When she noticed a desk drawer was partially open, she pulled it toward her. Inside was a small bundle of letters, fastened with a rubber band. She saw her father’s signature on one of them and tugged them out. With her hands shaking uncontrollably, she unfolded the first letter.

November 19, 1988

Dear Elsbeth,

I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see you today. Thanks for your encouraging words about my lectures. Not many people find character arcs as riveting as I do (I’m sure I heard snoring at the back), and it’s heartening to discover another fanatic.

I read your manuscript for The Moon on the Water and this is strong, intuitive writing. Well done. Many readers relish an adventure and the opportunity to step outside their lives for a while. You should definitely submit this widely to publishing houses. I’m happy to help, if you need it.

My daughter, Liv, is ten and always has her nose in a Nancy Drew book. Her dream is to be a writer, too. She’s showing real promise, though is reticent to recognize her own talents. If you ever meet her at one of my lectures, please do encourage her and help her to realize her potential. I think you’d both get along.

Keep writing!

All my best,

Grant

Liv’s jaw hurt and she stopped reading. “He told you about me,” she whispered. “Dad asked you to help me become a writer.”

Had Essie been doing what Grant wanted her to do? To nurture his daughter and help her achieve her potential and dream? Did she give her six months to do it, until November the first?

Liv remembered the note she found in Essie’s apartment. The greatest day of my life was also my worst.

November the first was the publication date for Essie’s debut novel, and also the date Grant died. Twenty years later, Essie won the Constellation Prize and learned Hank had fathered a child behind her back. Superstitious about dates, it was both bitter and sweet in Essie’s mind.

Liv’s love for Georgia Rory and her in-depth knowledge of the character had always shone through. On her deathbed, Essie hadn’t wanted her beloved heroine to be passed on to anyone else. Who better than the daughter of the man she loved, who dreamed of writing, to complete the last book of the series?

November the first.

What better date was there for a deadline?

What better date was there for Essie to officially die?

Standing there, Liv felt like the curtains had opened at the theater. The red velvet swished away to reveal the performers onstage. The spotlights turned on.

She opened up a few of the other letters and read them.

February 12, 1989

Dear Elsbeth,