“The only person I trust is Parker,” she said. “And Parker trusts you.”

Parker Thaysden trusts me.

It seemed foreign at the time. But when she said it, it all—nights chasing lightning bugs, the family cookouts, the neighborhood picnics, his face over mine the day I nearly drowned—came flooding back to me. Parker was my family. It was as simple as that.

“What did he say about this?”

She laughed. “Oh no, no, Amelia,” she said. “You’ve misunderstood. Parker can never know about this.”

“I could never pull this off,” I said firmly, realizing that was my insecurity talking. Of course I could pull it off.

This was not a typical business deal, a ghostwriting job set up and carried out by a publisher. I would be impersonating a person who the world loved, who women everywhere relied on. She already had one book out. Could I write a second so seamlessly that no one would be able to tell? I was messed up, I was fragile, I was terribly imperfect. There was no way I could even attempt to sound like Greer, the embodiment of perfection itself.

In retrospect, that’s when Greer started to win this argument. As soon as I started making empty excuses, that was proof positive I was pretty much on board with this crazy plan.

“I’m too weak, Amelia. I’m too sick. I sit down to start writing this book, to leave the world with what I want to say, and there’s just… there’s nothing.” Tears started to form in her eyes.

“So how does this work? Do I interview you?”

She nodded. “And I have some notes,” she said, as though she were too tired to even discuss this. “But, to be honest, not many of them.”

That was when I knew I was going to say yes.

“I can’t even write things for you to polish,” she continued. “It doesn’t come for me anymore. I just can’t do it.”

A cold chill ran through me, because that was one of the worst things I could imagine. We were writers, Greer and I. Being able to see something and tell a story about it, interpret emotions and feelings and facts in a way that moved someone to action, was what we did. For that to be taken away was unthinkable. I would do what she couldn’t.

“What I was hoping is that you could write chapters and then call and read them to me. I can help you edit them over the phone. But we have to pick times when Parker won’t be around.”

Or Thad, I thought.

It was crazy. But I was going to do this. I sighed. “Want to get started?”

Two. That’s how many chapters of Greer’s book I actually ever read to her. After that, she was too sick, too tired, her attention span too short. The cancer was in her brain by the time I got to chapter five. Then it was over. I was on my own. But, by then, my doubts were over, too.