Free Emily & Einstein by Linda Francis Lee Page A

the accent she swore she didn’t have. She was rarely found without a candy bar in hand; today it was a Milky Way.
    After one look at me, she extended the chocolate. “It looks like you could use some, sweetie.”
    “I’m fine,” I told her. I tried to sound convincing.
    She scoffed and took another bite when I refused. “You are not fine. But I know you. Holding on. A pillar of strength. Not a bother to anyone. If I were you I would fall apart and scream and cry and make everyone feel sorry for me.” She shrugged and swallowed. “But that’s just me.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh, relieved. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
    “Of course. What’s not to love?”
    Bundled in our coats, we rode down together and walked to lunch. Ever since Sandy’s accident, I’d had the urge to eat, a lot, as if food could solve my problems. Psych 101, sure, but even knowing that I had to force myself past little food markets filled with preservative-and-fat-laden foods that beckoned to me like an apron-clad grandmother offering instant comfort.
    Birdie and I made it to Whole Foods at Time Warner Center without me hijacking a hotdog stand or snatching her candy bar and making a run for it. From the wide variety of prepared foods that were more healthy than not, I got a salad. Birdie chose a slice of whole wheat pizza—grumbling that pizza and whole wheat should not be mentioned in the same sentence—soup, three tacos, some curry, a Parker House roll, and a chocolate croissant.
    “I’m hungry,” she stated when we stood in line.
    “I didn’t say anything.”
    “But you were thinking it.”
    “I wasn’t thinking anything. I am intentionally not thinking.”
    “Ah, yes, I should have known. How’s that working for you?” she asked with a raised brow.
    “Surprisingly well.”
    Which made her laugh.
    In the crush of people and clamor of voices against the stone floors and walls, we managed to get a booth. As soon as we sat down on the hard wooden benches, she bypassed the pizza and soup, took a bite of croissant, and asked, “So, what is really going on? I heard Victoria making noise about some book you have coming out.”
    I stabbed a piece of lettuce. “It’s a novel. Ruth’s Intention . It’s dying a quiet death before it ever hits the shelves.”
    “Lord, this business is brutal. Who knew? But look, even in the short time I’ve been at Caldecote I’ve seen that books fail all the time. And tons of them are Victoria’s. Her making noise about one of yours failing is like the pot calling the kettle black. Sheez, she is such a witch.” Birdie chewed thoughtfully. “Is there anything you can do to save Ruth ? Sure, it would be good for you, and yeah, even the book. But hello, save the book just to bite Victoria in the backside.”
    I cracked a smile. “You’re bad.”
    She snorted. “Focus, Emily. The book. Remember. You need to save it.”
    “I don’t know,” I said, considering. “The book really is amazing.”
    “I assume sales knows it’s amazing.”
    “I’ve forwarded them all sorts of reasons why it’s amazing. But the month is swamped with other books, and sales doesn’t have a lot of time to think about Ruth .”
    “Then force them to think about it.”
    “I can’t force them to think about it.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Then cajole them into thinking about it.”
    “Birdie—”
    “Don’t Birdie me.” She polished off the croissant and dug into the pizza. “You’re the creative problem solver. Figure something out.”
    As we were walking back to the office, Birdie unwrapped another candy bar. It was when I nearly gave in and lunged for it that the idea hit me.
    We parted ways after I stopped and made a purchase, then hurried back to my office. By the end of the day I had gathered some advance reading copies of Ruth’s Intention and put them together with a color printout listing fabulous quotes and a letter I’d written from “Ruth.” I hand delivered the books to