Jessie was speechless as she stared at the phone. A bookstore? Sure, she had spent most of her childhood there, reading every new book appropriate for her age, but running one? Uncle Hugo was right. Sell it.
The radio station had planned to pipe Christmas music every evening during the holidays, giving the staff a much-needed break and the opportunity to spend time with their families. The only people scheduled to work were Brian, who was filling in for the traffic guy, and Ziggy, the weatherman. Jessie was concerned about her love-starved/love-crazed audience—the holidays could be rough for a lot of folks—but Brian was going to hold down the fort, running previously recorded shows. There was plenty of entertainment and advice in the digital files he kept. He also promised he would get in touch, but only if it was an emergency.
Jessie’s parents were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary this coming holiday season and were going to Italy and the Netherlands. Her mom had always wanted to attend Christmas Mass at the Vatican, and her dad wanted to see his grandfather’s house, which had served as part of the underground during the Nazi occupation.
Jessie was thrilled that they had planned this adventure for themselves. They had worked hard to put Jessie and her brother, Josh, through college. It was time for them to have some fun and excitement.
Even before the news about the bookstore, Jessie had been planning to spend the holidays with her lifelong friend in Croton, Lisa. They had been besties since kindergarten. Lisa was married and had two kids, eight and ten years old. They were at that age when they were beginning to question the existence of Santa, but Christmas in Croton would be a very festive atmosphere nonetheless.
Before she could plan her time off, she needed to take a look at what she was getting into regarding the bookstore, so she planned a short trip to Croton early in November. She could assess things, make lists, call a real-estate agent, and contact a local contractor to do the necessary work. If all went according to plan, the bookstore would be in decent enough shape to put on the market by February.
Chapter Two
The weekend after Halloween, Jessie made the drive from her apartment in Philadelphia to New York. It took just under three hours. She was able to beat the commuter traffic and enjoy the Palisades Interstate Parkway as, high among the cliffs, it weaved its way along the Hudson River. New Jersey had some beautiful spots, including the beaches in the east, Kittatinny Mountain in the north, and Buttermilk Falls and Crater Lake Loop Trail in the west. The state always got a bad rap, and that idiotic show Jersey Shore had set the Garden State back a few decades. Make that centuries. Jessie shook her head, thinking about how much the entertainment industry was becoming a cultural calamity. It was the equivalent of junk food. No wonder so many people were depressed.
As she began her descent from the Palisades cliffs, she was awestruck by the new Tappan Zee Bridge. It resembled the bridges recently built in Charleston and Oakland—massive sails made of steel beams perched on the asphalt span.
After crossing the river into New York, she saw the familiar signs for Tarrytown, home of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” When she was a kid, her uncle would have Halloween parties at the shop and read the story to children as they pulled a blanket or sweater over their heads and shivered in fear. She smiled to herself, remembering what an exciting world she had lived in among all those stories and books.
In more recent times—after the spooky story was read—the kids would head to Van Cortlandt Manor, an historic landmark originally built as a hunting lodge in the 1600s and converted into a lavish mansion in 1749, to see the Great Jack O’Lantern Blaze, which featured over seven thousand individually hand-carved and illuminated pumpkins. Jessie was sorry that she had missed the Halloween extravaganza, but she would be there in time for Lightscapes, the holiday walk-through, land-art experience. Visitors entered through a pulsating-light Bubble Tunnel and emerged into a world of wonder spread throughout the historic landscape.
As she pulled her Audi SUV into the circular pebble driveway of the bookstore, a rush of mixed emotions washed over her. The wonderful memories were etched in her heart, and here she was, about to say good-bye. It was bittersweet.
The building was a two-story colonial. There was a porch with a white railing running along the front. Four large pillars graced the façade. It had been built in the early 1950s as a bed-and-breakfast, after which came incarnations as a gift shop and an antique store, but no one ever seemed to be able to make a go of it until Hugo bought it in the early 1970s and turned it into a bookstore catering to the summer tourists. He and Jessie’s dad had pretty much gutted the space, knocked down some walls, installed columns, and added a few bay windows that overlooked the grounds in the back. The exterior remained traditional, but the interior had a lot of open space, making the shop light and airy.
When you entered the foyer, the room on the right was the fiction section, with the children’s area in the back. The room on the left was nonfiction, magazines, and newspapers. Both had a view of the grounds, with French doors that led to the patio area.
The only thing that showed any evidence of its age was the large oak staircase leading to the second floor. On the right side of the second floor was a mezzanine balcony that served as a reading area and overlooked the fiction section on the first floor. There were several lounge chairs, a sofa, and a large coffee table. At one end of the room, a small counter held a Nespresso coffee machine, with a small refrigerator underneath for self-serve. Coffee was a dollar a cup and everyone was on the honor system. Occasionally, the hospital volunteers, called the Blue Belles, would drop off baked goods and leave ajar for donations. Uncle Hugo didn’t have the space or inclination to have a full-service café, and most people were content with just a good cup of coffee. It was a favorite place for parents to relax when their kids were below during the children’s reading hour.
The skylights gave the space a very open feel, with sunlight filtering down to the first level. On the other side of the staircase, there was an apartment where authors, friends, and relatives would stay. The apartment also had an entrance from the deck in the back, which provided easy access without having to traipse through the store, providing privacy for some of the more famous authors who would occasionally show up.
Uncle Hugo and his wife, Lydia, had their own cottage a few blocks away. It was far enough to be able to leave work behind but close enough to walk. Now they were on their way to palm trees and golf courses.
Croton-on-Hudson was a popular destination during the summer season, and the apartment was host to a variety of people. Jessie hoped it was in decent shape so she could spend her time there instead of at Granger’s Inn.
She fished the key from its hiding place, took a deep breath, and slowly climbed the steps leading to the large veranda. As soon as the double locks clicked, she swung the double Tiffany glass doors open. The smell of books took her back so quickly, she almost tripped at the threshold. Uncle Hugo had literally walked away and left everything on the shelves, including several children’s picture books spread out on one of the big bay window seats. Entering the bookstore was like being thrown back in time.
She must have been standing in a dreamlike state for a while because she almost jumped out of her skin when Rosemary, the real-estate agent she had spoken to, walked up behind her.
“Excuse me. Are you Jessie Richmond?” an equally startled Rosemary inquired.
“Oh yes! Sorry. I was reminiscing and lost in thought!” She extended her hand and gave the woman a warm smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Brought back a lot of memories.”
“I can imagine! I’m Rosemary Bidgood from the real-estate agency. Didn’t mean to scare you!”
“Nice to meet you, Rosemary. I just got here, so I have no idea what to expect.” Jessie guessed that Rosemary was around her own age, maybe a few years older.
“No worries. We’ll figure it out. Did you grow up in Croton?”
“Yes. Spent almost every Saturday h
ere when I was a kid. Uncle Hugo would unpack the children’s books and ask me to pick one or two for the Saturday children’s reading hour. It made me feel so important! He called me his Young Reader Assistant.” Jessie was overcome with nostalgia.
“Children’s books?”
“Yes, some of it, but he carried the usual literary, mystery, and romance genres as well.”
“I was never much into books. I confess, I don’t think I’ve ever been in here. When I was growing up, it was all about makeup, hair, and teen magazines. Couldn’t wait until I could dye my hair blond, or red, or purple! I must have driven my mother crazy.”
“I think that’s part of our job as daughters!” Jessie gave another slight chuckle, remembering all the teenage arguments she would have with her mother.
“I think you’re right.” Rosemary nodded in agreement.
Rosemary was a petite brunette with shoulder-length wavy hair. She wore a simple suit with high-top sneakers. She noticed Jessie looking at her feet. “Oh, I usually wear normal shoes, but I busted a heel at the last house, and these were in my trunk.”
“I hate when that happens. Actually, I think it’s kind of a cool look. Savvy yet casual.”
“Ha. Don’t tell my boss. She is a stickler for conservative fashion.” Rosemary rolled her eyes, displaying more of her playful personality.
“I know what you mean. I’m not much for business suits, but working in an office, it’s like wearing a uniform. I can’t wait until I get home and put on some comfy clothes and roll on the floor with Mozart and Picasso.”
“Mozart? Picasso?”
“My cat and dog. They’re my kids!” Jessie laughed. She felt very comfortable with this woman—she was down-to-earth.
“I don’t want to hold you up, so let’s take a look at what we have going on here.” Jessie gestured for Rosemary to take a tour of the shop. “There’s also an apartment upstairs to check out. There’s an entrance up the stairs as well as a deck with stairs in the back.”
Rosemary pulled out her retractable tape measure and took copious notes, checking the floorboards for squeaks and the windows for drafts. She inspected the two private bathrooms, the storage area, the kitchenette, and the outdoor patio that had hosted many author events. To one side of the patio, a wooden staircase led to the balcony deck that served as a separate entrance to the apartment. Rosemary appreciated that feature.
When they entered the apartment, aside from a few dust bunnies and some stagnant air, Jessie decided it was good enough for her stay over the holidays. Rosemary recommended a cleaning service to get the place spick-and-span.
The two women leaned on the railing of the balcony and enjoyed one of the last few days of crisp autumn weather. The building sat on an acre and a half that was landscaped with a high stockade fence and a variety of evergreen trees. Jessie pointed out certain shrubs where she would hide Easter eggs for the hunt. “Some of the kids would try to bribe me to tell them where they were, or try to come up here to get a bird’s-eye view. But I was implacable.” Jessie gave Rosemary a wink.
“This is a lovely place. Sure you want to sell it?” Rosemary could hear the nostalgia in Jessie’s voice.
“I have a good job, an apartment, and a life in Philadelphia. I couldn’t even begin to think about running a bookstore. Sure, I spent what seems to be half my life here, but you have to have a feel for book-selling. I’m just a reader.”
“Too bad. I mean, it’s a shame you can’t keep it in the family.”
“Uncle Hugo told me to sell it and buy a house with the money. Honestly, I don’t know where I would buy a house. I’ve been living in an apartment since I was twenty-one! And I don’t want to be exiled to suburbia and have to commute. I kind of like my life, actually.” Or do I? she mused. She had been so caught up with her day job, and now the radio gig, that she realized she hadn’t given her actual life much thought. How does one get from one place to another without thinking about it? Maybe that was much of most people’s problems. They just do. They don’t think. Note to self: Make a checklist for your life. Pay attention.
Rosemary instinctively glanced at Jessie’s left hand. No ring, but she was curious. “Married?” Again, Jessie was pulled from her daydreaming.
“Me? No. I did have a live-in boyfriend for a few years, but that ended three years ago. I’ve had a few stalled relationships since, but there’s no diving into the dating pool—it’s too shallow!”
Both women broke into laughter. “And you?” Jessie tossed back.
“Divorced. We were too young. I’m pretty sure neither of us knew who we were or what we were doing. Let me rephrase that. I know for sure he didn’t know who he was because, shortly after we got married, he decided he wanted to become a priest.”
“Are you serious?” Jessie had heard this story more than once on the phone lines.
“As a heart attack.” Rosemary gave her a look of resignation.
“How did you handle it?” Jessie was genuinely curious, but also doing some research for her audience.
Rosemary shrugged. “I was always a little suspicious. The romance left right after the honeymoon, which was not all that exciting to begin with, for one thing. And he was always talking about religion and different saints. We got divorced after a year. He went away to seminary, then came back to the area as a priest in a nearby diocese. We’re still friends, though, and I see him every once in a while. I think the endorphins or dopamine or whatever the heck happens to your brain when you have sex masks reality. I was twenty-two at the time. Now, fourteen years later, I’m still single.”
“Good point about the endorphins,” Jessie replied. She realized that so many women their age were single. “Seems like a national epidemic.”
“What?” Rosemary looked confused. “Endorphins?”
“Single women!” Jessie laughed out loud. “I hear it all the time!” She stopped short of revealing her other job. “I mean, I meet so many of them!”
“Yeah, it seems like there are a lot of single people, but none of them are making a love connection!” Rosemary sighed. “Dating kind of stinks, ya know?”
“I do indeed.” Jessie was replaying dozens of phone calls in her head.
“Well, let’s finish up here, and I’ll give you the names of two of the best contractors around. Have you decided what to do with the inventory?”
Jessie remembered that most books were returnable, but that would be a beastly job, dividing them by publisher, boxing them up, and shipping them back. Plus she would have to find the invoices. Nope. She would donate them to the local library, school, and hospital.
Once they reached the ground level, Jessie showed Rosemary the way to the door that led to the basement. The building was on a slope, so there was access from the side as well as from the interior. With some trepidation, Jessie pushed the door open. It was a little musty, with boxes of file folders lined up against the walls. There was a carpet remnant on the floor that hosted an old walnut partner’s desk and a rickety banker’s chair. Otherwise, it was relatively neat.
“I guess I could call someone to clear this out. I know I’m not going to have any time to go through all of it.” Jessie had another pang of nostalgia. “Although all the holiday decorations should be somewhere around here.” She scanned the large room and noticed some garland peeking out of a box in a far corner. She heaved a big sigh.
Rosemary walked up and put her hand on her shoulder. “This must be kind of hard for you. With all the memories?”
“Yeah.” Another big sigh. “Maybe I’ll have one last holiday party here. Hey! Here’s a thought. I’ll have a holiday book giveaway party.”
“That’s a great idea!” Rosemary was delighted. “I can help you organize it.”
“Wow—that would really take a lot of pressure off me to pack everything up.” Jessie was starting to feel as if some of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “And it would be a fun ‘going-away sendoff.’”
“I like it.” Rosemary to
ok a few more notes. “I’ll order cartons so people can pick and pack.”
“Thank you, Rosemary. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” Jessie’s eyes were welling up.
“My pleasure. It will give me something to look forward to during the holidays!”
After the walk-through and several pages of notes, Rosemary wrote down the names of the contractors and handed the paper to Jessie. “I’ll get back to you with what I think should be the asking price. It could use a little TLC and a new toilet, but the building itself seems sound. And then we can talk about the holiday party. I’ll be in touch.” Rosemary turned and headed toward the door as Jessie stared wistfully at the bookshelves. For the moment, she felt less depressed about abandoning the bookstore. Now she needed some expert advice as to how to put a little sparkle and shine on the place, so she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the phone number of Evan Becker, the first of the contractors on the list.
“Becker Contracting, this is Evan,” a strong-sounding voice answered.
“Hello, Evan. My name is Jessie Richmond. Rosemary Bidgood suggested I get in touch with you. I am at my uncle’s shop, Riverwood Books, and need an estimate to get it ready to put on the market.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessie. What day and time did you have in mind?”
“I’m only going to be here through tomorrow. Is it possible to stop by this afternoon to do a walk-through?”
“I could be there within the hour.”
“Terrific. You know the place?”
“Sure do! See you in a bit.”
As Jessie hit END, a feeling of apprehension crawled up her neck. “You’re doing the right thing,” she told herself.
* * *
When Evan Becker arrived, his six-foot-three-inch frame filled the doorway. Strong facial features revealed a charming smile that curved toward his dark, smoky-brown eyes.
A Snowy Little Christmas Page 2
