I groaned. “I did! And then he didn’t give me another extension on my novel. I have to finish it. And it has to have a happy ending.”
He guffawed. “He said that?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if that turns me on more or less . . .”
“Carver!”
“What?! I like a man who knows what he wants!”
I wanted to strangle him through the phone. Carver was the middle of the Day siblings and the only one who knew I ghostwrote—and I made him swear to secrecy or I’d print all of his embarrassing middle-grade fanfic starring Hugh Jackman in the town paper. Friendly sibling blackmail and all that. He just didn’t know whom I ghostwrote for. Not that he didn’t constantly guess.
I made my way into the romance section, half-naked men glowering down at me from their shelves, and slipped the book into the M section.
Carver asked, “So, I hate to be that person, but what’re you going to do about that manuscript?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. The titles on the shelves all seemed to run together.
“Maybe it’s time to branch out again?” he suggested. “Obviously, this writing gig isn’t working for you anymore, and you’re too brilliant to be hiding behind Nora Roberts.”
“I don’t ghostwrite for Nora.”
“You wouldn’t tell me if you did,” he pointed out.
“But it’s not Nora.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s really not.”
“Nicholas Sparks? Jude Deveraux? Christina Lauren? Ann Nichols?—”
“Is Dad around?” I interrupted, my gaze falling to the Ns. Nichols. I ran my fingers along the spine of The Forest of Dreams.
I could hear Carver frowning in his voice. “How did you know I was at the funeral home?”
“You only ever call me when you’re bored at the funeral home. Not enough work at the tech firm today?”
“Wanted to leave early. Dad’s wrapping up a meeting with a client,” he added, which meant he was talking with the bereaved about funeral arrangements, caskets, and pricing.
“Have you talked to him yet?”
“About the chest pains? No.”
I made a disapproving noise. “Mom says he keeps refusing to go see Dr. Martin.”
“You know Dad. He’ll make the time eventually.”
“Do you think Alice could pressure him?”
Alice was really good at getting Dad to do things he didn’t want to do. She was the youngest of us, and she had Dad tied around her pinkie so tightly, just the mere thought of upsetting her would drive him to pull down the moon if he had to. She was also the one who decided to stay in the family business. She was the only one who wanted to.
“Already asked,” Carver replied. “They’ve got something like three funerals this weekend. I’m sure he’s going to go next week when he’s a little less busy. And he’s fine. If anything happens, Mom’s right there.”
“Why does he have to be so stubborn?”
“Funny coming from you.”
“Ha ha.” I picked out two sci-fis and a charming-looking paperback. Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. Buying books always made me feel better, even if I never read them. “Can you try at least? To convince Dad to go sooner rather than later?”