“Philadelphia.”
“I rolled over for you and you were gone. It made me sad.”
“I’m here now.”
Carson woke an hour or so later. She came into our room carrying a blanket and a stuffed pink monkey. She climbed into our bed and pushed her way between us. “Carson, don’t,” Allyson said.
“I want to lay by Daddy.”
Allyson groaned. “The competition for my husband never ends.”
“Mommy said I could stay home from school ’cause you’re home.”
“Smart lady, your mommy.” We tried to sleep, but Carson moved too much. Finally I said, “Come on, sister, you can help me make breakfast.” I kissed Allyson on the forehead then climbed out of bed. I carried Carson out to the kitchen.
“What are we making?” she asked.
“My secret recipe French toast. You can be the egg stirrer.”
In the kitchen I handed her a wooden spoon then cracked the eggs into the bowl for her. In addition to French toast, I made Allyson her favorite breakfast, a Denver omelet. I left Carson watching TV and brought Allyson’s breakfast to the room. Allyson was still cocooned beneath the sheets.
“Are you going to sleep all day?”
“I feel like it.”
“Well, my lady, breakfast is served.” I turned on the nightstand lamp.
She looked at the food and smiled. “Thanks.”
I handed her the plate then lay down next to her. She sat up and started eating. “So what hours do I have you today?”
“All of them.”
“Don’t you have more interviews?”
“I have one. Fort Wayne, Indiana. But I can do it from a pay phone at Jungle Jim’s.”
“What about your book signing?”
“It starts at seven. But channel five is sending a film crew out so I need to be there by six-thirty or a little earlier.”
“What time will you be through?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Can you guess? We have to change our dinner reservation and let Nancy know when to meet us.”
“Tell her nine-thirty. Two and a half hours should be enough time.”
“So we’ll take Carson to Jungle Jim’s around two. Then tomorrow?”
“I am completely free tomorrow.”
She looked relieved. “Good. Because I’m in charge of Carson’s school book fair and I need all the help I can get. I was hoping that you could come.”
“No problem.”
“Can we go to the mall this morning? I’ve wanted to show you some new Christmas stoneware I’m trying to decide on.”
“I’m all yours.”
She set her plate on the nightstand and lay on her side next to me. “I’ll hurry and get ready. Do you mind getting Carson ready?”
“ ’Course not.”
She leaned forward and kissed me. “Thank you for breakfast. You’re so good to me.”
“I thought it had probably been a while since you’ve had breakfast in bed.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had
anything
in bed,” she teased.
“Sorry,” I said, “I was so exhausted last night.” I pulled her into me and we kissed again.
“Where’s Carson?” she asked.
“Watching TV.”
Her lips rose in a sweet smile. “Why don’t you lock the door?”
As I climbed out of bed, the phone rang. Allyson looked at the caller ID. She sighed. “It’s New York. You better get it.”
I picked up the phone. It was Heather. Allyson crawled out of bed and got into the shower.
Chapter 28
“S
orry to call so early,” Heather said.
“It’s okay. We’re already up.”
“I have a few things to go over with you. First, what’s this about a hospital visit in Boise?”
“She told you, huh?”
“She did. What happened?”
“Nothing. I just had some chest pains. They couldn’t find anything. The doctor thought it might be reflux.”
“Did you tell Allyson?”
“No. And I’d appreciate it if no one did. She has enough on her plate.”
Heather still sounded anxious. “But you had it checked?”
“Yes. By a doctor. He gave me a clean bill of health.”
“Just as long as you let me know if something else happens. We’re not trying to kill you.”
“I’ve heard otherwise, but I’ll take your word for it. So what’s up?”
“A lot. Congratulations on the list. As we expected, we’re getting a lot of interest in you from the national press. I just got a call from
USA Today
. They want to interview you for tomorrow’s bestseller list column. It’s usually pretty simple, just two or three hundred words.”
“
USA Today,
that’s huge.”
“It gets better. They want to run a front-page feature-section article on you in next Monday’s edition.”
I clapped. “Yeah, baby.”
Heather laughed. “Yeah, this is every publicist’s dream. To make tomorrow’s deadline they’re going to have to interview you in the next couple of hours.”
“Oh.”
“Is that bad?”
“Sort of. I just told Allyson that I’d go shopping with her.”
“You still can. It won’t take that long. They’re also going to have to get a photographer out there. How’s your afternoon?”
“Not good, actually.”
Now Heather was concerned. “We’ve got to work it in somehow. They won’t give you the front page without the photo.”
I grimaced as I thought about telling Allyson. “I’ll work it out. Just find out when they can come.”
USA Today
arranged to send a photographer at one o’clock the following afternoon—during the middle of Allyson’s book fair. I tried to talk them into shooting the photograph at the fair, but they were insistent that they wanted a shot in our home. Allyson wasn’t pleased. The interviews ran longer than I told her they would and we never made it to the mall. I ended up taking Carson to Jungle Jim’s by myself while Allyson stayed home and cleaned. She was in a worse mood by the time we returned. We left Carson with a teenage babysitter from our neighborhood and went to the signing. We arrived at the store a half hour early. I shut off the car and looked over to Allyson, who was smoldering.
“Are you coming in?”
“Should I?”
I sighed. “Come on, Ally.” I got out and walked to her side of the car, but she got out before I could open her door. We crossed the parking lot together and walked into the store. There was already a long line of people that serpentined between bookshelves from the back of the store, almost reaching the front doors. The bookstore manager greeted us as we entered. “Howdy, I’m Brent. And I know who you are.” He looked at Allyson. “And this lovely lady is your wife?”
“Allyson,” she said.
“Welcome. Just look at this crowd,” he said to me. “You must feel a little like a rock star.”
“It’s a little bigger than my first signing.”
“I bet.” Brent clapped his hands together. “You have some people here from channel five. There’s also a photographer from the
Deseret News
, but he’s just going to take pictures during the signing.” Brent waved the television crew over. A man wearing a tweed jacket and accompanied by a cameraman stepped over. “Hi, Mr. Harlan, I’m Dan Smart from KSL television.”
“We watch you all the time,” I said.
“Thank you. We’re running a piece on you for the ten o’clock news. I have just a few questions. Then we’ll let you get to your fans.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
Allyson stood just a few feet from me but out of the camera shot. Dan looked back at his cameraman. “Ready?”
He nodded. Dan tilted his microphone toward me. “Robert, your story is the stuff dreams are made of. You write a book and watch it rocket to the top of the nation’s bestseller lists. Are you surprised by what’s happened to you?”
“Absolutely. It’s like winning the lottery.”
“Why do you think Americans are responding to your book the way they are?”
“
A Perfect Day
is a story about love and family, and I think, as a nation, we’re hungry for this. I think we’ve strayed a little too far from our homes and families and we want to get back to something real.”
I glanced over at Allyson. She was expressionless. Dan asked another ten questions or so, until Brent, who looked more anxious with each passing minute, stepped forward, pointing to his watch. “We better wrap this up before the crowd turns ugly.”
“Sure. One last question. Now that you’ve hit the jackpot, do you plan to move from Salt Lake?”
“No, Salt Lake City is our home. We’ll probably move to a better neighborhood.”
He shook my hand. “Thank you. And congratulations.”
“All right, this way,” Brent said.
Allyson and I followed Brent along the perimeter of the store to the back, where the table was. Many of the people in line pointed at me as we passed.
“What’s this about moving to a better neighborhood?” Allyson asked.
“Nothing. I just said what first came to mind.”
“I’m sure our neighbors are going to be real pleased to know how highly you think of our neighborhood.”
“Honey, we live in a box.”
“I’m the one who spends all the time there. Certainly not you.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” I sat down at the table with Allyson at my side. There was a stack of books on the table. “Are you ready?”
“What do I do?” Allyson asked.
I took a book from the stack to demonstrate. “First you open the book to the front page and tuck it into the flap like this. Then give the person a Post-it note for each book and ask them to write down the name of the person they want the book signed to.”
“Simple enough.” She looked around. From where we sat we could not see the end of the line. “They’re pretty much all women here. Are your signings always like this?”
I sensed her discomfort. “Pretty much. My readers are women.”
I realized that the reality of hordes of women waiting in line to meet her husband had eluded her until this moment. Brent sent the first woman in line to our table. One by one they filed by, asking for hugs or pictures and telling Allyson how fortunate she was to be married to such a sensitive man. A few even asked her if she wanted to swap husbands. She acted amused but she wasn’t. After an hour she had had enough. One of the bookstore employees took her place while she went to call Nancy and sit in the café to nurse a cappuccino and wait.
Shortly after Allyson left, I looked up to see one of the few men in line. It was Stuart. It took me a moment to recognize him, as I hadn’t seen him since I had left the station. He was dressed in Levi’s and a sweatshirt and he looked older, though it was the kind of aging that comes from mileage, not time. He had gained weight and lost even more hair. He smiled when I looked at him, though his eyes showed his anxiety.
Although I was surprised that he had come to my signing, I wasn’t all that surprised to see him. Salt Lake City may have a million people, but geographically it’s still a small town. I knew it was only a matter of time before we bumped into each other. For months I had wondered what I would say at this moment. Now here he was—the personification of the daily desperation and vulnerability of my old life. Things I was all too glad to leave behind. Even though I was now on top, I still wasn’t very happy to see him.
“What’s up, Stu?”
“Hey, Rob. I saw that you were in town. I just wanted to stop by and say congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said coolly.
“I read that article in the paper. You’re famous.”
“Whatever that means.”
He glanced back at the line. “This is what it means. Just look at all these women. I had to wait in line for more than an hour. Hometown boy makes good. It’s a good story.” He scratched his head. “No one’s called us at the station yet to have you on.”
“You know how picky publicists can be. So how’s Kathy?” I asked.
Stuart’s expression fell. He said softly, “She left me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And Stacey?”
“She’s still around,” he said in nearly the same tone.
The silence turned awkward.
I said, “You have a book?”
“Yeah. Could you sign it to Kathy? Maybe write—‘from the man who loves you.’ ”
“If I write that she might think that
I’m
the man who loves her.”
“Just sign it to Kathy. With a K.” I signed the book then handed it back to him. He just stood there, as if there were something else he wanted to say. His anxiety grew even more apparent. “We were thinking that we’d like to play up our connection with you at the station—have you on the morning show. Help push your book a little.”
“How ironic. The last thing you said to me was to get out of the station.”
His eye twitched.
“You know, no other station in town would hire me after they talked to you. I couldn’t get a job in radio to save my life. I ended up installing sprinklers.”
Stuart swallowed. “Rob, I’m sorry about all that. I . . .”
I cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just giving you a hard time. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. If it hadn’t had been for your firing me, I never would have written my book.” I tapped my pen on the table then looked directly into his eyes. “So what really brings you here? One morning’s ratings couldn’t make that much of a difference.”
I had touched the nerve.
“Sterling called. He wanted me to get you to come to the annual client Christmas party. You know the one we have at his house every year.”
Though Stuart had always run the station as his own, every now and then Sterling Call, the station’s owner, would issue a mandate, reminding everyone who really was in charge. Stuart’s voice grew softer, more pleading. “I’ll be honest. Things are pretty bad right now. We dropped again in the last book. I think Sterling is looking to sell the station or at the least toss me. He pretty much gave me an ultimatum to get you or go.”
“So Stacey didn’t turn things around for you after all. Or maybe she did, just not for the station.”