Background
Miranda Jessup Buckley is back and in trouble again.
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So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda was granted temporary custody. Now, Dougie is back and she is afraid he's here to take Waylon away.
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Aaron and Waylon are sitting on the porch when I drive up to my trailer. I can see Aaron writing something on a pad of paper and Waylon is holding his phone's flashlight over it. Not sure why they don't go inside, but different strokes for different folks.
"Please tell me Aaron isn't doing your homework for you," I say as I walk up to them.
"I wish," Waylon mutters. "No, He's writing down some stuff for his book. It's gonna be so cool. He said I could write a chapter. Tell my side of things."
Aaron looks up and winks. "You can too. It'd be pretty cool for all three of us to have a section."
"Have you talked to anyone about the agents yet?" I ask. I tilt my head but realize I can't read his handwriting. "Why don't y'all come inside for a few minutes. Sit at the table."
They follow me inside and pull the chairs out and sit. I put my stuff away and sit with them. "Let me hear some of your ideas."
He smiles self-consciously. "I really don't have that much. Just a few sentences."
"That's a start. Read them to me."
He sighs and flips a page over. "Oh, here's one." He clears his throat and begins, "What started out as an ordinary day proved to be anything but." He stops and looks over.
"Keep going," I encourage him.
He shrugs. "That's all I've got so far."
It's been two weeks. At this rate, it's going to be a very short book. I force a smile that's meant to encourage him. "Aaron, you could tell about how your grandfather or whoever he was, used to tell you about his brother who disappeared. Build up the legacy of moon shining and stuff like that."
His eyes light up. "Man, I should get you to write it. That's good stuff. See, that's why you're the brains of our group."
I roll my eyes and take the paper from him. "Think about the things that you'd want to know. If you're gonna write a book, make it one that you'd want to read. Think about that day. How the water felt, how your toes squished in the mud at the bottom of the pond. That kind of stuff. Take the reader with you. Make them dive under the water, make them look for snapping turtles and trash on the bottom." I stop and look up to see them both staring at me, mouths agape.
"Damn, Miranda," Aaron says.
Waylon shakes his head. "How do you know so much about writing?"
"I love to read. I love when an author takes me on a journey," I say.
Waylon shakes his head again. "I've never seen you so much as pick up a book."
"I used to read. I loved reading. I'd like to get back into it. Take my advice or don't. I'm sticky and I'm gonna take a shower. Night, you two."
I leave them, furiously writing down ideas and random sentences. As I'm closing the bathroom door, I hear Aaron. "She's so smart."
I peel off the t-shirt and drop it into the hamper. I remove my earrings then step out of my jeans and turn on the shower. My reflection shakes her head. "I can't believe you stayed at work all sticky and disgusting."
"Rich and sticky isn't nearly as intolerable as being poor and sticky," I tease.
"Why don't you write a book?"
"No. No one in their right mind would read it. What do I have to say anyway?"
She shrugs. "A lot of people use writing as a form of therapy. Helps them navigate their feelings."
I smile. "Well, when did you get your degree in psychology?"
"Oh come on. You watch Dr. Phil," she snaps. "Besides, no one has to read it. It's like our little conversations, you don't tell anyone about that."
"Because when someone finds out you talk to yourself, they think you are crazy."
She smirks. "I did notice that you didn't mention to either Waylon or Aaron about your sudden windfall. Why is that?"
"I forgot. They were talking about the book and stuff."
She laughs. "Bull shit! You are afraid Waylon will mention it to his dad."
I reach over to check the temperature of the shower. "Do you blame me?"
"The problem is, he's gonna feel hurt that you didn't confide in him. It's gonna get around town. Stuff like this doesn't stay under wraps for long."
"I'll think about it. Maybe tomorrow."
"It's quite a dilemma. Trust him not to tell Dougie or keep it from him."
I step into the luxurious hot water and lather up. After my shower, I'll tell him. He's old enough to keep a promise, but will he keep it from his dad? I don't want to be the one to tell him what a jackass Dougie is. Maybe he's old enough to hear about him. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is tell someone the truth.
I rinse the soap out of my hair and think about the blank journal that my momma gave me a few years back. It's in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I had always planned to use it but somehow it stayed tucked in the drawer. Maybe tonight I'll write about all the dark things that weave around in my thoughts. I'll confess my sins to the paper. When I was in middle school and high school, I used to write in my diary. I remember how exciting it was to tell it everything. No subject was off limits.
I pull on my robe after stepping out of the shower, and go into my room. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the bottom drawer open. I dig through the junk and finally feel the hard bound book in my hand. The giddy excitement wells up inside of me. I pull it out and open it to the first page. My momma's handwriting is on it. Tears well up as I read the inscription.
"Miranda, you are an amazing woman. I'd like to take credit, but this has all been you. Write your dreams in here or whatever you want. I love you, my beautiful girl."
I set it on the bed and go out to the living room. Aaron has gone and Waylon is sitting on the couch, using the remote to flip through the channels.
"What's up?" he says, looking over. "You have a weird look on your face."
"I need to tell you something, but first, I need to make sure you understand why you have to keep this to yourself. I mean, you can't tell anyone about this. No one. Do you understand? No one."
He nods. "Not even Aaron?"
"No one, Waylon. Swear to it."
By now he is looking scared. He inches forward on the couch and nods nervously. "I swear."
"Sit back. This is going to be a long story."
