Envy Mass Market

She had thousands of happy and vivid recollections of her childhood—the two of them ice-skating in Central Park, strolling through street fairs eating hot dogs or falafel while rummaging in the secondhand book stalls, having high tea at the Plaza following a matinee, reading in front of the fireplace in his study, hosting formal dinner parties in the dining room, and sharing midnight snacks with Maxine in the kitchen. All her memories were good.

Because she had been a late-in-life only child, he had doted on her. Her mother’s death could have been a heartache that wedged them apart. Instead, it had forged the bond between father and daughter. His discipline had been firm and consistent, but only rarely necessary. Generally, she had been obedient, never wanting to incur his disfavor.

The most rebellious offense she’d ever committed was to sneak out one night to meet a group of friends at a club that Daniel had placed off-limits. When she returned home in the wee hours she discovered just how vigilant a parent her father was—the kitchen window through which she had sneaked out had been locked behind her.

Forced to ring the front doorbell, she’d had to wait on the stoop for what seemed an excruciating eternity until Daniel came to let her in. He didn’t yell at her. He didn’t lecture. He simply told her that she must pay the consequences of making a bad choice. She’d been grounded for a month. The worst of the punishment, however, had been his disappointment in her. She never sneaked out again.

She’d been indulged but not spoiled. In exchange for spending money, she was required to do chores. Her grades were closely monitored. She was praised for doing well more frequently than she was punished for mistakes. Mostly she had been loved, and Daniel had made certain every day of her life that she knew it.

“So you think I should pursue Envy?” she asked him now.

“Absolutely. The author has challenged you, although he might not have done it intentionally and doesn’t even realize that he has. You, Maris Matherly-Reed, can’t resist a challenge.” He’d practically quoted from an article recently written about her in a trade journal.

“Didn’t I read that somewhere?” she teased.

“And you certainly can’t resist a good book.”

“I think that’s why I’m so excited about this, Dad,” she said, growing serious. “In my present capacity, most of my duties revolve around publishing. I work on the book once all the writing and editing have been done. And I love doing what I do.

“But I didn’t realize until yesterday when I read this prologue how much I’d missed the editing process. These days I read the final, polished version of a manuscript just before I send it to production. I can’t dwell on it because there are a million decisions about another dozen books that are demanding my attention. I’ve missed working one-on-one with an author. Helping with character development. Pointing out weaknesses in the plot. God, I love that.”

“It’s the reason you chose to enter publishing,” Daniel remarked. “You wanted to be an editor. You were good at it. So good that you’ve worked your way up through the ranks until now your responsibilities have evolved away from that first love. I think it would be stimulating and fun for you to return to it.”

“I think so too, but let’s not jump the gun,” she said wryly. “I don’t know if Envy is worth my attention or not. The book hasn’t even been written yet. My gut instinct—”

“Which I trust implicitly.”

“—tells me that it’s going to be good. It’s got texture, which could be fleshed out even more. It’s heavy on the southern overtones, which you know I love.”

“Like The Vanquished.”

Suddenly her balloon of enthusiasm burst. “Yes.”

After a beat or two, Daniel asked, “How is Noah?”

As a reader, as well as his wife, she’d been massively disappointed that Noah hadn’t followed his first novel with a second. Daniel knew that, so mentioning the title of Noah’s single book was a natural segue into an inquiry about him.

“You know how he is, Dad. You talk to him several times a day.”

“I was asking as a father-in-law, not as a colleague.”

To avoid her father’s incisive gaze,

her eyes strayed to the building directly behind them. The ivy-covered brick wall enclosing Daniel’s patio blocked her view of the neighboring building’s ground floor, but she watched a tabby cat in a second-story window stretch and rub himself against the safety bars.

Maxine poked her head outside. “Can I get either of you anything?”

Daniel answered for both of them. “No, thank you. We’re fine.”

“Let me know.”

She disappeared back inside. Maris remained quiet for a time, tracing the pattern of her linen place mat with the pad of her index finger. When she raised her head, her father had assumed the listening posture he always did when he knew there was something on her mind. His chin was cupped in his hand, his index finger lay along his cheek, pointing toward his wiry white eyebrow.

He never pried, never pressured her into talking, but always patiently waited her out. When she was ready to open up, she would, and not a moment before. It was a trait she had inherited from him.

“Noah came home very late last night,” she began. Without going into detail, she gave him the gist of their argument. “We ended up lovers and friends, but I’m still upset about it.”

Hesitantly Daniel asked, “Did you overreact?”