The Coil (15 page)

“Hey, little man.” He smiled when Jamie blinked sleepily at him. “Let’s get you into your pajamas.

“’Kay.”

Simon held back a snort of amusement as his half-asleep son allowed him to remove his cape and pull his Spider-Man T-shirt up over his head. He wiggled him into his cowboy and Indians onesie, making him giggle. He noticed the PJ’s were getting a little short in the leg, and made a mental note to pick up some child pajamas on his next shopping trip. He smiled sadly, realizing he would have to buy the size four to five years old, rather than three to four.

All tucked in, he asked if he still wanted to read
The Hobbit
. Jamie nodded even as his eyelids began to droop, and explained sleepily that Bilbo was just about to load the dwarves into the barrels. Simon smoothed down that little cowlick and picked up where they’d last left off.

Half a page later, Jamie was fast asleep.

Chapter Five

“
H
EY
.” Mattie slid into the booth opposite Simon with a bowl of soup for himself and a tuna baguette for him. “Are you at a stopping point?” He lifted his chin as if he could see over the top of the laptop, hesitant to interrupt.

“Just give me one minute.” Simon clacked away at the keys for a few more moments before leaning back in his seat, rolling his eyes, and then closing his laptop, pushing it to one side.

“Not going well?” Mattie asked, blowing on his spoon to cool his tomato soup.

“No. No it’s not.” Simon frowned. He looked up at Mattie, wanting more than anything to just moan at someone about the damn manuscript.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m stuck.”

“You mean writer’s block?”

He harrumphed unhappily. “Not really. I know where I want it to go; I’m just not…
feeling
it anymore.”

“Well, talk it out with me. Tell me about the story, and maybe you can feel out where it’s falling flat for you.”

Simon sighed, knowing that Mattie was just trying to be nice, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt to try. “It’s a thriller.”

“Like your other ones?”

“You know my other books?” He grinned when Mattie lifted one shoulder, as if it were no big thing.

“A part of completing the reading and writing course was to choose a book from the library, write a short essay or critique, and then read it to the rest of the class.” He went back to stirring his soup. “I chose
The Cracked Bell
, by Simon Castle.”

Simon smiled in surprise, feeling flattered. “You read one of my books.” It wasn’t a question, and he grinned when Mattie’s response was to mumble something affirmative while occupying himself with his lunch. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what you thought of it.”

“It was good.” Mattie dodged.

“
Pft
, I want to hear this essay.”

“Um. No,” he laughed.

“Why, did you totally trash me?” he teased.

“No! Of course not, you’re brilliant.” Mattie looked shocked.

“I was only teasing you, and I’m far from brilliant, but that’s very kind of you, you lovely, lovely man. Now come on, cheer me up here. What did you say?”

Mattie sighed. “I wasn’t the most articulate or anything, but I just said, in a nutshell, that I found it very suspenseful—which is a bitch to spell, by the way—and that despite the fact that I found myself utterly engrossed, the ending still managed to take me by surprise.” Mattie glanced at him and offered him a crooked smile. “That was pretty much my review, and then I just told them about the book’s storyline, and to go read it for themselves.”

“Thanks. Did you really like it?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why’d you pick that one instead of my other book, just out of interest?”

“Uh. It was shorter,” he offered with a laugh. “I only had a week to read it, and I’m still kind of slow.”

“Well.” Simon toyed with a napkin. “Thanks for reading it. Are you glad you’re done with the course now?”

“Sort of. I have to keep on reading. That’s what they tell you. And I guess I can save a little bit of money now that they’re done, but I’m not really getting my time back. I’m studying like crazy to sit for my GED.”

“I’d be happy to help you any time.”

He instantly regretted the offer. Although he really wouldn’t mind helping Mattie study, and wanted nothing more than for Mattie to do well, they had, over the past few weeks, carved out a routine of sorts. A few nights a week, when Sarah could sit for Jamie and when Mattie didn’t have his reading and writing class or… other commitments that he tried to not think about, they would be at Mattie’s apartment. And on the days he saw Mattie, his day would follow the lines of: take Jamie to school, go to the diner and write for a few hours, eat lunch with Mattie, go pick up Jamie and take him home for supper (he’d stopped taking Jamie to the diner for now, both unwilling and ashamed to admit why), drive to Sarah’s to drop off Jamie, and then over to Mattie’s for a max of two, two and a half hours. It was going exactly how they had discussed it would. It was easy, casual… it was
nice
. His only problem was that it was
too
nice.

The sex was starting to feel suspiciously like lovemaking. It was becoming more comfortable to spend time in bed talking and lying close, getting to genuinely know one another. Mattie’s touches were becoming more familiar, and he found himself enjoying, even welcoming the touch of Mattie’s hands at his back when being led into his apartment. He enjoyed the kiss goodnight, as if he were being seen off to work by his doting partner. He found himself jealous on the very rare occasions when Mattie had prior engagements, which allowed his imagination to torture him with images of Mattie with other men.

He was not supposed to be feeling this way, and he certainly was not supposed to be offering Mattie help with his studying. Fortunately, he was saved from having to retract the offer when Mattie declined with a nonchalant shake of his head. He made a mental note to perhaps lay off on his time spent with Mattie, as much he enjoyed and looked forward it. They really needed to get back to the mind-set of friends with benefits.

“Thanks, but Ty already has this little study plan thing worked out. He’s turned into the GED Nazi.”

“He seems like a good guy.”

“My best friend, yeah.” He pushed his empty bowl to one side, glancing at his watch. “I still have fifteen minutes left of my break.” He nodded at the laptop. “Tell me why you’re having problems with your book, seeing as you already know what it is you want to write.”

Simon worried his lip, hesitant to respond. Mattie’s quiet laugh made him glance up.

“Why have you gone all shy?” Mattie asked softly.

Simon huffed, sitting up straighter. “I’m not. I just, um….” He pressed his lips together and then allowed himself to slouch back down, feeling himself flush as he spoke. “I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of…
nerd
, I guess.”

Mattie spluttered. “Oh, hardly. Come on, you’re no more a nerd than I am a super model.”

“That’s a bad example.”

Mattie rolled his eyes. “Come on. Talk to me about being ‘stuck’.”

Simon sighed. “Well, I guess I just… I’m not feeling it anymore. Usually I have this passion about the story, and discounting the days where the words just don’t want to come, I can usually sit down and get on with it.” He shook his head. “I think it’s taken too long. It’s gone stale.”

“Why do you think that is? What’s different with this one, compared to the other two?”

Simon knew the answer to that; he just didn’t want to say it. He tore off the corner of his baguette and chewed, buying some time, but apparently Mattie already knew him better than he originally thought.

“Oh, I see. When did you start this one?” he asked.

Simon winced. “I started it just over five years ago. It got put completely on hold when Carol-Ann died. Then being a new dad… and Jamie….” He hated to use Jamie as an excuse, even if it was the truth.

“That’s quite a gap to start a novel and then try and pick it up again.”

“You don’t understand. After the first book was published, I was offered a contract for my next two books, but they expect it to be within a certain time frame. They got their second hit out of me, but the third….” He removed his glasses to clean them on the edge of his sweater. “They’ve already granted an extension due to personal circumstances, but they’re getting impatient. You’ve met my editor, Andrew—” As soon as he said it he winced and noticed how Mattie glanced away quickly.

“Yeah, I know him,” was the quiet response.

“He’s constantly on my ass now, trying to suggest different things to get me motivated or inspired. What he doesn’t get is that… well, I’m not the same person I was when I started the novel.”

There. He’d finally admitted it out loud.

“Well no, your life’s been turned upside down in the last few years. You’re bound to feel different about a few things.”

“Try explaining that to my editor. He doesn’t show any outward disapproval of my home life. It’s more like he thinks I should just suck it up and get on with it. He doesn’t understand how much of my time is devoted to Jamie. And not only time, but thinking space: I’m always thinking ahead when it comes to him.”

“I think I get that. Like you said,” Mattie added softly, “Jamie has to tackle the things in life that come naturally to other children. He’s not less for it, but he needs more understanding and time. Simple stuff like, I don’t know, a trip to the movies. You’d have to plan that ahead; am I right?”

“You’re dead on,” Simon murmured, once again shoving away those fluttery feelings that were beginning to stir. “I could probably write this book, but my heart wouldn’t be in it. That’s why I’m having a problem committing to it. I can’t imagine having something published that doesn’t
mean
something to me. I’m trying to get that feeling back.”

“I think that just means that you have standards.”

“Even when I wrote the first two, they were both thrillers, but they were important to me. Each character was real and had an entire history of their own. Now… now this book just feels frivolous to me.”

“Can’t you just… you know, write something else?”

“And throw away a novel that I’ve—albeit intermittently—spent years working on?”

“Let me ask you this. You said you could probably write it despite feeling this way, correct?”

“Yes.”

“If you plowed through, finished it in that state of mind and had it published, would you be proud of it?”

That stumped him. It was a damn insightful question, and Simon was afraid he knew the answer without having to think about it. “Probably not.”

“Well, the way I see it, then, is that you have a simple choice to make. And I in no way mean to underplay the importance of this, or anything,” he was quick to point out.

“No, it’s okay. Go on.”

“I think it comes down to whether you’re comfortable with putting something out there that you don’t feel completely happy with. People who enjoyed your last two books are going to read it. Don’t you think they’d feel disappointed if it read as half-assed? And all for the sake of not wanting to have wasted the past few years on a failed novel.”

Simon slumped back in his seat with a sigh. “You make a damn good point.”

“Let me ask you this: is there anything else that you feel you
would
like to write about right now?”

He worried his lip. “Actually, I’ve been playing around with an idea, just brainstorming in my head, really. I haven’t put pen to paper yet, but it’s way out of my comfort zone.”

“Which is…?”

He sighed. “Well, with writing thrillers. Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve loved horror. I always wanted to be Stephen King or Richard Matheson.”

“I have to admit that, up until recently, I’ve never really had an affinity for horror.”

“Oh you should give these guys a go. They’re legendary. Ever seen
Shawshank Redemption
,
The Green Mile,
or
I Am Legend
?”

“The last one, wasn’t that the one with Will Smith trying to cure a virus that turned people into zombies? That was awesome.”

“The book is a little different, but you should give it a read. You know if you decide to pick up reading as just a hobby, I’m the guy to come to for a recommendation. You should see my library at home.” And there he went again. Saying something that was outside the parameters of what it was they had agreed they were. He didn’t have to backpedal, however, because Mattie was determined to turn the conversation back to his work. And rather than feeling merely relieved, he felt reluctantly pleased at discussing the problem that had been preying on his mind for some time. It felt good to have someone take an interest.

“Maybe, but back to what we were talking about. You were saying something about comfort zones….”

He nodded. “I’ve only ever written in the horror genre. I just fell into it. It always came naturally to me, and I’ve always enjoyed it.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not right now, I think, but I wouldn’t say I was done with it.”

“But this idea you said you’d been thinking about, what is it? Romance? Comedy?”