Bay Books had sold over six thousand copies of her book.
It was during tea one hot afternoon when Diane first noticed the hesitation. Lovely was talking about her latest visit with Mercer the day before when she got stuck on the “water.” The “w” sound would not come through. Her lips quivered and she closed her eyes. Diane shot a look at Miss Naomi, who looked away. It happened again moments later. Then she complained of a sudden headache and wanted to take a nap. Walking back to Miss Naomi’s, Diane asked, “Has that happened before?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It started last week, at least that’s the first I noticed it.”
“Has she seen a doctor?”
“She doesn’t like doctors, says she trusts the spirits.”
“Please call me if it happens again. There’s definitely something going on.”
“I know, I know. I’m so worried about her.”
9
Mercer passed 110,000 words in mid-August. The trial, and the ending, was in sight. She wrote for four hours each morning, took a long hot walk on the beach with Thomas, then lunch and a nap. By two she was back at her desk. She was worried about writing too much, always a concern for her because she believed, and taught her students, that most books were too long. No one can tell a writer when to quit or what to cut. A strong editor can make changes or even reject a book for its length, but generally speaking, a writer is on her own with few limits.
Thomas had become quite the consultant. With his submarine story finished and due to appear in the October issue, he devoted his time to Mercer and her work. He read and edited every page, offered no shortage of editorial comments, and listened to her worries and complaints. Because he had lived so much of the story during the past year, he knew the material and still found the history of Dark Isle remarkably compelling.
Two days before they packed for their return to Ole Miss, Mercer invited Diane to lunch and an afternoon of reading. They dined on salads and avoided the wine, and when they finished Mercer handed over the manuscript.
“Are you finally finished?” Diane asked.
“Almost. I’ll polish it up next month and turn it in October first. You’ve read the first half. Here’s the rest.”
“I can’t wait.”
“We’re going into town. Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Make yourself at home. Here’s a red pen, the one Thomas loves, so don’t be shy about your comments.”
They left and Diane made a nest on the patio, under a ceiling fan, with the ocean in the distance, and was once again soon lost in Lovely’s world.
10
In September, Gifford Knox settled his bogus personal injury suit against Old Dunes for $35,000. He gave one-third to his lawyer, spent $4,000 on uninsured medical bills for nonexistent injuries, and walked away with about $20,000. He sent half of it to the Nalla Foundation and kept the rest as compensation for his troubles.
Also on the legal front, at Diane’s urging Lovely finally agreed to sign a simple will. She had trusted Steven for a long time and was happy for him to prepare one. With no blood heirs, she left her home and personal property to her dearest friend, Naomi Reed. As for her “money,” the cash in her two bank accounts, she gave half to Naomi and the other half to the Nalla Foundation.
She also signed a warranty deed giving her beloved Dark Isle to the Nalla Foundation, to be held in trust forever and preserved in sacred memory of her ancestors.
With the deed in hand, Diane flew to Washington to meet with some important people. Now that she had the benefit of an expense account, she stayed at the famous Willard Hotel, down the street from the White House. Her first appointment was with a black-owned architectural firm that specialized in restoring historical sites deemed important to African American history. The architects were excited about the Dark Isle project and signed on. Almost as important, they had innumerable contacts in the preservation field. They promised to start making calls, and planned to visit the island in October. They were confident money could be raised.
Diane met with the National Trust, National Park Service, African-American Historical Trust, African-American Preservation Society, Lilly Foundation, DeWist Foundation, and two of Florida’s black congressmen. She had been unable to arrange meetings with its two senators.
Late on Diane’s fourth night in D.C., Miss Naomi called with the urgent news that Lovely was in the hospital with what appeared to be a stroke. Diane canceled her meetings the following day and flew home. She hurried from Jacksonville to Camino Island and met Miss Naomi at the hospital, where Lovely was resting comfortably.
The doctor said there were several mini-strokes, all of which were worrisome but none of which caused permanent damage. However, there was a greater likelihood of a serious stroke around the corner. Lovely was able to walk just fine and insisted on going home. The doctor finally discharged her. Back on her porch and sipping lemonade, she seemed as spunky as ever.
11
The Passage, by Mercer Mann, was well received in New York. After a few tweaks by Lana Gallagher, her editor, and the usual misunderstandings with the folks in copyediting, the manuscript was put on the fast track for publication in late spring. Viking felt an urgency in getting it into the stores because of the timeliness of the story. The trial was now five months in the past, a lifetime in the twenty-four-hour news cycle, and interest in the story seemed to be waning. For Mercer, and every other writer, sooner was better.
Bruce insisted on reading the manuscript before Mercer submitted it to Viking. He saw no structural problems but had a few editorial comments, all of which she ignored. They could quarrel later. He loved the book, but admittedly was probably not a fair critic. He felt like he had lived the story, plus he was, and always would be, smitten with Mercer.
During her Christmas break, Mercer and Thomas flew to New York for a brief victory lap. The trip was primarily about food and drink. They had a long lunch with Lana Gallagher and the president of Viking. They had an even longer dinner with Etta Shuttleworth and her husband. They shopped a little, went to a concert, and enjoyed a light snowfall as they walked in Central Park.
From New York they flew to Jacksonville, then drove to Camino Island, where they would celebrate Christmas. Bay Books was decorated to the max and teeming with customers. When Bruce saw them he dropped whatever he was doing and waved them into his office where he hugged Mercer a bit too long and smacked a kiss on her cheek. He bear-hugged Thomas as if he hadn’t seen him in years. “I talked to Lana Gallagher this morning,” he said, as if he routinely chatted with senior editors at the major publishing houses. On second thought, he probably did. “She adores the book, as you know, and thinks the first printing will be a hundred thousand.”
That was news to Mercer.
“I said no way, Lana, this thing is going well north of two hundred thousand. Get the printing presses all greased up. You bought it too cheap.”
Mercer and Thomas exchanged amused grins.
“Now, we need to start planning your book tour, beginning with a killer launch party here on the pub date.”
Mercer couldn’t stifle a laugh.
So Bruce. He just couldn’t help himself.
Chapter Twelve
With Nalla Close By
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