Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [90]
She had chosen the Elbow Room for their dinner, a relatively upscale restaurant within walking distance of the town hall that afforded rooftop dining, though the evening chill kept the couple indoors on this night. During their brief walk to the restaurant, conversation centered on Justine and Daniel Ashley and Martin’s fortuitous need for a caterer. She had thanked him at least half a dozen times during their five-minute stroll through the center of town, which Martin found pleasant but surprising. Laura Green should have been under the impression that fate had intervened and saved the day, using Martin as its unwitting instrument. He rightfully deserved the praise that this woman was lavishing on him, but she had no way of knowing it.
And yet she had thanked him just the same.
Dinner had begun with wine and bread while Laura shared the prescient details of her life. Single and never married, she was living in Manchester with a dog named Boxer and several house plants.
Cujo still seemed like a more appropriate name for the dog, Martin thought, but Boxer wasn’t bad.
Laura had bought her house about five years ago, and though she liked it, she was hoping to find a place with a larger yard and a bit more privacy. She had been working in the town clerk’s office for nearly a decade and found the job to be stable and boring. She had an accounting degree from the University of Connecticut but had become interested in interior design over the past few years, and was considering opening a business of her own.
“I can’t imagine myself trapped in that office for the rest of my life. I’ll go crazy. The problem is that the job pays well and is so damn secure. The pension is terrific and the benefits can’t be beat. But the job is as boring as you can get. I just can’t spend my life in that room, you know?” She paused and took a sip of her wine, as if considering what she had just said. “So how about you? Do you think you’ll still be writing in fifteen years?”
Martin had told her that he was a writer of technical manuals but hoped to one day write more creatively. This last part was actually the truth. She had been impressed to hear that he was a professional writer, but Martin was working hard to temper her enthusiasm.
“Technical manuals,” he insisted. “I write instruction booklets. That’s all.”
Despite Martin’s attempt to avoid the question, Laura asked again. “Seriously … where do you see yourself in fifteen years?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “Maybe still writing instruction booklets. I don’t know. Writing creatively takes more bravery than I think I have.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I write an instruction booklet for a blender, I’m not really doing anything that you couldn’t do. Be clear, precise, and specific. Write in complete sentences. But if I were to start writing a novel, let’s say—well, that would be coming straight from me. It would be all me. And if it wasn’t any good, that would be a tough thing to face.”
“That sounds like a terrible reason to dodge a dream.”
“Yeah, but it’s true,” Martin replied, once again finding remarkable truth in what he was saying. “Rejection is an ugly thing.”
Laura leaned across the table and looked Martin directly in the eyes. “Look, Martin. I’m going to be honest. I could tell you not to worry. I could tell you that whatever you put on the page will be great. But you’re right. It might not be very good. I don’t know you and don’t know if you have any talent. But you don’t strike me as a coward. So do me a favor, even if we never speak again after tonight, which I hope isn’t the case. Go home tonight and start your novel. Write the first page and see where it takes you. Okay?”
“All right,” Martin answered, not meaning it. Though he dreamed of being a novelist one day, he couldn’t imagine it happening anytime soon.
“I’m serious, Martin. Don’t just say it. Do it. Start it tonight. Just one page. Okay?”
“Okay” he answered, trying to sound more sincere. Surprisingly, he was. No one had ever been so direct with Martin before about his writing,