Today's Reading
The woman finally took her seat. Tessa pointed to Flowered Blouse again. "I love your blue earrings," the woman said, fingering one of her own.
"Where did you get the idea that Annabelle would always wear them?"
"Well, so funny. They were an anonymous gift from one of my first social media followers. She told me that the blue meant 'the sky's the limit.' And she was right. Now my head is in the clouds every day. On airplanes."
As the approving laughter subsided, Lisa Mooney edged to the podium and stood by Tessa, clipboard in hand.
"One last question." Lisa pointed to a woman in the back. "Yes, how about you?"
"Where is your hometown, and how did your life there inform your book?"
Careful, Annabelle said.
Tessa stared at the woman in black. Wondering if this was just another question from a curious reader, or if it was the question. The one her mother had warned would ruin her.
CHAPTER THREE
The polished marble lobby of the Indie Hotel bustled with comings and goings, roller bags rumbling over the shiny floors, pop music piped through some invisible sound system, a column of travelers shepherding their suitcases through the velvet-roped registration line. Tessa, with her own black roller bag and black carryall and carrying the biggest bouquet of frothy pink peonies she had ever seen, now stood one person away from check-in. The reader at Excelsior Books who brought the flowers had leaned in—almost too close—to whisper her story.
"I quit my job because you did," the woman said. "You are so brave, and Annabelle is so brave, and I wanted my one life, too." She'd laughed, pointing to her oversized canvas tote bag. "Yeah, I'm using a diaper bag. I know it's not very glam, but at least I'm with my kids and husband, and I use my study as an office for my own business, and I don't have to show up nine to five and drudge for some bozo anymore."
"And everything worked out?" Though Tessa was gratified by her readers' passionate reactions, she always worried that they'd make un-fortunate life decisions based on fiction. What was the balance between inspiration and folly?
"I've never been happier," the woman had said. "And it's all because of you."
Tessa had inhaled the flowers' lush fragrance; didn't have the heart to reveal she'd have to leave them in her hotel room. "Same," she said. "'I've' never been happier, and it's all because of you."
Now she shifted her own tote bag to the other shoulder, the scent of the peonies as intoxicating as her memories of tonight's event. Lisa Mooney had told her the signing line was a record for Excelsior Books, with three women actually crying, two who'd brought their teenaged daughters, one of whom demanded Tessa sign her arm. Lisa had offered to adopt Tessa, keep her, never let her go.
"Sorry that the questions got personal," Lisa had apologized as she guided Tessa to the signing table. "That'll happen, but you handled it beautifully. You only have to answer what you feel comfortable answering."
"No problem," Tessa had said. "I know it comes out of love."
Now the woman at the registration desk—her dark hair pulled back with a black ribbon, and wearing a trim navy jacket—was beckoning Tessa forward.
"Gorgeous flowers," she said, as Tessa approached the registration desk. "I'm Graciela, welcome to the Indie Hotel. And your name?"
"Calloway." Tessa spelled it. "First name Tessa."
"Oh!" Graciela's eyes widened. "Of course. I should have recog—"
"No, no," Tessa said, "but thank you."
"I adore your book." Graciela leaned in, looking conspiratorial. "Working here—" she gestured, encompassing the entire hotel. "There's such a hierarchy, you know? I can't quit, like you did, or..." She paused, maybe worrying about who might be listening. Then smiled. "Do what Annabelle did. But it gave me courage."
"That's so kind of you," Tessa said. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her trench coat. She needed to check in. Call home. Get food. Try to sleep. "I love hearing that."
"And there's a package for you in your room," Graciela went on, tapping at her computer keyboard. "Let us know if there's anything else you need." She selected a black key card, put it through some machine, tucked it into a cardboard flap, handed it to Tessa. "The room number is on the flap. We don't like to say the numbers out loud."
"Thanks. A package? Do you know who from?"
"I don't. It came on the last shift. Is there a problem?"
"No, not at all." It was probably a gift from the bookstore. She put the key card in her jacket pocket. "And thank you for the kind words."
This excerpt ends on page 13 of the hardcover edition.
Monday, June 8th, we begin the book The Crossroads by C.J. Box.
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