A Perfect Day by Richard Paul Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

flight. Then again it could also be the maiden voyage of the Titanic .
    I realized that asking Allyson’s opinion on a book I had worked on for four years put her in a difficult position: because either I had to be a good writer or she had to be a good liar. I hoped the former was true. As we left the house, Allyson, still in her robe and furry, pink slippers, had my manuscript in one hand and a cup of herbal tea in the other and was walking into the living room to start my book.

    Carson and I were gone for the whole day, much more time than Allyson needed to read the book. I told myself that it was because I didn’t want her to feel rushed. But it’s also possible that I was really just afraid of Allyson’s verdict.
    It was dark when we returned. Carson was asleep, worn out from a day of running and laughing and excess cotton candy. I carried her in to her bed then went to our room. Allyson was in bed with her glasses on, watching the news. My manuscript lay at the end of the dresser.
    “Carson’s in bed,” I said.
    She looked up at me without a trace of emotion and my heart stopped. “Come here,” she said. I climbed onto the bed, my heart in my throat. She took off her glasses then her mouth drew out into a broad smile as if she could no longer contain her excitement. “It was fabulous!”
    “Really?”
    “It was so good. I haven’t cried that hard for the longest time.”
    “Crying is good?”
    “Oh yes. Crying is good,” she said happily. “I couldn’t put it down. I read it from cover to cover and didn’t even stop for lunch. It would make the best movie.”
    I laughed and plopped myself backward onto the bed. “I’m so relieved.”
    Allyson said happily, “You think you’re relieved? I’ve been dreading this day for months. I was terrified that I wouldn’t know what to say if I didn’t like your book. But I loved it. It’s easily the best book I’ve read this year.”
    That was saying a lot, because Allyson read a lot. She read everything from soft romances to hard thrillers. “You think so?”
    “I know so. I’ve already told Nancy about it and now she’s dying to read it.”
    I was grinning like a fool. “Oh, yeah!”
    “So what now? Do you send it to a publisher?”
    “I’ve been reading up on this. I need to find an agent.”
    “How do you do that?”
    “There’s a book called the Writer’s Market . It has lists of agents. There’s a copy at the library. I plan to go there on Monday and choose a few agents then send them my manuscript.”
    “How long does it take to hear back?”
    “Maybe a few months. If I’m lucky. Sometimes people wait years to be discovered.”
    This jolted her back to reality. “Years? So what are we going to do in the meantime?”
    “I need to find a job and hope that lightning strikes.”
    I slipped off my clothes and got ready for bed. I turned off the lights and Allyson rolled into my arms, but I was far too excited to sleep. Anything seemed possible again. After a half hour I climbed out of bed, picked up my manuscript and went down to my den to read.

Chapter 11
    M onday morning I was waiting at the public library as its doors were unlocked. I found the Writer’s Market , a thick book listing hundreds of publishers and literary agents, and began combing through it. There were more agents than I’d expected. I guessed there to be close to a thousand. The book was classified as reference material and couldn’t be checked out, so I skimmed through it, writing down the names and addresses of the first twenty-five agencies that seemed most appropriate for a book like mine.
    I went from the library to a copy shop, where I made twenty-five copies of my manuscript. Then I drove to the post office and mailed them all out. I felt a remarkable sense of optimism. I had set the bait and cast my line. Now all there was to do was wait. That and find a job.
    I drove around Salt Lake City requesting employment applications from radio stations. Of course