The Neighbor Favor(4)

“Okay, the truth is that Deko does die from the life leech bite,” Nick said, and Jolijn gasped. “But then he’s revived by a sorceress who’s also a warrior queen, and she rules over the kingdom while Deko goes on a journey to kill the life leeches who murdered his clan.”

“I knew it!” Christophe said, punching his fist in the air, and Jolijn grinned, satisfied.

“Okay, time for bed,” Ada said, gathering the twins. “Say goodbye to Nick.”

“Bye, Nick,” they sang, hugging him. Nick felt himself get choked up again and wished he’d get a fucking grip on his emotions. He hugged the twins back, already missing them and their banter.

“I swear on my notebook I won’t forget you,” he said as they pulled away.

“Good.” Jolijn nodded, very serious.

“You sure you don’t want my sister’s number?” Ada asked Nick, raising an eyebrow. “She’s in Munich, and I’m sure she’d love to meet a handsome man like yourself.”

“I heard that!” Jakob called from the kitchen, and Ada laughed.

“No, but thank you,” Nick said, smiling. If Ada’s sister was anything at all like Ada: kind and patient and caring, then it would be best if Nick stayed far away from her. Because he’d inevitably find a way to fuck things up.

“All right then,” Ada said, giving Nick a hug. He waved goodbye to her and the twins as she ushered them upstairs.

It was almost one a.m., Amsterdam time. Nick’s flight was in six hours. He at least needed to attempt to get some sleep. He stood and walked over to Jakob to say his last goodbye.

“Keep in touch,” Jakob said earnestly.

Nick promised he would. But the reality was that he’d most likely never see or speak to Jakob or the rest of the Davidses again. That was just the way of things.

“Thanks for everything,” Nick said, taking one final glance around the Davidses’ house, already anticipating the loneliness that awaited him at his Airbnb. He flashed one last kind smile at Jakob and left.

It was drizzling when he stepped outside. He grabbed the bike he’d rented for the month and cautiously pedaled down the street. The night was still, peaceful. Just the sound of his churning tires and the rain softly hitting the ground. It was during moments like this that Nick quietly marveled over the fact that he was in a foreign country, far from North Carolina, a state he’d never thought he’d leave. Now look at him. Riding a bike through the streets of Amsterdam, leaving a goodbye party that had been thrown in his honor. Him. Someone who’d never even had so much as a birthday party. It had been such a good night, one of the best he’d had in a long time.

So of course right when Nick was on the brink of forming an optimistic outlook, the chain popped on his bike and he went skidding across the wet street, losing control. He crashed into a pole and tumbled off the bike, falling flat on his back. He stared up at the sky, heaving for air, wincing at the pain he felt all over his body. He took several moments to get his bearings, then he slowly stood, wincing. He wheeled his bike down the street, and right on cue, it began to pour in heavy sheets. Even in pain, all Nick could do was laugh. Of course this was how his last night in Amsterdam would end. Something had to bring him back down to earth and remind him that good things, be they feelings or experiences, didn’t last very long in his life.

When he finally reached his Airbnb, he felt like he’d been run over by a wet truck. He stripped down to his underwear and examined his limbs. He couldn’t see any bruises on his brown skin, but they’d surely appear in a few hours. Grimacing, he sat on the couch and reached for his laptop, expecting to see an email from his boss, asking why he hadn’t sent in his piece about the Davidses yet, and Nick would have to say, Sorry, Thomas, I crashed my bike into a pole because 90 percent of the time, my life just sucks that way. Can I have an extension, please?

But when Nick opened his email, he didn’t see a message from Thomas. Instead, he had a notification that someone had contacted him through his website. Or rather, the website his best friend and newly self-appointed literary agent, Marcus, had created for him. Nick stared at the screen, perplexed. Had someone really discovered his website? Was there a person in the world who’d actually read his book? Get the fuck out of here. If anything, it was spam. Or someone had managed to find a copy of The Elves of Ceradon, read it, and hated it so much they felt the need to tell him so. No good could come from checking that email.

Nick pushed his laptop aside, wishing he had a frozen bag of vegetables to put on his aching knee. And he glanced at the laptop screen again. The subject of the person’s email was “You have a website!” Would a person who hated his book sound so optimistic?

Nick frowned, undecided.

Ah, fuck it. He’d let curiosity get the best of him.

He opened the message and braced himself for hate mail. Instead, to his surprise, he read the first line and felt himself smile.





PART ONE


   THE EMAILS





1


    FROM: Lily G. <[email protected]>

TO: N.R. Strickland <[email protected]>

DATE: May 9, 6:21pm

SUBJECT: You have a website!

Dear Mr. Strickland,

Have you ever been stuck on a subway train without air-conditioning on a 92-degree weather day? If not, count yourself lucky, because that’s what I’m experiencing right now and it’s absolute torture.