Free Winter in Full Bloom by Anita Higman

author does know. That is, he knows now. And a kiss was far more than I’d hoped for this evening.”
    “You’d hoped for. Wait a minute. What are you saying? You’re the author? You’re Miles Hooper? You’re kidding, right? You’re not kidding …”

 
    “ Miles Hooper, my pseudonym .” Marcus stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
    So, while Marcus was busy looking hangdog I was hyperventilating, knowing that Miles Hooper was actually conversing with me. My goodness. Would I ever recover from such serendipity? And how wonderful to do something so creative with one’s life. Of course, wouldn’t any job be more creative than being a secretary? But knowing Marcus was Miles explained so many things—his talk of color and imagination and the angles of the sunlight.
    “Miles Hooper,” Marcus continued to say, “has been my pen name ever since I started writing at age seventeen, which is why I had a trust fund with my money. The Monster book did well for me and was made into a TV movie for kids. After that experience, writing became my life.”
    “It’s incredible.” I held the book to me. “I’m blown away. But why didn’t you tell me before?”
    “Because I don’t do this anymore. I’m no longer Miles Hooper.”
    “Really? Why not?” And then I realized Marcus was trying to tell me more about his sister, or his life without her. I glanced around, glad that the shop was quiet. “Is it about Ellie?”
    Marcus nodded. “A few years ago I got writer’s block. Terrible stuff. Nothing seemed to work. I threw most everything out, and the stuff that didn’t get thrown out was published, which sold maybe thirty copies. Probably bought by some of my fellow writers who felt sorry for me.”
    He released a mirthless laugh. “That’s an exaggeration, of course, but the publisher was not amused with my sales. And who could blame them? They’d sunk a fortune into my books, packaging them so they were irresistible to kids, marketing them to the hilt, and paying for special placement on the bookstore tables, end caps, that sort of thing … just to see the books fail.”
    “So, this is what made you stop?” I took a step closer to him, hoping for more of the story.
    “No. There’s more. For some unknown reason, the inspiration came again. When it arrived I recognized it right away. But it was like putting a feast before a starving man. I became a madman working until all hours … too scared to stop. I thought the muse might disappear again like it did before. I worked so hard I became perpetually exhausted.” He sighed. “And that’s the reason I was so tired that night. And why I’ll never write or illustrate again. Because one of the sweetest, dearest persons I ever knew is dead because of me and my lunacy.”
    My fingers ached from holding the picture book so tightly. I wanted to give Marcus a hug, but didn’t. Mist stung my eyes instead. “I’m sorry. It’s such a sad story.”
    “I didn’t mean to make you sad. You wanted to know why I was tired that night, and I really did want to tell you. To show you a piece of my life. Or what used to be me. There’s just a shadow left of Miles. No more.”
    I put the book on the shelf. “Thank you for that. For showing me.”
    “No one else knows here, none of my friends. It just didn’t seem necessary to tell them. But it felt important now for some reason.”
    “I’m glad you did.”
    “This life is a dangerous place to be, at least with me at the helm. Not sure any woman deserves that.” Behind Marcus’s smile there seemed to be a dozen doubts and queries.
    Before I could respond a clerk popped her head around the corner of one of the shelves and said, “We’re closing soon.”
    “We’re just going.” Marcus led me out of the store, and we walked in silence for a while toward my hotel. “Selfishly … well, I hope what I’ve told you tonight doesn’t change anything between us.