when the right person comes into your life at the right time.”
