Chapter 10

10

H olden rose at six thirty, sending off a quick text to Finley, wishing her good morning. She had told him she was usually in her classroom by that time each morning so that she could prepare the learning centers and lessons of the day and still have time to check her email and tutor students who came in before school started at seven thirty.

She replied right away, telling him that she looked forward to seeing him tonight at dinner. He asked if he could pick up Emerson and her, and she told him to come by their house at a quarter till six.

He made a cup of coffee and put on his jacket, going to sit on the porch of the cottage, mulling over what he would be writing today. He decided to go for a walk once he finished his coffee, which always seemed to spark creativity within him. As he hiked along a nearby trail, though, he couldn't get Mr. Hamilton out of his mind. Pulling out his phone, Holden began dictating memories of his mentor and friend.

He talked of the day they met and how Mr. Hamilton was curious about everything. A few months into their friendship, Holden had asked why Mr. Hamilton was a janitor because he seemed so smart and should be doing something else that paid a lot more money. He never forgot what the custodian told him, which had shocked him.

Mr. Hamilton had earned two history degrees and was an ABD— a doctoral student who'd finished all requirements except for his dissertation. The custodian had put his academic career on hold and entered the military, going to fight in Vietnam during the last eighteen months of that war, seeing tremendous horrors there, ones which he refused to share with Holden. At the time, Holden thought it was because he was so young. As an adult, he realized even if he had been an old man, Mr. Hamilton would have kept those terrible memories to himself.

Mr. Hamilton had come home a changed man, not wanting to work in some dusty museum. Instead, he told Holden that he'd decided he needed to make a difference in the lives of others. Even if he only helped one individual, Mr. Hamilton said it would be worth it. He liked caring for the school he worked at. For the staff and students.

It was only after his friend's death that Holden learned that Mr. Hamilton had donated everything he had to charity since his wife had passed away two years before him. He'd lived frugally during his years of working for the Austin school district. Not only did he leave Holden with a few thousand dollars, but Mr. Hamilton had contributed sums to organizations such as the Boys and Girls Clubs, the YMCA, the Salvation Army, and the SPCA.

All Holden knew was that Mr. Hamilton had changed his life for the better. He only wished his friend could see the man he'd become.

And the man he was becoming, now that he had returned to his roots in Texas.

Making his way back to his rented cottage, Holden knew that he would be writing Mr. Hamilton's story, be it in a fictional setting or a non-fiction one. The world needed more Mr. Hamiltons. Though he'd told Finley he would put this project on a back burner, it excited him too much. Immediately, he typed up what he'd dictated into his phone and then began outlining a few other ideas that came to mind. Holden decided he could work simultaneously on the screenplay and Mr. Hamilton's story.

He read over and then fired off the pages he had written the last couple of days to Wolf and then showered and shaved, dressing in slacks and a sweater. Knowing Wolf most likely wasn't awake yet, he called Ana.

She answered on the first ring. "How is the script coming along, Holden?

"Really well, In fact, I just emailed Wolf more pages."

"Would you believe my husband is already up and in his office— and it's only ten o'clock! He told me last night that he was eager to meet with you again. Why don't you drive down and have lunch with us? By then, Wolf should have finished reading what you sent to him and have some feedback for you."

"I'll see you in a hour then," Holden told her.

When he arrived at the ranch, Wolf greeted him at the door. "You've hit it. Your rhythm. Your stride. I knew it would click for you. All the pieces are falling into place, my friend."

"So, you think I'm on the right track?" he asked.

"The pages you sent today? I wouldn't change a thing about them. You seem on fire now. I think you'll wrap this up in another month— even less —at the rate you're writing."

As they entered the den, Holden said, "I do feel like I've established a rhythm. I want to get this first draft down because I know when you start putting out feelers for casting, it will help immensely if you have a version of the completed script."

"You're right about that. Ana and I are going full steam ahead on all other aspects of the project now. I'll be using a lot of the same crew I have in previous films. Even though Ana has never produced before, she's been with me every step of the way on the ones I have directed. I think we're going to have an excellent partnership." He smiled at Holden. "I'm just glad you were willing to come on board."

"I have another idea. I'm not sure of the form it'll take, but I'd like you to look at it when I'm done."

"I'm intrigued," his friend said.

Ana entered the den. "Lunch is ready. Come on into the kitchen."

Over sandwiches and chicken tortilla soup, Holden told the couple about Mr. Hamilton and the lifeline the custodian had thrown to a very lost, angry boy.

"I wouldn't be here with you today if Mr. Hamilton hadn't taken such an interest in me."

He talked about their lunches together. How Mr. Hamilton would give Holden newspapers and then quiz him over various articles. How he had taught Holden how to play chess.

"I've never really talked about this with you, but my home life was pretty abysmal. My dad stayed drunk, and my mom was gone all the time, working jobs to keep a roof over our heads. I pretty much raised myself. Mr. Hamilton was not only my friend, he was a true father figure to me."

"I think it's a very moving story, Holden," Ana said. "You could fictionalize it, of course, adding in your own experiences with Mr. Hamilton. Or perhaps it could be a memoir of your time with him. You might have to stab at it a few different ways before you settle on how you want to share Mr. Hamilton's story with the world." She paused. "After all, you would also be sharing your own story, too. A big part of you will go into the writing of this."

"Ana's right," Wolf said. "You'd be baring your soul. For the record, whatever form this story takes, I think it would have film potential, Holden. Not everyone is into super-hero or big action films. Ana and I have started WEBA Productions because we know there's a market for audiences who sometimes want a quieter, more reflective film about the human experience. This Mr. Hamilton story is exactly the kind of projects we want to bring to the screen." He paused. "Just think about it. I know you haven't even started writing yet, but once your story starts taking form, keep WEBA in mind."

He thought of all the kids out there like him, and how not all of them had had a Mr. Hamilton to help steer them in the right direction. Bringing this story alive on both the page and the screen might be exactly what needed to be done.

"I'll definitely consider it."

They finished eating and he and Wolf retreated to the director's office, where they viewed the storyboards Wolf had drawn up based on the novel since the script wasn't completed yet.

Holden snapped pictures of the storyboards as Wolf said, "These are the scenes from the book which I feel are the most critical. The beats that I need you to hit. How you get there is up to you. Right now, you've exceeded my expectations, Holden. It's not many writers who can make a transition from writing a novel to writing a screenplay. A script has to be so tight. So terse. Yet it has to have all the emotional wallop and excitement of a novel. I'm proud to be collaborating on this project with you."

He basked in the director's praise. "I think the more I write, the better the script will get. Once I finish the first draft, I'll go back and tweak it."

"Are you going to try to work on this Mr. Hamilton story at the same time?"

"Let me assure you that I will not neglect Homicide , Wolf. It's my top priority. I told Finley about Mr. Hamilton, and she's the one who suggested I turn it into a story. While I would have to put off the actual writing of it until I finished up with the screenplay, I plan to at least work on character sketches and plot points for Mr. Hamilton. I can juggle laying the groundwork for the new story while I'm working on the script. I know how many pages I want to put in on the screenplay each day. Any time left over is to rejuvenate my creative juices, and that includes working on the Mr. Hamilton story."

Wolf said, "Speaking of Finley, how are things going between the two of you?"

"Really well. Almost scary well," he admitted. "When I left New York, I severed all ties with Madison. My focus was to come back to Texas and put one hundred and ten percent into this script. The thought of getting involved with another woman so soon after splitting with Madison never entered my mind."

He paused. "Meeting Finley came out of nowhere. I didn't want to like her— but how could I not?"

"She is delightful," the director said. "Ana has really taken to her. Finley sent the photos she took of the children to us. It's remarkable what she was able to capture from them. I can see such joy. Not only on their faces but in their body language. It's as if these photographs have given Ana and me a slice of Eva and Bear which time will never capture again."

"You know how talented Finley is. You saw the landscapes of the Hill Country she took. Hell, you offered her a job based on that series."

"Finley has a good heart. Also, she refused to accept any payment for the pictures of the children. She said being given the opportunity to work with WEBA Productions would be payment enough."

"That sounds like her. I haven't known her long, but Finley is generous to a fault. I'm having dinner with her and a few of her friends this evening. You remember Dax and Ivy from Java Junction?"

"Yes, they are a very interesting couple. We had a good conversation about their Harmony & Hues series and the possibility of turning it into a documentary. We tabled it for now, but I plan to take it up with them again once it draws closer to summer. I still want to see some of Ivy's paintings, though. Who else will be at this dinner?" Wolf asked.

"Finley's roommate. A fellow teacher named Emerson. She has a second job working as a cake baker for Weddings with Hart. It's a business Ivy's sister runs at Lone Star Winery. Ivy manages the tasting room there, and Finley wants me to come for a tasting sometime since I know next to nothing about wine."

"Perhaps Ana and I could join you and Finley for this tasting," Wolf suggested. "We are a bit isolated here at the ranch. Ana is busy with the children, of course, and now juggling a dozen balls with WEBA Productions, but she needs female friends in her life. She really likes Finley and also liked Ivy quite a bit."

"I'll bring it up tonight at dinner. See when we might be able to work out a time for the tasting. Finley stays pretty booked on weekends, photographing events held at the winery, and also doing portrait sittings."

Wolf's face softened. "Those photographs she took of that newborn and the parents moved me, Holden. I like to play the tough, macho man, but inside? I am squishy soft. Ana can tell you this."

"That's what makes you an outstanding filmmaker, Wolf. You have access to your heart and soft side and everything in between."

"Go home, Holden. Write some more this afternoon and then enjoy your dinner with your new friends tonight. Send me whatever you finish."

"Not right away," he said, reminding Wolf that he liked to let things sit a day or so on the screenplay before he fiddled with the pages and then forwarded them to his friend.

"I will eagerly await whatever I get, whenever I get it."

Wolf walked him to the door, and Holden said, "I'm going to need to return your truck to you. I can't drive it forever. I told you that I'll be staying in Texas. There's no reason for me to return to write in New York. Evan has told me that himself. That's the beauty of being a writer. I could do it on a raft in the middle of the ocean or sitting on a lounge chair by a pool."

"Keep the truck until you find something of your own. Maybe Finley might help you find a new vehicle."

Holden drove the short distance to Lost Creek, thinking about if this would be the town he might settle in.

With Finley.

He was crazy having such wild thoughts after having only known her such a short time, but he had never been more certain of anything. Wolf and Ana liked her. And if Mr. Hamilton had been here, Holden would have been proud to introduce the custodian to her.

He downloaded the photos he'd taken of the storyboards to his laptop and studied them several minutes, referring back to his novel and then his outline. Then the creative spark hit, and Holden began typing madly, trying to get everything down while it was fresh in his head.

Two hours later, he set aside his laptop, raking his fingers through his hair. He didn't often have such a marathon of writing. Usually, things came to him in bits and spurts, but he'd clearly seen what he'd just captured on the page, as if the movie ran in his head as he wrote.

Glancing at his watch, he saw he had half an hour before he needed to pick up Finley and Emerson. He decided since Finley had been so delighted with the flowers he'd brought her, he should bring Harper Clark a bouquet.

He stopped on the square at the same florist, getting all roses this time, and then drove to Finley's house.

Knocking on the front door, Emerson answered again.

"I'm curious as to what is in that bakery box," he told her as she retrieved it from the kitchen counter.

Finley entered the room. "I've kept out of it though I'm dying to see what's inside. I will admit that I leaned down and took a big whiff. The chocolate smell was heavy and sweet."

Holden offered to carry the box to the truck for Emerson.

"Flowers?" Emerson asked as she slid into the back seat, picking up the bouquet and setting it beside her as she reclaimed the box from him.

"I asked if I could bring something tonight. I was told no. You can't wrong with flowers, though."

"If you get tired of being Finley's boyfriend— and you learn to cook —I'd be open to a relationship with you, Holden," Emerson teased.

He glanced to Finley in the passenger seat next to him, seeing her blush.

Was he her boyfriend?

He was thirty-one. The terms boyfriend and girlfriend seemed so antiquated. Yet he would happily wear the label if Finley wanted him to.

Emerson gave him directions, and they reached the Clarks' home about seven minutes later. As they got out of his truck, Dax and Ivy pulled up behind them. They both got out, each holding two bottles of wine in their hands.

"We're always in charge of the wines," Ivy said cheerfully. "I check with Braden or Finley, whoever's cooking, so I know what's appropriate to bring."

"What are we eating tonight?" Dax asked his wife as the five of them approached the front door.

"Fajitas," Ivy said.

"What?" Finley asked. "Emerson should have made her sangria since we're eating Mexican food." She looked to Holden. "Emerson is famous for her sangria. It's a little hard to transport, though. You can repeat Mexican for us next week and make a batch of sangria then so Holden can taste it."

"Don't think you have to invite me every week," he said. "I don't want to horn in on anything."

Dax rang the doorbell, and a tall blond man answered. "Welcome to Casa Clark, everybody."

As the others crossed the threshold, Finley slipped her arm through his. "I don't want you to feel obligated to come each week, but these are my friends, Holden. They're important to me. Just as you are."

Holden hadn't felt needed—or wanted—in a long time.

He decided it felt damn good.