Page 110 of When There Was You
“Not sure I’m qualified to answer,” I say, clearing my throat. But actually, I do have some suggestions. “I’d start with market research, so you can identify what’s out there now. Then I’d sketch out a few editions to crystalize some ideas for content and how you’d plan to write the articles and handle the photography. It’ll require an advertising staff, which you may be able to hire on a freelance or contract basis. You also have production concerns, such as who will print the magazine, how you’ll distribute it, and what entities could handle subscriptions and newsstand sales. You eventuallyneed to figure out if it’s a venture worth taking on in terms of costs, time, projections, and viability.”
Gus grins. “Sounds like you’re perfectly qualified to answer.”
I smile shyly. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“I’ll give Don a call this week. Pick his brain. He’ll probably try to talk me out of my harebrained scheme.”
My heart drops into my stomach, and it’s all I can do to nod my encouragement and keep my qualms about my boss internalized. “That’s smart. He obviously knows much more about the magazine industry.”
“You’ve given me plenty to think about. Right now, it’s just a notion, but maybe one day it will materialize into the real thing.”
A sheen of sweat coats my skin and when I register the tremor in my hands, I surreptitiously press my palms against my thighs and force myself back to the present. “You’re in a unique position with your restoration business to offer something of value. You have the perspective, clientele, connections, and history. Car enthusiasts would respect that.”
Jerri strides into the living room balancing photo albums, effectively halting all conversation. I’m relieved. I don’t want to think about Don or the wedge he could drive between me and this family I’m starting to belong to.
She drops the stack onto the coffee table. “There are more, but we can get started with these.” She glances at her husband. “You all finished in here?”
Gus stands. “Yes, my love. And knowing you as I do, you’re going to do what the heck you want anyway.”
“You know me well,” she answers.
He winks. “That I do.”
Jerri joins me on the sofa and hefts the first thick volume into her lap. Our eyes meet and hers turn scrutinizing. “You look a little pale. You alright, sugar?”
I’m not. I’m in a nightmare that hasn’t played out yet,one I don’t know how to stop from unfolding, but which probably won’t end well. “I’m fine,” I say, rallying my most reassuring smile.
She opens the album, balancing it between us, allowing me to fall into their family archives. There’s cooing, squealing, and laughing as I soak up the precious, awkward, hilarious images of Butch through various stages of youth.
A half hour later, Butch groans when he busts us. “Mom! What the...? That is so…” He grapples for words. “Wrong.”
Jerri frowns. “What? You’re adorable.”
“Spoken like a true mother,” he mutters.
“You werehotin that purple tux,” I say. “And that long hair?Mmm.”
“Stop. No. We’re not doing this.” He’s truly annoyed, stepping closer and looming over us.
He lunges for the album, but I clutch it to my chest. “You’re such a spoilsport.”
“Am not.”
“Are you five?” I tease.
“Give it. Or else show me allyourawkward pictures.”
I shrug, giggling. “They’re in California.”
“Convenient.” He rubs the scruff of his jaw.
I hand the object of his ire to Jerri and rise from the sofa, placing my hands on Butch’s forearms. “You were a handsome devil at every iteration.” He glares. “Naked in the bathtub with your sister.” He groans. “On your bike with the banana seat and sissy bar.” He narrows his gaze. “At the science fair, proud of your potato-powered lightbulb.” I push up on my toes and kiss his lips, which stubbornly don’t respond.
“Really?” he mumbles into my mouth.
“Really,” I say, not taking my lips off his.
He relents, his arms opening as he tugs me closer and kisses me back.
