Read Providence for Free Online Page A

dipped in liquid uncertainty, and I’d come up dripping with it.
    One thought pushed to the forefront of my addled mind: Would Jenny be with them? The last I knew, she’d been working alongside her parents in London. I doubted they’d leave out such an important detail.
    The Jenny of twenty years ago was somewhere in the memory box Arthur wanted me to crack open. Our story had begun in a euphoric corner of Eden—and had ended much as the original, with angels barring reentrance to paradise.
    Mrs. Hernandez switched on the vacuum in the back hallway. I picked up the portable phone in the kitchen and took it into the living room to call Arthur. He always worked Tuesday mornings from his home in North Indy, part of his clock-wound routine. I knew he’d be interested in how the writing was coming along. And I wanted to know if he wanted the pages sent to ARP. Normally, I wouldn’t hand him a thing until the last period had been punched on the final sentence. Then I’d print two copies from the hard drive, bundle one in cardboard and string, and ship it overnight with CDs to Arthur and his editor, Judith Raines.
    But this was different. I wanted Art to see what I was writing. There was an outside chance it would be so different from what he was expecting, he’d halt the project. A very small outside chance. I could probably write the book in haiku, and Arthur would still publish it. I dialed his number.
    “Hello, Jack Clayton.” The wonders of caller ID.
    “Hi, Arthur. I did some writing last night,” I said.
    “What did I tell you, Jack? I knew you could do it.” Arthur’s voice shimmered like an oiled penny. “When can we expect to see a manuscript?”
    “I can fax over early drafts later this week. By the way, what’s the due date for this history-making yarn? Six months?”
    “How does July sound?” Arthur said, giving me my first break. The last thing in the world I wanted was to be rushed to meet a deadline.
    “July sounds manageable. I think I can get it to you by summer.”
    “Not finished—have it in stores,” he said. “We’ll need the completed first draft no later than March 31.”
    I waited for Arthur’s laughter to rip through the receiver but realized it wasn’t coming. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Jack, you’ve got twelve weeks. All you need to do is remember and write. Judith will shape whatever you send. I’ve already told her what we’re up against, and she’s ready for anything. It’s top priority.”
    “What makes you think I can write a book in three months when everything else I’ve written has taken ten?” I asked.
    “We’re going to release excerpts by June to give readers a taste. And we’ll need full chapters for publicity and marketing, endorsements, and review copies, all of which have to happen by early spring if we want people happily reading your book while they tan at the beach over their summer vacations.”
    “Why not wait until Christmas next year when they can enjoy it just as much in front of their fireplaces, sipping eggnog in their robes and slippers?”
    “Jack, your book is red-hot right now . We’ve never seen interest like this before. It’s selling into all the big chains—Costco, Wal-Mart, Sam’s Club—and it’s selling into major retailers all over Europe who’ve been contacting us because of the rumors and early buzz. But this market’s fickle. We can’t expect the same level of interest twelve or eighteen months from now … which reminds me, we’ll need to shoot a cover photo of you. I’ll have Judith or Andrew call to schedule it. Are you able to come up to Indianapolis after the first of the year?”
    “Art, don’t make promises for me to keep,” I said. “If the book doesn’t get finished, you’re going to be in deep water.”
    “You’ll finish it, Jack. You’ll finish it.”
    “Yesterday, I wasn’t sure I’d be writing it, and to be honest, I’m still having moments of doubt.” I wasn’t even close to