Free A Perfect Day by Richard Paul Evans Page A

slightly. “Believe me, I’m not trying to ruin the moment, I’m just trying to prepare you for what’s ahead. I have a lot of married friends, but none of them have what I think you and Allyson have. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I had in some way been a party to its destruction.”
    After some thought I said, “We’ll be okay, Camille. Allyson is everything to me. If it came right down to it, I’d give it all up for her.”
    “That’s what I want to hear,” she said, sounding slightly relieved. “Now that’s off my chest, we can get back to celebrating.”
    “I am very, very excited,” I said. “Thank you so much for making this possible.”
    “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re excited. But we’ve just begun. The next few months are going to be quite a ride.”

Chapter 17
    C amille was right. The next months brought a whole new world into our little home, from a trip to New York City to meet with my publisher to publicity photo shoots to flight arrangements for my book tour—a hundred details all leading up to the main event. I felt like a kid again, anxiously counting down the days to Christmas.
    I think it was Bette Midler who said, “The worst part of success is finding someone to be happy for you.” I didn’t have that problem. In my small world everyone was happy. Allyson was ecstatic, as were all three of my brothers. I don’t know how Chuck felt about it. I never told him. I was sure that he would have found some way to deflate me, perhaps reminding me that I wasn’t really a success yet. Like the time I was nominated as Sterling scholar in high school. I came home excited about the nomination, foolishly thinking Chuck would be excited as well. He wasn’t. He asked when I would know if I had really won.
    I continued to work with Stan until the first week of August, in part because I didn’t want to leave him short a man, but mostly just to keep myself from going crazy watching the calendar.
    Allyson gave notice that she would be quitting her job as well. Though she had some mixed feelings about this, ultimately she was glad to be home. On the Saturday morning following her last day of work, a delivery man came to our door carrying a box.
    “I have a package for Robert Mason Harlan.”
    “That’s me.”
    “Sign here, please.”
    The outside of the box read: A Perfect Day. Do not open until October 7.
    I signed for the package, then as he left I shouted, “They came, Al. They’re here.”
    Allyson ran in, followed by Nancy and Carson. “What’s here?” Allyson asked.
    “My book.”
    Her face brightened. Everyone gathered around me while I bent over the box, drawing my pocketknife across its lid. I folded back the flap and lifted out a single book. It was beautiful. It was a medium-sized book with a bright cover, a picture of a beautiful landscape of horse country washed by a morning haze. A Perfect Day was embossed in gold foil, as was my name—all three of them—Robert Mason Harlan. I extended the book at arm’s length. “It’s real,” I said.
    “What a beautiful book,” Nancy said. “I’d buy it just for the cover.”
    “It is beautiful,” Allyson agreed. “Just like the story.”
    I looked at Allyson. “I’ve always wondered what this would feel like.”
    “What does it feel like?” Nancy asked.
    “I was going to say a dream. But now I think it feels more like I’ve just given birth. With a gestation period of four years.”
    Allyson took a copy and carefully opened it.
    “I want one,” Carson said.
    I handed her a copy. “I’ll read it to you in a few years,” I said.
    “May I have one?” Nancy asked.
    “Of course.”
    “I want my copy signed.”
    “How many are there?” Allyson asked.
    I read the side of the box. “Carton holds twenty.”
    “Good. I told Carson’s teachers that I’d get them signed copies.”
    “I ought to send a copy to Stuart,” I said.
    “You should,” Allyson said kindly, “And thank him. If he hadn’t