“Are you working on something now?”
“I’m writing an autobiography of a well-known reality star.”
“Anyone I’d be familiar with?” Ryan asked.
“Oh yes, but I can’t tell you her name. I’d be violating the terms of the contract.”
“And how is it progressing?”
“With excruciating slowness. I usually have a good working relationship with my clients, but this woman could probably make the Dalai Lama lose his cool. It’s nearly impossible to get her to concentrate for longer than a minute. She’s constantly on her phone, checking the number of her Twitter followers and posting selfies. She thinks I can write the book without her input.”
“Have you ever tried writing under your own name?” he asked, watching her with interest.
“Yes, but I haven’t written anything new since… I’m sorry, I can’t…” Lauren looked away as tears threatened to fall. She didn’t want to talk about Zack or her reasons for leaving Boston. She was shocked to realize that until Ryan had brought up the past, she’d gone a whole half hour without thinking about Zack, something that hadn’t happened since he’d left on his first tour. Lauren angrily wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek and fumbled in her bag for a tissue.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Ryan said, his expression somber. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Lauren made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Look, I’m sorry, but I should get going. Thank you for the drink.” She stood, and Ryan instantly sprang to his feet.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for another drink?”
“Thanks, but no. Have a good night.”
Lauren grabbed her purse and headed for the door, hurrying to her car as if someone were giving chase. Once safely inside, she drove back to the house and let herself in, tears spilling down her cheeks as she scooped a sleepy Billy out of his crate and carried him upstairs to her bedroom. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She’d been having a nice time. Perhaps she simply wasn’t ready. After Billy used the wee wee pad in the upstairs bathroom, she deposited him on the bed, changed into her favorite pajamas, turned off the light, and climbed into bed.
As Billy settled himself against her hip, her gaze slid to the moonlight-painted desk beneath the window. Her laptop and notepad covered most of the surface, her modern pens and highlighters occupying the very place where the inkwell had stood. As Lauren lay sleepless, she couldn’t help but wonder if the mysterious woman would come to her again. Who was she, and what kept her tethered to this world?
Chapter 5
Sophie
Boston, Massachusetts
April 1726
Sophie pressed her nose to the window, her heart hammering with anticipation. The night before, she’d seen the proud shape of the Sea Falcon on the horizon, the three-masted frigate as familiar to her as the storefront of her father’s printshop. The ship would dock in the morning and then the offloading would begin, the crates and casks newly arrived from England and the Caribbean deposited onto the dock and sent to the warehouses that fronted the wharf. Sophie had no interest in the cargo, but in the crew, which would come ashore once the ship had been fully unloaded and inspected. With luck, she would see Teddy tomorrow, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a glimpse of him as he made his way from the docks toward his mother’s house, just a few doors down from the printshop.
Teddy’s homecoming always followed the same pattern. He ate his fill of whatever Mrs. Mercer served up, asking for seconds and even thirds, and wiping his plate with a piece of bread until the dish was so clean it looked as if it needed no washing. After weeks aboard the ship, subsisting on a meager diet of salt pork, hardtack, and ale, he was starved for homecooked food and bread that didn’t threaten to break his teeth when he bit into it. Finally sated, Teddy would take a bath to wash off the sweat and grime of the voyage, and then, after a good night’s sleep, he’d come to see Sophie, or more accurately, send her a signal to meet him at their secret place since her father would never allow Teddy to call on her openly.
Sophie had known Teddy her whole life, but it was only recently that their friendship had evolved into something that was best kept hidden from her father’s watchful gaze. Teddy had been a steady presence in her life, treating her like one of his sisters after her mother died in childbirth when she was eight. Teddy had been ten, a lanky lad who’d always had a smile for her and a little treat when she was feeling sad or neglected. He’d taken her for walks along the docks and showed her the different types of ships and told her of his dreams for the future. Sophie would have listened to him even if he’d chosen to recite the alphabet or quote passages from the scripture. She liked being with him and enjoyed the sense of belonging she felt when she was with Teddy and his siblings. It was as if she were a part of the Mercer family, that loud gaggle of kids who appeared so happy to her young eyes and had a loving, gregarious mother to come home to—unlike Sophie, who returned to the silent rooms above the shop where she lived with her father. As soon as she walked through the door, the melancholy settled like a heavy mantle on her shoulders, crushing her spirit and reminding her just how alone she’d felt since the death of her own mother.
Her father loved her; she was in no doubt of that, but he’d always been a quiet, undemonstrative man, who spent most of his waking hours in the shop, talking softly to his printing press as if she were his one true love. Agnes, their servant, had been meant to keep an eye on Sophie during the day, but the girl, who’d been only fifteen to Sophie’s eight, was run off her feet and neglected her duty where her young mistress was concerned, leaving Sophie to her own devices much of the time. In the evenings, Sophie had supper with her father and then they sat by the fire, most often in companionable silence. Mr. Brewster, still grieving for his wife and stillborn son, had no notion of how a little girl might be feeling, so made no effort to comfort her in ways that would have made Sophie’s isolation easier to bear.
That was Teddy’s job. He’d made a dolly for her ninth birthday, complete with black yarn for hair and two tiny buttons for eyes, and said it reminded him of her. That was when he’d started calling her his ‘Poppet.’ She loved the pet name he’d given her and secretly tingled with pleasure every time he used it, feeling a sense of kinship with Teddy that she felt with no one else. As the years passed, Teddy’s sisters had become wary of Sophie, leaving her out of their games and treating her as an outsider, but never Teddy. He was her best friend, her honorary brother, and her champion.
They’d spent many happy hours together until tragedy struck the Mercer household. Teddy’s father, Robin, had been knifed while trying to break up a fight in his tavern, the stomach wound he received too grievous to allow the Mercers to hope for a recovery. Half the street heard the pitiful moans that came from the upstairs window where Mrs. Mercer spent her nights nursing her delirious husband. As soon as the church clock chimed eight in the morning, Mrs. Mercer left Teddy in charge of his father and younger siblings and went to the tavern, where she remained until nearly midnight, cooking, baking, and serving customers with the help of her two eldest daughters. Robin died of his injuries a week after the stabbing, his death drawn out and painful. A few days after Mr. Mercer died, Teddy’s youngest sister, Gladys, took ill, leaving Mrs. Mercer unable to tend the tavern. She sat by Gladys’s side day and night, but Gladys died all the same and was buried next to her father a week to the day after his funeral.