Words Unspoken Read Online Free
head.
Lies, lies! Failure!
She threw it forcefully across the room, where it hit the door to the bathroom. She heard the glass shatter and then tumble onto the soft blue bath mat.
Lissa formed the words in her mouth, repeated them out loud twice, the same words she had longed to pronounce to her father for the past seventeen months. “Stop trying to recreate my life, Dad. That life is over. Do you hear me? Over. Stop trying to make it okay again. It will never be okay again.”
She sank onto the bath mat beside the broken glass and took the little card out of her pocket. MacAllister’s Driving School. For some odd reason she smiled, seeing in her mind the tall, older man with an abundance of silver hair, dressed in a seersucker suit in spite of the muggy weather. She remembered his bright blue bow tie and his dirty blue and white tennis shoes.
So what we need is to work on building up your confidence, young lady.
“Yes, please,” Lissa said aloud.
CHAPTER TWO
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21
The day began in typical fashion. Silvano Rossi arrived at the office early and clicked on the machine to start the coffee—the real Italian espresso. None of that weak muddy American stuff. He was ready to begin the day! The other offices at the publishing house were still dark. Silvano prided himself on arriving first; one day soon he’d get noticed. Eighteen months as a measly assistant editor at Youngblood Publishers was long enough. Hard work, long hours, and offering a steaming cup of perfect Italian espresso to the boss when he walked in were part of the recipe for him to be making a decent salary before he turned twenty-eight. He liked recipes!
Coffee in hand, he walked past the office door of Mr. Edmond Clouse, senior editor at Youngblood Publishers, and nearly tripped over a small, dark bundle sitting on the floor, smack in his way. The coffee sloshed onto his hand and then down onto the package.
“ Oh, la miseria , Leah! When did you put this package here?” He cursed the absent secretary out loud in Italian as he set his cup of coffee down and hurriedly searched for a napkin.
Quickly Silvano blotted the drops of coffee from what turned out to be a small burlap sack. What? Why in the world would Leah—the world’s most meticulous secretary—leave a thick burlap sack in front of the boss’s office door? Did she think the company was in the animal feed business? Books, they dealt with books, not burlap! Good thing he had found the bag, and not the boss. He’d move it out of the way and let Leah know. A little leverage never hurt.
Silvano lifted the bag off the floor. That’s when he noticed the label marked Special Delivery with the address of Youngblood Publishers hanging from the thick twine that held the bag closed. It felt like a ream of paper inside … and then it hit him.
“Of course, you idiot. Certo! ”
He took the burlap sack, carried it to his desk, and carefully unknotted the twine. He reached inside and pulled out a rectangular box. It too was bound with twine. With shaking hands, Silvano slid the twine off the box, opened the lid, took out a thick stack of papers, laid them on the desk, and began to chuckle. The chuckle turned to all-out laughter.
Silvano was thankful no one else was around to hear him.
“ Certo! Of course.”
He stared at the first typed page. Novel #6 by S. A. Green.
Essay Green, he’d thought the name was the first time he’d heard it mentioned.
An author who refused interviews and book signings, who never appeared in public—no picture available of her, no biography. Just an amazingly well-written novel every five or six or seven years. The woman was slow, but hey, no one was complaining. Her sales always leveled off around 400,000.
A round of champagne for all the staff when a burlap bag arrived! A new novel by S. A. Green meant big profits for Youngblood. The public loved her, and Silvano understood why. He had read her books, every one of them, as a young
Lies, lies! Failure!
She threw it forcefully across the room, where it hit the door to the bathroom. She heard the glass shatter and then tumble onto the soft blue bath mat.
Lissa formed the words in her mouth, repeated them out loud twice, the same words she had longed to pronounce to her father for the past seventeen months. “Stop trying to recreate my life, Dad. That life is over. Do you hear me? Over. Stop trying to make it okay again. It will never be okay again.”
She sank onto the bath mat beside the broken glass and took the little card out of her pocket. MacAllister’s Driving School. For some odd reason she smiled, seeing in her mind the tall, older man with an abundance of silver hair, dressed in a seersucker suit in spite of the muggy weather. She remembered his bright blue bow tie and his dirty blue and white tennis shoes.
So what we need is to work on building up your confidence, young lady.
“Yes, please,” Lissa said aloud.
CHAPTER TWO
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21
The day began in typical fashion. Silvano Rossi arrived at the office early and clicked on the machine to start the coffee—the real Italian espresso. None of that weak muddy American stuff. He was ready to begin the day! The other offices at the publishing house were still dark. Silvano prided himself on arriving first; one day soon he’d get noticed. Eighteen months as a measly assistant editor at Youngblood Publishers was long enough. Hard work, long hours, and offering a steaming cup of perfect Italian espresso to the boss when he walked in were part of the recipe for him to be making a decent salary before he turned twenty-eight. He liked recipes!
Coffee in hand, he walked past the office door of Mr. Edmond Clouse, senior editor at Youngblood Publishers, and nearly tripped over a small, dark bundle sitting on the floor, smack in his way. The coffee sloshed onto his hand and then down onto the package.
“ Oh, la miseria , Leah! When did you put this package here?” He cursed the absent secretary out loud in Italian as he set his cup of coffee down and hurriedly searched for a napkin.
Quickly Silvano blotted the drops of coffee from what turned out to be a small burlap sack. What? Why in the world would Leah—the world’s most meticulous secretary—leave a thick burlap sack in front of the boss’s office door? Did she think the company was in the animal feed business? Books, they dealt with books, not burlap! Good thing he had found the bag, and not the boss. He’d move it out of the way and let Leah know. A little leverage never hurt.
Silvano lifted the bag off the floor. That’s when he noticed the label marked Special Delivery with the address of Youngblood Publishers hanging from the thick twine that held the bag closed. It felt like a ream of paper inside … and then it hit him.
“Of course, you idiot. Certo! ”
He took the burlap sack, carried it to his desk, and carefully unknotted the twine. He reached inside and pulled out a rectangular box. It too was bound with twine. With shaking hands, Silvano slid the twine off the box, opened the lid, took out a thick stack of papers, laid them on the desk, and began to chuckle. The chuckle turned to all-out laughter.
Silvano was thankful no one else was around to hear him.
“ Certo! Of course.”
He stared at the first typed page. Novel #6 by S. A. Green.
Essay Green, he’d thought the name was the first time he’d heard it mentioned.
An author who refused interviews and book signings, who never appeared in public—no picture available of her, no biography. Just an amazingly well-written novel every five or six or seven years. The woman was slow, but hey, no one was complaining. Her sales always leveled off around 400,000.
A round of champagne for all the staff when a burlap bag arrived! A new novel by S. A. Green meant big profits for Youngblood. The public loved her, and Silvano understood why. He had read her books, every one of them, as a young
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