Eidola Mater: Mother of Idols

CHAPTER 4: WREN

The building-wide smart sound system drizzled a ballad into the silence that thickened the house, and my lips moved soundlessly, mouthing the words to the song. Shoulders slumped, I sat on the floor of my home office. I was trying to find motivation to keep going. Moving expenses filled the stream screen before me. Switching to the stats of my flagging book presales, I swallowed an expletive.

"Way more money going out than in," I muttered.

A pang of nostalgia made me want to wrap my arms around myself and rock until the pain eased. I wanted to turn the pages on the calendar back to simpler times.

When I began researching for my book, I had been at the height of my career as a professor, with a successful husband and dreams of a comfortable future. If I had known then how radically life could change in the blink of an eye, I wouldn't have risked everything to be a writer. Literature was an indulgence of the upper classes. A sort of cruel optimism kept me hanging on.

At least speaking engagements and book signings littered my schedule for the foreseeable future. Some were even paid gigs, but they were events that required a certain look and lifestyle. I couldn't afford to be broke right now. I felt sorry for myself. Worse than that, after the horrendous run-in with Ada, I was appalled by the financial desperation sticking to me like a nasty funk.

"How much of this is grief?" my agent asked gently as I sat on the phone, pouring my heart out to her during our weekly catch-up.

I heaved a sigh. "Don't make this about Whitney."

"I'm serious, Wren. I think you should talk to a professional."

I pictured the middle-aged redhead frowning behind her chic tortoiseshell glasses. Brianna Dempsey, agent extraordinaire and rep for no less than fourteen well-known best-selling academic authors, rarely showed emotion, but when she did, it was impactful. She practically oozed motherly concern through my earbuds.

"Is this your way of telling me not to trauma dump on you?" I tried to laugh, genuinely sorry.

"No, honey. I know you had hoped that focusing on the book would help you get through mourning, but I'm not sure it's working, especially since the launch isn't going as well as we planned," she replied.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and scowled at the moving boxes stacked where my desk had been. Everyone wanted to talk about Whitney. Why? I didn't. Whitney had lost his battle with depression. I understood. Lord knew I understood—however belatedly—what he had been going through in those last weeks. But that didn't change the fact that the manner of his untimely death had left me without life insurance or any means to move forward. The agony that he must have been in to do that to me...

I looked around the familiar office that now felt empty, alien, and cold. Memories of countless moments shared with my late husband within these walls flooded me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the deluge. I couldn't talk about it. I turned away, unable to bear the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

"I'll, uh, do some further research on the Fletcher situation and let you know what I come up with as far as getting Ada Fletcher on board," I changed the subject.

"Haven't you heard?" Bri asked. "A few days ago, Zara Fletcher was the target of an audacious heist in ColonyASR. They suspect it was someone with The Remnant. Fortunately, the culprit was apprehended before anything was taken, but it might be tougher than usual to get cozy with the family for now."

"Don't worry," I said. "I've already secured a dinner invitation with Ada."

The problem, I thought to myself as I ended the call, was that my late husband Whitney and I had built a safe bubble for two. Driven and focused on our career ambitions, we hadn't made much time for socializing, other than the social climbing our jobs necessitated. As a result, losing my husband had led to the uncomfortable reality that I was alone in the world.