“What’s the title?” Madeline asked. From the stands, there was enthusiastic cheering, indicating the end of the game. Madeline plugged her ear.

“They’re calling it B/G,” Redd said. “How would one even refer to that in spoken language, I wonder? ‘B slash G’? It’s reminiscent of what Prince did with that ludicrous symbol.”

“B/G?” Madeline said. “No. We can’t use that.”

“It’s been decided, I’m afraid,” Redd said.

“Angie said she would run it past me first!” Madeline said. “She said I would have final approval.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of publishing,” Redd said. “Angie and her superiors are in the business of selling books. They seem to think this absurd title will break new ground or, at the very least, create interest from a publicity standpoint.”

“They can’t use those initials!” Madeline said. “We have to change the initials. I don’t care what to. Any other two letters will work.”

“But those are the names of your characters,” Redd said.

“For now!” Madeline said. “This book still needs a lot of editing!” She watched the crowd rise from the stands and make their way en masse toward the picnic tables. “Ask them to change the initials, Redd, please!”

“They think it’s evocative of ‘boy meets girl.’ I don’t think they’ll look fondly upon changing the initials. Their company isn’t called Final Word for no reason, Madeline.”

“Listen, Redd, I have to go,” Madeline said. “Please… do everything you can!” She hung up. B/G? They might as well have decided to call it Benton and Grace!

Madeline raced to the concession stand to get the Gatorades and waters on ice. Soon, Cathleen Rook showed up and began pulling side dishes out of the big cooler.

“Where’s Rachel?” Madeline said. “Did she bring serving spoons for the potato salad or the pasta?”

“She’s still in the stands,” Cathleen said. “She started reading your book, and she said she couldn’t put it down.”

“What?” Madeline dropped a bag of ice in the grass and darted through the hungry and expectant crowd until she reached the bleachers.

Sure enough, there was Rachel McMann, bent over Madeline’s legal pad, eagerly reading.

Madeline all but ripped the pages from Rachel’s hands. “What are you doing? This is my work!”

Rachel beamed. “I can’t get over how good this is!” she said. “It’s sexy stuff, Madeline, but smart sexy, seductive sexy. Look at me, I’m flushed!”

“Rachel!” Madeline said. “This is not for public consumption.”

“I’m not the public, silly,” Rachel said. “I’m your friend.”

Madeline was so angry and embarrassed that she couldn’t even meet Rachel’s eyes. Instead, she focused on the N ironed on the front of Rachel’s dress. N for nosy!

“This is going to fly off the shelves!” Rachel said.

Madeline hugged the notebook to her chest. “We are friends, Rachel, and for that reason I know I can trust you to please not tell anyone what the book is about… or that you even read it.” She swallowed. “It’s in the very early stages. Probably, everything you just read is going to change.”

“If I were you I wouldn’t change a word,” Rachel said. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell a soul.”


Madeline had learned her lesson: she wasn’t going to write anywhere but in her apartment. She wasn’t even going to bring her legal pad home at night. It was going to stay in the apartment, tucked under the sofa cushions or hidden in the microwave oven.

Madeline was pretty sure Rachel had a duplicate key to her apartment, and at this point, Madeline wasn’t sure she was beyond using it.


The next day, Madeline e-mailed Angie about changing the title. Madeline had suggested an alternate title: Heaven Knows.

Angie wrote back, saying, We’re going with B/G. Besides, when I hear Heaven Knows, I think of that bad Donna Summer song.

Madeline then called Angie-three times-and three times she was greeted by Angie’s voice mail. She couldn’t even get Marlo, Angie’s assistant, on the phone.


At five o’clock in the evening, there was a knock on her door.

Eddie, she thought. With her check.

She raced to open it.

Trevor was standing there, holding his very cute pilot’s hat, looking grim.

“Hey, babe,” she said. “This is a surprise. I thought maybe you would be Eddie.” She kissed Trevor on the lips, but he didn’t respond. In fact, he flinched a little.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I heard a rumor today, from Pamela at the Island Air desk.”

“Oh shit,” Madeline said. It was about Grace and Benton Coe; it had to be. This was so bad that Madeline felt sick. Pamela at the Island Air desk was one of the worst gossips on Nantucket-her, Blond Sharon, Janice the dental hygienist, and Rachel McMann.

Madeline pulled Trevor into the apartment and closed and locked the door behind him.

He collapsed on the sofa.

“What is it?” she said.

“You thought maybe I would be Eddie?” Trevor said. “Why would you think that? Does Eddie visit you here often?”

“No!” Madeline said. “He hasn’t been here since the day I first rented it.”

“Okay,” Trevor said. “Because the rumor I heard… what Pamela told me she’d heard from at least six other people… is that you’re having an affair with Eddie Pancik.”

“Good God,” Madeline said.

Trevor was quiet.

“It’s not true,” Madeline said. “Obviously. Where do people come up with this shit?”

“Oh, any one of a dozen places,” Trevor said. “You got your own apartment, and Eddie stopped by to see you on the first day, and someone saw him. Then, someone else overheard him on the phone with you.”

“I told you I called him,” Madeline said, “because I want our money back. Life is expensive, and right now that fifty grand is the difference.”

“What is so urgent all of a sudden?” Trevor asked. “Do you have gambling debts I don’t know about?”

Madeline sat gently on the sofa next to her husband. “I’m having a hard time with the next novel,” she said. “Like, a really hard time. And I’m afraid I might have to pay my advance back.”

“You’re having a hard time with the new novel?” Trevor said. “That’s not what I heard. I heard your new novel is all about this couple who is having some superhot extramarital affair.”

“Who told you that?” Madeline said. “Did Pamela tell you that?”

“It doesn’t really matter who told me that,” Trevor said. “The rumor is out there, Madeline. People are saying that you and Eddie are having an affair and that this is the fuel for your supersexy new novel.”

“You can’t possibly believe this,” Madeline said. “You know I would never be unfaithful.”

Trevor picked her legal pad up. “Is this the new novel?”

Madeline tried to snatch it from his hands, but he hung on, and Madeline feared that between them, they would rip the pages. She fell back against the sofa cushions and tried to breathe. “It is my new novel, but I’m not ready for you to read it yet.”

“Is it about a couple having a superhot extramarital affair?”

“Sort of,” Madeline said.

Trevor threw the legal pad onto the coffee table. “Great.”

“It’s fiction!” Madeline said. “I write fiction. The problem is that nobody wants fiction anymore! They want memoir! They want ‘based on a true story.’ Everyone should be reading Mary Karr and Erik Larson! But that”-Madeline pointed at the legal pad-“is made up! It is the purest of fiction! I made up a story to entertain my readers!”

“The Easy Coast wasn’t pure fiction,” Trevor said. “It was based on your real life. It was about Geoffrey. And Hotel Springford was about your relationship with your mother. So that means the only pure piece of fiction you’ve written was Islandia-and that was more like science fiction. I encouraged you to write a sequel. But no-apparently, you were compelled to write this garbage.”

“It isn’t garbage,” Madeline said.

“You’re right,” Trevor said. “As angry and as embarrassed as I am, I respect you too much to call your work garbage.”

“Maybe it is garbage,” Madeline said. “I can’t tell. It’s nowhere close to finished.” She stared at her husband’s handsome profile. Meeting Trevor had been life’s way of making amends for all the ways Madeline had been gypped earlier in life-the feeble parenting of her mother, the dangerous relationship with Geoffrey. With Trevor’s love, she had essentially become Gretchen Green, girl hero. She had become the woman she wanted to be. Or nearly. She reached out to hug him.

Trevor didn’t exactly push Madeline away, but he didn’t embrace her either. He stiffened, and then he stood up.

“I need you to help me!” Madeline said. “I need you to support me. You’re my husband.”

“And you’re my wife,” Trevor said. His tone was marginally kinder, and Madeline felt a wash of relief. But then he said, “I think maybe you need space. Or I do.”

“Space?” Madeline said. “What do you mean by space?”

“I think you should stay here for a few days,” Trevor said. “While I try and process this.”

“I don’t want to stay here!” Madeline said. “What a horrible suggestion.”

“If you let me read what you’ve written, I’ll change my mind,” Trevor said. “But I know you pretty damn well, Madeline King, and my gut tells me you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Madeline said. But her tone of voice wasn’t convincing even to herself, and it would never fool Trevor. “I’m just a writer trying to protect my work.”