“Yes.” But she wouldn’t meet Nessa’s eye.
Nessa’s computer dinged from her desk. She brought it back with her to the couch, sat back down, and opened Hushmail. There were several messages from Altair and a -couple from sponsors.
She clicked on the one from Rick’s Music Shop and Guitar Ser-vices:
Dear Ms. Donati,
We are sad to say we are pulling our sponsorship from your blog Unknown Legends due to the offensive nature of your recent tweets. We wish you the best of luck.
Nessa typed a reply to Rick’s:
Dear Rick,
The Twitter handle is a malicious spoof account. I can see how some -people might become confused, but this happens all the time. If you’re in the public eye, you attract haters, and those haters do what they can to destroy your credibility. If you’ll notice, the spelling is horrendous, and mine is not. I of course know how to spell Obama and president. ;) As you know, I’ve never made any of these kinds of comments before, and now there are many, obviously an attempt by someone to discredit me.
I hope you’ll reconsider. If not, I understand.
Best, Nessa
Nessa then got on her blog and whipped off a quick note to her subscribers and sponsors explaining what had happened and asking them to hang in there with her while she sorted the insanity out.
“I have one more thing to show you,” Isabeau said. “So you read about the Air Capital plane crash over South Dakota over the weekend, right?”
Of course she had. There’d been no survivors, but in a bizarre twist, much of the baggage was intact.
“Well, as it turns out, you also have a Facebook fan page. And here’s the most recent thing ‘you’ posted.”
#AirCapital597 Glad the valuble stuff survived!! Who’s going with me to the auction??
“Good God,” Nessa said. This was the kind of thing that ruined -people’s reputations forever. She remembered the story of the PR exec who posted a thoughtless tweet and had to change her name and move.
“Trolls, right?” Isabeau said. “Nothing to do but sit in their parents’ basements and smoke weed and anonymously heckle -people who are actually trying to create something. I’ll bet this guy’s some jealous asshole who’s trying to spook your sponsors. He probably has a shitty music blog with two subscribers—-his mom and a girl named Desiree who keeps asking him if, for just $24.95, he’d like to take a look at some of her nude photos.”
Nessa laughed. “You really think that’s all it is?”
Isabeau rolled her eyes. “Probably,” she said. “If you ignore him, he’ll probably get bored and try to find somebody more fun to flame.” She stretched. “Hey, I’m going into town here in a little while—-meeting some friends for dinner and a movie. I should be home about ten. Cool if I bring my stuff with me and do a little move--in?”
“Oh, sure,” Nessa said. “Have fun.”
Isabeau closed up her laptop, slung her purse over her shoulder, and went out the back door.
Nessa spent the rest of the afternoon calming nervous and angry sponsors and her Altair bosses, then made a stir--fry for herself and Daltrey for dinner.
After they ate, the two of them went out back to walk their property with Declan MacManus. The dog cavorted happily, running to and fro, barking over his shoulder at them as if they were an irritatingly slow tour group and he was their guide. They walked into the wooded area beyond their outbuildings, and Nessa pointed things out to Daltrey as they passed them. “Look,” she said. “A sunflower. Sunflower. Tree. That’s a tree. It’s an oak. Weeds. Those are weeds.”
The sun dipped below the horizon, and Daltrey looked happy to be outside in the warm dusk later than she normally let him stay out.
Finally, what she’d been waiting for happened, and a tiny light ascended from the tall grass.
“Look, Daltrey! A firefly! Can you say firefly?”
His eyes grew bigger and his mouth dropped open, as more and more of the lightning bugs appeared and rose in the air around him.
Daltrey and Declan MacManus chased after the fireflies and leaped at them. Daltrey finally twirled, his arms overhead, never letting go of the toy car, his eyes closed in rapture as the tiny lights floated all around him.
She wished Isabeau were here to see this. She wished John were. And she was crying again.
After Nessa put Daltrey to bed, she sat at her desk and paid bills until Isabeau returned at nine--thirty, suitcases and a few boxes in tow for her move--in.
“You should have let me help you do this,” Nessa said.
“I only have a few things,” Isabeau said. “No biggie.” She dragged everything up to the guest room and Nessa could hear her putting things away in dresser drawers.
Nessa felt relief at having another adult in the house, and she knew she’d made the right decision. She went upstairs and knocked lightly on the guest room door. Isabeau opened it and threw her arm out wide as if she were welcoming a treasured guest.
“Do you have everything you need?” Nessa said.
“I think so. You going to bed?”