The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,66

conditioners, and the swimming pools still enticed their owners to dive in and splash around.

Sarah padded around her house in shorts and bare feet, picking up the mess that was strewn about. By nature and by nurture she was a tidy person, but she’d been so completely absorbed in her manuscript that she’d become the slob she never was in college.

She hadn’t done laundry in so long she’d feared she wouldn’t have anything clean to put on. As it was, she wore a pair of shorts with a hole in the crotch and paint stains on the seat.

But today that would all change. She’d finished the rewrite of her old manuscript, and was awaiting a return phone call from Sam, who’d been in a meeting when she phoned to tell her the news.

Remembering her father’s advice, she’d decided to seek Sam’s help. Sarah had no idea if her novel was any good, but she knew she could trust Sam to tell her the truth. Friends or not, Sam wouldn’t risk her reputation on a manuscript that sucked.

She tried to still the flutter of nerves in her stomach. She had so much riding on this. Not a gambling woman, this long shot she’d bet her career and her savings on would either make or break her. She knew the odds of getting struck by lightning were better than getting a first manuscript published, or even a second . . . or third.

But no matter the outcome, she tried to tell herself, she’d proven that she could do it. She could write a full-length novel. And not just once, but twice, if you counted both manuscripts. That had to count for something.

She still missed Alex. In the months since she’d left, she’d been tempted to call him, but she always stopped short.

She had to get her life in order. Figure out what it was she wanted, before she could be any good to anyone else. Which would likely mean Alex would be lost to her forever, and in all likelihood already was, but she was determined to accept this. Sort of.

The phone rang, making Sarah’s heart leap to her throat.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Sarah, it’s Sam.”

“Sam.” A hummingbird fluttered in Sarah’s stomach. “Thanks for calling me back. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up? Did you change your mind about the job?”

“No, or rather I have changed my mind, just not about the job. About writing.”

Sam squealed on the other end. “Really? Great. Send me the manuscript. I’ll get it to our agent who handles historical romance—”

“Sam. Take a breath. It’s not the college manuscript. At least not anymore. I rewrote it . . . in the 21 century.” Silence reigned on the other end of the line, and panic socked Sarah right in the gut. “Sam? Is that bad?”

“No. Of course not. It just took me by surprise. Listen, send it to me via e-mail. I’ve got a transcontinental flight this weekend. I’ll read it on the flight and get back to you next week.”

“Okay. I’ll send it this afternoon. And Sam, you’ll tell me the truth, right? I mean, just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can’t be brutally honest with me.” Well, maybe not brutally honest, Sarah thought, sugar coat it a little.

“Sarah, I’ll be honest, but remember this isn’t my genre. I’ll have to get it to Elizabeth Bouchier for her read. But I’ll let you know if I think it needs work before we go there.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Sarah hung up the phone and finally let her legs give out, slumping to the sofa. This was it. So why did she suddenly feel like a death row inmate who’d just lost her last appeal?

Sam turned on her laptop as soon as the flight attendant gave the all clear. She hated red-eyes, but oftentimes they were the only way she could wade through her gigabytes of electronic submissions. Unable to sleep on planes, the dark, quiet aircrafts provided her with uninterrupted reading time.

Clicking open Sarah’s manuscript, she chewed her lower lip, nervous for her friend. She knew that having one’s manuscript read was like standing naked on a street corner.

For writers, good and bad, allowing someone . . . editor, friend, or both . . . to read the words the writer labored over, anguished over, was deeply personal, soul-baring. Sam thought it was nothing short of brave. For that reason, she gave each submission the respect it was due.

Sarah had had such a gift for the language of the Regency Period,