Letter to the Author

Samantha sat alone, as usual, charcoal in hand. Her hands and forearms were covered in black smudges, with one more above her right eye. Her black notebook was small, but somehow she managed to capture beautiful details in every image she made.

Eliza continued to watch her daughter.

The child -- because even at age seventeen Eliza still thought of Samantha as a child -- hadn’t said a word since her father died. The two used to spend all their time in the greenhouse challenging each other artistically in a way Eliza never could. Now, Samantha spent her days on the step leading to her and her father's sanctuary, drawing in a different medium every day.

But Rick's supplies were nearly spent.

It was hard switching from two incomes to one. Life insurance only went so far. Eliza barely knew how to make rent payments and had no idea how to keep her daughter's hobby going once the supplies were gone. Being an artist was expensive. She and Rick had had that unpleasant conversation countless times.

Eliza chuckled dryly to herself as she recalled his 'sculpting phase.' He'd spent three months collecting what she called trash and 'upcycling' it into a sculpture.

The final product looked somewhat like a fallen tree. He'd been going for a turtle. From that point on he kept his expertise to two dimensional pieces.

Eliza hovered over Samantha’s shoulder beside the stoop to look at the image she was working on today. It was a wedding. She didn't recognize the elderly couple, but it seemed they were saying their vows. An unusual setting, thought Eliza. Wedding couples were expected to be young, but the joy in their tear-filled expressions was obvious.

"Who are they?"

Samantha glanced up at the question and blinked. Instead of answering she pointed to her phone that Eliza hadn't noticed beside her. A document was open on it, a book.

"Kept Waiting? I've never read it."

Samantha gave a half smile and went back to her charcoal. Eliza picked up the phone and read the synopsis. It was the story of a man and woman who fell in love at a M.A.S.H. camp, became separated, and found each other again 30 years later.

“Sounds interesting,” Eliza said. "I guess it's a good read?"

Samantha gave a one shouldered shrug.

Eliza sighed and kissed her hair before heading back to the house.

------

“Mom?” Eliza tried not to look shocked as her daughter spoke to her. It’d been too long since she’d heard her voice.

“Yes, dear?”

“I… You know I wrote to that author after Dad died? The one who me and Dad read -- I mean, who we used to read together. Some things are hard to talk about but writing was… easier.”

“I understand.”

“And I sent a scan of one of the pieces I worked on with Dad.”

“I bet she enjoyed that.” Eliza chose her words carefully. She was engaged, but she didn’t want Samantha to retreat back into her shell. The first week had been the worst. Eliza hadn’t seen Samantha eat at all, and she hadn’t even left her room for the memorial service. The second week she came out only to take food back to her room. Then, Eliza found her staring out the window at the greenhouse door until darkness fell. The next day, Samantha made her perch on the step, sketch book in hand. This was the most Samantha had spoken since his death, and Eliza did not want to say the wrong thing.

“Well, she wrote back.” Samantha’s voice pulled Eliza back to the present and away from those dark days.

“That was very nice of her.”

“Yeah. Actually, I explained how I was coping, with the fan-art, and she asked to see more pieces that I made of her work.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! She really liked it and asked for some of the details about what I put into it. I thought -- well, I thought she was just being nice and taking an interest, but then she sent me a few unfinished works and, well, can you look at this?”

Eliza took the letters Samantha offered and read them over. Ms. Rio had asked about the supplies and time Samantha had put into the works in her first response, as well as asking her to illustrate how she saw the characters in her two unpublished works. In the second letter there were several equations, with a key explaining where she was pulling numbers from.

The last line caught Eliza’s attention.

‘I would be more than happy to pay for your works from these past months.’

Eliza’s mind began racing as she mentally checked the equations written out in her daughter’s letter, disbelieving that she could be offering so much money. She glanced back up at the total, and then sat down to do the math by hand. Samantha had been working on her art constantly for the past 14 weeks since her father had passed away. That’s 14 forty hour weeks, 560 hours.

Eliza’s breath caught. Samantha is an amateur, so she’d be paid a minimum wage for her work. $7.25.

Eliza swallowed as she pulled up the calculator on her phone. Samantha used a variety of resources in her artwork. It wouldn’t be hard to look up the exact cost, as Rick had always kept his receipts for their hobby to ensure he did not go over budget. They needed to find them, but factoring in an estimate…

“Mom?”

Eliza startled at her daughter’s voice.

“Is this... okay?” Samantha stared at her mother with wide, brown eyes.

“She’s willing to pay $5,000 for your work, sweetheart. You’d be putting your name out there as a professional artist.”

“That’s…” Samantha furrowed her brows and bit her lip. “We need that money, don’t we?”

“Samantha.” Eliza leaned over to hold Samantha’s hand and encourage her to meet her eye. She spoke softly, but firmly. “It is your decision to sell your art. Yours and yours alone. I will help you and support you, and every cent of that will be yours. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But, we’ve been… tight recently.”

“Yes, we have. But I’ll tell you what. You put that $5,000 into your work, into your art, and I will have one less expense. It’ll be your responsibility. But that’s only if you want to sell.”

“I think… I think it’d be really cool.”

“Then let’s make a phone call.”

Nervously, Eliza dialed the number the author had left in her letter. Lenora Rio was quite famous in her genre, and Eliza did not know much about her, but Samantha didn’t have the courage to make the call by herself. After navigating a publicist, bullying a secretary, and waiting on hold for much longer than would ordinarily be reasonable, Eliza found herself talking to Lenora Rio herself.

"Oh mah goodness, dear, I am so happy y'all decided you wanted to sell! I'll buy all yer pieces." Ms. Rio cooed over the phone. She ooed and awed and couldn’t stop cooing about Samantha’s work, in a sweet Arkansan drawl. Eliza and Samantha were having a lot of difficulty not cracking a smile every time they heard the lady say ‘Bless your heart’ over the speaker.

“That’s nearly 50 pieces, Ms. Rio,” Samantha reminded her.

“Of course! And with your talent, I do believe I’m making a steal.”

“If you say so,” Samantha blushed.

“You can just send me the scans you have, so you can keep the originals for… any sentimental purposes.” Ms. Rio’s voice was solemn for a moment before resuming its previous charm and energy. “And of course we need to work out the details of the retainer.”

“Retainer?” Eliza asked.

“Well, yes. The pieces we’re getting are lovely, but if we need particular scenes drawn out we’ll be callin’ you up. Look forward to that, sweetheart.”

“You mean, you’ll want to keep working with me?” Samantha stammered.

“‘Course, ya ding-dong! I can’t let a find like you slip back into the shadows. I already have three friends in my young author’s club, an’ I already told ‘em all ‘bout ya. They’re up-an’-comin’s too, so ya’ll in the same department. Told ‘em I needed your permission before sharing any information. But that can wait until we work out our bit.”

“Other… other authors?” Samantha asked wide-eye as she stared at Eliza. The letter hadn’t mentioned anything about that.

“Ms. Rio, I think we better work out one deal at a time, if you don’t mind,” Eliza replied suspiciously. “Can you describe this retainer?”

“Right you are! Sorry, I get ahead of myself sometimes. So right now, you and I are looking at your current collection for five thousand, and then fifteen thousand for the retainer.”

“Fifteen thousand!?” the two asked together.

“Well, I was gonna sugges’ twenty, but my publisher talked me down. He doesn’t win most of our arguments, but ev’ry now and again I let ‘im feel like he’s useful.”

“Right,” Eliza spluttered out. “I’ll call our accountant and we’ll… figure everything out.”

“Peachy!”

-------

Eliza watched her daughter, who was standing alone in the greenhouse with two easels in front of her. Her little black book rested in her apron. On the left easel was a beautiful piece that Rick had made shortly before he died. It was a collage of cut-up photographs, stones, sketches, and paint, all coming together to show Samantha laughing when she was seven. On the right, Samantha was putting the finishing touches on a companion piece that showed her father boisterously laughing as he had just one year earlier.

“Hey, Mom,” she smiled brightly.

“Hey, kiddo. That looks fantastic,” Eliza said as she sidled up to her daughter, stepping back at the last second to avoid the wet paint on Samantha’s arms.

“Thanks. I just needed some closure. I need to move forward and carry him with me.”

“Is that a quote?”

“Shh! It isn’t published yet!”

The two shared a laugh.

“You’ll be late for class soon,” Eliza’s voice contained a mild scolding tone.

“No worries, Mom.” Samantha added another detail to her father’s hair.

“Samantha.” Her voice was more exasperated the second time.

“All my stuff is already in the car.”

“Just watch the clock.”

Samantha had invested her retainer wisely, with Eliza proudly watching and giving subtle help. Some of the money had gone to restocking her supplies, and a small amount was given to their accountant to invest. The largest portion went to art classes. She decided that she only wanted to take one course at a time, and the rest of her energy would be spent expanding her work with Lenora Rio and establishing herself as an artist in her own right.

Samantha shed her apron, balled it up, and used it to wipe the paint off herself. She gave Eliza a peck on the cheek before running out to the car and waving goodbye.

Looking back to the two easels she smiled and couldn’t help but feel like Rick was indeed being carried forward with them. She placed a hand on his picture, the masterpiece her daughter had created. “Who knew a simple letter and the work in a black book would be all it took to breathe a little easier and get Samantha to smile a lot brighter.”