He opened a cardboard box and starting packing his books. The Great Gatsby…the book that first turned him on to modern American literature when he was a university student. Atonement by Ian McEwan…a glorious story, one of McEwan’s best. Zach stared a long time at the title of the next book—Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham. Nora had joked about that book once; that she was quite disappointed that no one actually got tied up in it.

When he realized he was smiling at the memory he made himself stop. Everything was over with Nora now—the book, the deal, the promise of a few nights together before he was gone. He was so angry with himself. He thought that once he was settled out in L.A. she would come visit for a few days. He’d offhandedly mentioned the idea a week ago. She asked him if he’d ever heard of something called “Goths in Hot Weather.” Apparently leather and tropical weather didn’t mix. But she’d said she would consider it…if he begged enough.

He’d been fully prepared to beg.

It was useless. Nothing he did could exorcise thoughts of Nora from his mind. The anger had burned itself out yesterday and turned into a cold, hard fist of anguish in the pit of his stomach. He half hoped she’d call. Even another fight was preferable to the bitter silence that had become the last three days since he’d told her it was over.

Zach went into the bedroom and looked around. Perhaps there was something in here he could pack that wouldn’t spur such potent and painful thoughts. He stared at the clothes in his closet and considered packing some of them. But he still had over a week in New York and he didn’t have the energy for sorting out what he’d wear from what he wouldn’t.

Giving up, Zach sat on his bed with his elbows on his knees. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sensing a headache coming on. He looked down to the floor and saw the corner of Nora’s manuscript peeking out from under the bed.

What hurt more than anything was knowing how good the book could have been. She was almost finished with it. A hundred pages or so was all that was left to rewrite. So close… It would have outsold all her other books combined, outsold all of Finley’s dull, dreary pretentious postmodern books combined. It would have been a sensation.

With his heel Zach kicked the manuscript all the way under the bed. He started pulling clothes from the closet and throwing them into an empty box. He’d just give them all away. Everything. He’d start over completely in L.A.

After a few minutes Zach realized what an idiot he was being. No matter what he did with his things, burn them, bury them or send them by mail, he would take nothing with him to L.A.

He had nothing anymore. And nothing was very easy to pack.