“And the book will immortalize her. Hmmm. I never thought about that. You’re right. Violet would have loved the idea of living on as a character for millions of people.”

“And why do you think she set this one year time limit for you?”

“Believe me, I’ve wondered. Mr. Sobel didn’t have an answer for me. I think it has to do with Violet’s own writing experience. She worked on stories but never finished them. She told me one time it was because no one pushed her. So she left me a carrot and stick to make sure I’d follow through.”

“A very effective one.” Rick smiled. “I hope to be the center of attention in your rooms again someday.” He began packing up his gear. “I think I’ll run into town and buy some fish. That’s extremely damaging to my ego, but necessary.” He kissed my forehead. “And I have an assignment for you.”

“That’s great. As long as it’s not writing.”

“It’s not. First of all, Google how to make hollandaise sauce and print it out for me. I’m pretty sure I know what to buy. Leave the recipe on the kitchen counter and then go back to your laptop and type out the first conversation with Violet that comes into your mind, no matter what or when it was. Something you didn’t write down, something she didn’t intend for your book.”

“I could stay here and catch some fish instead.”

“Not a chance. And if you did, I’d be all hurt. Go on now. I’ll see you in an hour or two.”

I printed Rick’s recipe and delivered it to the kitchen, wondering for the hundredth time why anyone ever found avocado green suitable for appliances. Then I plopped onto the bed beside Halle, closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was fresh in my mind:

I found Violet sitting in Fairfield’s library one day. I’d finished an overnight shift and was exhausted, but something about the way she was hunched over a book drew me in.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She slapped the book shut and placed her hand over its cover, barely concealing the flowing Fabio hair on its hero. “Hi, Ronni. Yes, I’m fine.” She saw me grinning at the book. “Oh, all right, I’m reading a stupid clichéd romance novel.”

“Look, if you want to read As the Bosom Heaves it’s fine with me.” I reached over and turned the cover toward me. “Hmm. This one looks very romance-y and heave-y and throbby.”

“It’s a stupid book, but I began thinking about the men in my life and wondering how they measured up.”

I laughed.

“Oh, stop it. Not like that and not really, anyway. I’ve never read a bodice ripper and I was curious.”

“Are you going to finish it?”