Chapter 20

Happy Writing

Buster stood on his front stoop Monday afternoon, arms crossed to help keep warm. He was waiting for Fern. She had not disclosed the location from which she had departed, but he was sure that, wherever it was, she was booking it all the way here.

After coming home, Buster had replied to the text from his mother.

Tonight's a late one again. Left cash for pizza on fridge. Love you!

thanks love you

Buster had barely seen his mother since dinner Saturday night. Yesterday morning he had trudged groggily into the kitchen to find his breakfast prepared. A small ham and egg casserole sat on the counter, bundled up in a zip-up cozy to keep it warm, along with a slow cooker full of stew ingredients set to low. She had left him a note explaining that she was spending the day doing some errands and visiting with a sick friend in Erie. Included were instructions on when to turn off the slow cooker and what to do with the leftovers, if there were any. Saturday night had been so much fun that having the house to himself for most of the day Sunday had been kind of strange and a little lonely. He hoped they could have more dinners together as a family. Trying to take Ladonna's advice, he allowed himself to feel optimistic that they would.

He scrolled through his email while wandering into the kitchen to retrieve the money, which had been pinned to the refrigerator with the Grey alien magnet Buster had bought years ago on a trip to Roswell. That's when he saw it and forgot all about the pizza. He had to let Fern know.

got reply from del rey

For someone who was furious with him, it had not taken long for her to call back.

"What did he say?"

She sounded cautious.

"Uh, I dunno. I'm sort of afraid to open it."

A frustrated noise.

"Where are you?"

"Home."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few."

Too anxious to sit inside, Buster had been out here for the past fifteen minutes, keeping watch for her while also taking shelter from the heavy mist in the air. He began tapping his toe out of habit as he stared out at the sidewalk, hoping she would come into view soon. He had not counted on Fern taking a shortcut, and he was taken off guard by the sloshing, squelching noises behind him.

He turned to see her emerging from around the side of the complex, looking soggy and exhausted. The number of thickets and backyards she had passed through to get here was anyone's guess. From the knees down, her jeans and sneakers were sodden. A couple of small, dying leaves clung to her dark blue raincoat, slick from the precipitation. She stopped to catch her breath.

"Hi," she panted.

"Hey."

"Let's have it," she said, beckoning for his phone as she approached the stoop.

"Fifth email down," Buster said handing it to her, though he was sure she could have figured that out on her own.

Fern grasped the phone tightly in both hands, regarding it as if it were about to inflict pain on her.

"Fern?" said Buster. "What does it say?"

"I—I don't know. I haven't opened it yet."

She stared at the device a while longer before handing it back to him, looking shamefaced.

"Please, Buster. I can't. I'm just too nervous."

"Me? I think I'm more nervous than you."

"You're the one who got me into this mess."

"That's why I think I'm more nervous than you."

They stared at each other.

"I know," he said. "We'll wait for my mom. She can open it."

"Just give it here."

She took the phone back but hesitated some more before taking a huge, deep breath.

"Here goes—"

"Wait," Buster said. "Before you read it, I just want to say how sorry I am for everything, especially since this is probably the last time you'll ever speak to me. I didn't want to risk your chances at a career, and I didn't want to lose a friend, but I managed both 'cause I'm just that good. I'm sorry I was selfish. I just wish we could have talked, you know, about whatever was upsetting you. I'm sorry for that, too, whatever it was.

"Also, I want you to know that you're better than you think you are. You're afraid success will screw you up like with that fantasy guy, but that's not you. You want to be good, so you'll always look for ways to better yourself. You'll listen to criticism, maybe not form jerkwads like Lucas, but from the right people, even if it does hurt at first. Whatever happens, you're gonna be okay."

Fern looked touched even though she was still clearly a bundle of nerves. She nodded.

"Thank you."

And she began reading. She concentrated, her eyes rapidly darting over the screen. They widened.

"Oh…" she said softly, sounding surprised.

"What?"

"He…rejected me."

"Rejected? So—"

She held a finger up as she kept reading, going at a slower pace. It was Buster's turn at surprise as Fern gave an impressed huff and slowly cracked a grin.

"It's not a form rejection," she said. "Del Rey actually wrote to me. Listen to this…"

She cleared her throat as she scrolled up.

"'While personal letters of rejection are not something for which I am known, I felt compelled to make an exception in your case. I hope that you will not take my answer as a 'never,' but simply as a 'not yet'. You are quite a talented young writer, and if you apply life experience, practice, and patience to your craft, your talent will only grow in the coming years. I hope to hear from you again sometime in the future. I wish you good luck and happy writing. Sincerely, Ernesto Del Rey.' Wow…"

Fern clutched the phone to her chest. She closed her eyes and heaved a huge sigh of relief then let loose a short fit of quiet giggles. Buster had not seen her smile and laugh like this since the day they had left Lee Harper's house, when Buster had joked about the man's weird hobby to relieve tension.

"I think this is the first time I've ever seen someone happy over rejection," he said. "You are happy, right, and not about to crack?"

"No, I'm definitely happy. Did you hear him, Buster? Ernesto Del Rey thinks I'm talented."

"So in a way, I ended up helping you after all?"

Maybe that had been too soon. She shot him an incredulous look.

"Not saying that makes it any less wrong," he said defensively.

"I have to admit that this certainly boosts my confidence," Fern said. "I can't wait to get back into the groove. I suppose I've been down lately. I took a giant hit from the Wordsmiths. Honestly, joining that group was one of my biggest mistakes, and that's saying something given my recent track record. Plus, I have all these ideas, but I haven't had much time to write, not like I used to, anyway. It really took a toll on me. But knowing that someone out there, someone like Del Rey believes in me—it tells me that I'm on the right track, that the late hours and sneaky writing sessions and practical research are all worth it."

"You know, there are other people, some right here in this town, who believe in you."

"I know. Thanks for that."

She glanced at the email one more time before handing the phone back to him.

"I wish I could keep that email forever."

"You can. I'll print a copy for you…and find something you can put it in to keep it dry."

He looked down at her small frame, shivering now that her nerves were wearing off and the chill was seeping through her wet clothes.

"Come inside and I'll get you some towels to soak up some of that water. I was just about to order dinner. We'll have a pizza party in your honor. You in…friend?"

He opened the door and held it for her. She smiled at him before crossing the threshold.

"I'm in."

To be continued…