This conversation was quickly disproving most of what she thought she knew about Beau Towers.
“I know you all want me to use a ghostwriter,” he said. “If I was smarter and less stubborn, I’d probably just do it and get the stupid book over with. But I want to do it myself and tell the truth about everything, and in order to do that I’d have to—” He stopped and looked down. “It would be really hard. And I’m stuck. That’s…why there’s no book.”
There was so much pain in his voice when he talked about the book. He was genuinely upset. He really did want to write it. She’d had no idea.
The microwave dinged, but Izzy barely heard it.
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
Beau laughed. “Oh, come on. Just say whatever you were going to say.”
Izzy smiled. “It’s just…I was going to ask, but this is a kind of sensitive question…” Beau made an impatient motion at her. “I was just wondering if maybe you’re depressed? Because—”
Beau let out a bark of laughter so loud that Izzy took a step backward. “Of course I’m depressed! I’ve been in this house with no one to talk to—other than Michaela, I don’t know how she puts up with me—for over a year! It would be a miracle if I wasn’t depressed. But that doesn’t make any of what I just said untrue.” He stopped and looked at Izzy. “Wait, I’m sorry, I did it again. That sounded mean. See, I don’t know how to talk to people anymore, if I ever did. I’m being an ass again.”
This whole conversation was so unexpected.
“It’s okay,” Izzy said. “I…I didn’t realize you really cared about the book, that’s all.”
He took another step into the kitchen. “I just don’t know how to write it. I don’t want to give up on it, but I might have to. I don’t know what to do, and it feels so overwhelming, and I’m already so late on it that every time I think about it, it feels harder to do, and I freeze up.”
He really did care about his book.
He really did need help.
The toaster oven timer went off. He went over to the cabinet, took a plate down, and slid the bread onto it.
“Anyway.” He set the plate in front of her, then turned and walked toward the kitchen door. “You should eat. I just wanted to say that. And that I’m sorry. Again. I’ll tell Marta that you tried as hard as you could with me, but there was nothing you could do.”
He took a step into the hallway. Suddenly, she didn’t want him to walk away.
“Beau.”
He turned around. “Yeah?”
Izzy took a deep breath. “Will you let me help you? With the book. Really help you, I mean.”
Beau looked at her. “Why would you do that for me? I’ve been terrible to you.”
She didn’t really know how to answer that question. She thought for a second. “You seem like you really want to write it. I didn’t realize that before. I want you to get there. I can stay—if Marta lets me—and work with you on it, if you’re willing to do the work. I’m not an expert at this, or anything. But…I’d like to help.”
“Yeah,” he finally said. “I’d like that.”
He smiled at her. He looked a little nervous. Almost friendly. She suddenly…liked him?
She smiled back. “Can I ask you one more question?” she asked.
The smile faded from his face, but after a beat, he nodded. “Sure, okay.”
“Can you please, please, tell me where the wine is in this house? I know it exists, there was some that first night, but I haven’t seen any since, and after the day I’ve had, I desperately need some.”
He laughed out loud. A real laugh.
“Wine is a great idea. And yes, there’s plenty. Hang on, I’ll grab something out of the cellar.” He turned to leave the room, then stopped. “Actually…you don’t have to say yes to this, if you want to have dinner yourself up in your room, I get it, you’ve had a long day. But…do you want to have dinner with me? I’ll get the wine and we can watch a movie or something and I promise I won’t make you give me a pep talk or talk to me about writing or your job or anything else. But it’s okay if you don’t—”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Beau disappeared in the direction of “the cellar,” wherever that was. This house had cellars and gardens and a moat and a seemingly magic kitchen and probably a dungeon she hadn’t seen yet. She put the other chunk of garlic bread in the toaster oven for him, poured his mason jar full of soup into a bowl, and put it in the microwave to heat up. This had been the strangest day.