15. Jillian

15

JILLIAN

J illian found herself back at the cottage later that afternoon, alone. Josie had gone to her cousin’s house to make cookies, and Brad was helping his dad with something over at the big house.

She grabbed a book from her room and padded down to the living room to curl up in one of the big chairs and read, just like she used to do back at the penthouse. But as she settled into the chair, she found her eyes drawn away from her book again and again, and over to the window, where snow flurries drifted down and the bright sunlight of the afternoon ended at the impenetrable trees.

She and Josie had written lots of stories together over the years. Most of them were about ordinary kids doing the kinds of things Josie wished she could do, like going to space camp, or going back in time to see dinosaurs.

But the story forming in Jillian’s mind now was a story Josie might read when she was a teenager. There was something about the unspoiled beauty of the woods and the scent of the Christmas tree combining that made her think of adventure, magic, and maybe even an element of romance, all happening in an enchanted forest.

When she closed her eyes, she could see the ghostly figures of the deer last night—so beautiful that they almost hadn’t seemed real.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had abandoned the book she was reading on the coffee table and was jogging up the stairs to grab the brand-new journal she had bought to surprise Josie on Christmas.

She won’t mind having one less present, Jillian said to herself as she grabbed a pen from her bag. Besides, I can always buy another one for her in town tomorrow.

Those were her last thoughts about the outside world before she lost herself in the story that was brewing in her mind. Jillian knew every story needed a structure, but the beginning was flowing out of her as if it had been boiling over in her mind for years. Letting it out made her feel like a bear emerging from her cave, standing and taking a delicious stretch after hibernating all winter.

Her only frustration was that her hand couldn’t move across the page as fast as the words filled her mind, and she had to breathe slowly to calm herself and hope that the feeling stayed with her until she had it all committed to paper.

An hour later, Jillian sighed in relief and blinked her way back into reality.

The rosy afternoon light out the window was gone, replaced by the cool blue of evening. It was darker in the room too, since she had only put on a lamp beside the chair.

She yawned and stretched, then looked down at her work. She had filled several pages with rushed but neat handwriting.

“Next time I’ll fire up my laptop,” she murmured to herself.

Hopefully when she read it, the beginning of the story would feel as compelling as it had when she was writing it.

It’s not a story , she realized. It’s a book.

The thought was exhilarating and scary. She had always wanted to write a book, but she assumed that would come later, if it ever came at all. Most authors did a creative writing program in college, then published short stories and shopped for agents for a long time before tackling a novel.

I can’t hold this in and wait. I have to write it now.

She got up, deciding she needed to stretch her legs and maybe make a nice cup of tea.

Instead, she found herself jogging up the steps for a second time, digging through her suitcase for her laptop and cord, and carrying it downstairs to the kitchen counter to plug it in.

She did start the kettle while the computer powered up. The nervous energy she felt had her eager to do something with her hands. Pulling a mug down from the cabinet and grabbing a box of peppermint tea, she tried to ground herself.

Plenty of people write the first few pages of a book, she reminded herself. And young adult novels are one of the most popular kinds of book to write. Even if I finish it, what are the chances I ever get to see it in someone else’s hands?

But even her practical thinking couldn’t extinguish the flame of excitement that burned in her chest.

When her tea was ready, she cupped the glazed pottery in her hands, inhaling the warm, fragrant steam, and headed back to the computer. It wasn’t exactly the newest model, but it was sturdy and reliable. Naturally, Brad had set up internet before they even got here. She clicked on the network called HOME and it asked for a password.

She rolled her eyes, then typed in JOSIE, and it connected her right away.

Her hands navigated to the familiar university website automatically. She hadn’t explored it in a long time, but seeing the beautiful school buildings, the verdant campus, and all the smiling students made her heart pound a little harder.

The tab for Creative Writing programs had an extra item in the drop-down menu now, and she gazed at it in disbelief for a moment before clicking.

Her eyes scanned the page for a long time, and she put the tea on the counter to get cold while she took notes and studied the available options and the admissions process.

Then she opened her email and took a deep breath.

She was about to write something more important than any short story or novel draft. Asking the director of the program to let her back in based on an application from almost ten years ago felt unlikely at best. And surely the scholarship would be off the table by now.

But she had to try.

Taking another deep breath, she began pouring her heart out, telling the relative stranger who she had connected with in an interview all those years ago about everything that had happened to her since.

She was just finishing up her email when she heard the front door opening.

Her hand hesitated over the return key. She hadn’t been in school in so long.

What if he laughs at my email?

What if they let me in but I’m useless?

I’ll definitely be the oldest person in the program…

But then she thought about meeting Susan Grentz, who had quietly taught at the Trinity Falls elementary school while writing cozy mysteries, and no one even knew it until she was old enough to retire from teaching. Maybe it really never was too late.

“Jillian, guess what?” Josie yelled as she thundered down the hallway.

Jillian decided to take inspiration from her brave and enthusiastic girl. She hit the return key to send the email just as her favorite small person rounded the corner into the kitchen.

Josie began to tell her all about her afternoon adventures, and Jillian was glad to have something to distract her from thinking too much about what she had just done.