The Bronte Book Club for Hopeless Romantics

by Laura Briggs

  In the morning, I picked up the book from Tim's office, and made my way towards the hospital on foot. The bay with Beetie in it was still closed, so I felt sure that Marty wasn't done with his diagnostics. That meant lots of walking for me.

  "Looking good," I shouted as I passed Hill o' Beans, where Cam was adjusting a painted shingle sign advertising the new lemonade, sleeves rolled to his elbows to bare his muscles, a slight grunt coming from his throat as he supported the heavy wooden plank.

  "Thanks," he managed to reply, without turning around from his position on the ladder as the sign's rings dropped into place.

  "And the sign looks nice, too," I added loudly. This time, Cam's head jerked in my direction; below, I could see Mallory laughing as she held the ladder steady. I couldn't help but laugh, too.

  Susan's Antiques had put an antique trunk of books out front, and I paused to look through them. As I waved to Susan from the other side of the window, I spotted Annette inside. I pushed open the door and entered.

  "I have your book," I said, pulling it out of my bag.

  "Thanks," she said. "I've been looking forward to it ever since Tim and I talked about it at the book club meeting." She hugged it against herself, looking pleased to have it. "You know how bad I am about forgetting my books until it's too late. I work so many hours now that it slips my mind."

  "Are you looking for something special in here?" I asked.

  "Oh, Susan had some vintage cookie cutters," she said. "I love collecting them. I even use them to cut the top crust for my pies."

  "If you come across an antique pasta cutter, I'm sure Tim would be interested," I said. "He seems pretty enthusiastic about cooking Italian."

  "I don't blame him," she said. "It's one of my favorite things to do. When I have the time," she added, laughing. "The hours I work ... it's a wonder I can make a weekly book club meeting."

  "That must make it hard to have much of a social life," I answered, sympathetically. "Even to date anybody."

  She shrugged. "I guess I gave up on having a relationship a long time ago," she said, with a lopsided smile. "No Mr. Right came along when I was younger. And now most of the nursing staff at work is younger than me. My hobbies are good ones for when I'm a little old pensioner — I'll knit little hospital hats," she added, with a chuckle. "And cook baked ziti for all my neighbors."

  "I don't think you should give up on meeting somebody," I said. "Not someone as interesting as you. I had no idea until yesterday that you were a photographer. Or that you wanted to travel."

  "I think we all dream about big things, don't we?" said Annette.

  "Big things begin as small ones," I said. Another fortune cookie, I thought — I should stop reading those little slips of paper when I ate at the Ming Dragon.

  "That sounds very wise," said Annette. "Did it come from a book?"

  "Probably," I said. "I read so many, I can't remember anymore." I decided to pretend it was the wisdom of Confucius instead.

  "If I happen upon any promising small events, I'll let you know," said Annette. The antique shop's bell jangled now, and we heard Susan's voice.

  "What can I help you find today?" she asked her customer.

  "I was hoping maybe you had one of those little pasta cutters with the fancy edges," said Tim, who was standing in front of the counter. Annette and I glanced at him, then at each other, and both burst into laughter. Tim heard, and glanced at the two of us.

  "Did I say something funny?" he asked, with a puzzled smile. "I didn't think that was one of my usual jokes."

  I shook my head. "You had to be there," I told him.

  "I think what you're looking for is here, Tim," said Annette. "Susan has some nice dough cutters on display with her cookie cutters."

  "Sounds like what I need," said Tim, strolling that way. I took this moment to slip towards the door, giving Susan a goodbye wave.

  ***

  "You didn't stay to hear if he invited her?" said Stacy, with amazement.

  "Of course not," I said. "I'm not a spy. Besides, it's not a true date, per say. It's just two people spending time together outside their normal routine."

  "I hate to break it to you, but that's called a date, Peg. If you didn't already know that, this could be the problem with your love life."

  "Funny," I said, sarcastically. "I don't think Tim or Annette will rush things. They'll start as friends."

  "Friends is the best starting place of all," said Marina, who was helping us with the stacks of summer reading returns. "Unless, of course, you're having a passionate, love-at-first-sight fling. Then it's completely different."

  "Marina!" exclaimed both Stacy and I at the same time.

  "I'm not saying I've ever had one, only that it's a different beast entirely," said Marina. "Mind you, there was this one time in Mexico City...." Whether she was kidding us or telling the truth was hard to determine — the mischievous glint in Marina's eyes could mean either one.

  "You went to Mexico City?" said Stacy. "When was this?"

  "Twenty years before I settled down here," said Marina. "I was there for the Day of the Dead."

  "You went to a Day of the Dead celebration?"

  "I did. And that's where I met Juan, who, although it was only a mere week, might have been the love of my life," said Marina, with a sigh. "Ah, those were the days."

  I smiled to myself as I gathered up an armload of books, having heard the story of long afternoon walks with the handsome and dashing village boy from Marina's youth, who helped her explore ancient ruins and very nearly proposed to her before his acceptance at art school. My smile wilted a little as I drew near the children's room, where the sound of juvenile chaos had reached an all-time high in volume. Three little boys had commandeered a secondhand Lego pirate ship loaded with hostage Barbie dolls, while a group of little girls had opened up the Barbie dream house to an invasion by stuffed animals who were squeezed into its rooms. A few mothers were present, rounding up the small children at play, while the older ones were loaded down with stacks of fiction for the reading program.

  "Mine are all about pirates," said Timothy, whose little brother had just forced a Barbie doll to walk the plank. "I like Captain Jack."

  "Good for you," I said. "Adventures on the high seas are the best."

  "Mine are all mysteries," said little Martine, whose voice was barely above a whisper. "See my Richard Scarry one?" She held up a children's story about a cat detective.

  "My favorite," I said. "Go on up to the desk and Miss Stacy will help you check them out, okay?" I exchanged a sympathetic smile with Martine's tired-looking mother, who had just succeeded in prying her howling toddler away from the alphabet blocks.

  A group of children running from the direction of the library's travel room nearly collided with me as they ran towards the foyer. All of them were wearing the paper pirate-themed summer reading hats that Stacy had ordered, and we lived in fear would run out before the end of June.

  "Slow down, guys!" I said. "Everybody remembered to write down their books in their book journals, right?" I said. "And you put the special 'x's on your book treasure maps, didn't you?"

  "Yes, Miss Paige!" shouted one of them. Like most kids, he pronounced my first name as 'page', not 'payge' with its hard 'g.' I told most of my young patrons that my official librarian name was "Page Turner," which they found hilarious.

  "Good — then go give your library cards to Miss Stacy and start your adventures!" I said. They carried on, but this time without running full-speed through the hallway, and causing the framed prints between the bookshelves to rattle.

  After shelving the children's books, I returned the Barbies to their Dream House, and gathered up the plastic shoes and sparkly costumes on the carpet. All the hand puppets were hiding behind a fort made from Heathcliff storybooks, a circle of Mr. Roger's friends and Old MacDonald's farm animals huddled inside. I put them back in the little red and gold painted theater made of plywood, and pulled the stuffed Peppermint Kitty and elephant
soccer pal from the stage, where they were wearing plastic teacup hats. The whole scene was nothing if not imaginative, I thought. It would make a great story in a children's book...if I ever got tired of reworking my old dissertation, for example.

  "I think you missed some of your friends," said a voice in the doorway. It belonged to Enrique, who was pointing towards a series of plastic dinosaurs roaming the surface of the play stove, with a T-Rex emerging from a plastic cooking pot.

  "Thanks," I said, retrieving them. "Looking for a storybook?"

  He laughed. "No," he said. "I don't have any children, so there is no one for me to read to at home," he said. "Except for my dog, perhaps. But he likes sports played outside. He isn't a bookworm, as you say."

  "Then I guess you're here because of our roof," I said.

  "I am here because there is a little problem," he said, spanning it with his thumb and forefinger — a gesture which did not match the expression on his face, I noticed.

  "Define 'little'," I said.

  "Maybe it is a little bigger than I make it sound," he admitted.

  A completely rotten rafter, a pile of moldy mush where the antiquated insulation had once existed. That night, I curled up in my armchair and gazed through a clear plastic tarp at the night sky above. Good thing it wasn't the rainy season in Lewis Cove, I reflected.

  "Well, at least we have a nice view, Romeo," I said. "I always wanted a skylight. We could take up astronomy now. I could buy that telescope in the window of Susan's Antiques." In response, Romeo snored from his nap on a shag yarn throw pillow at my feet.

  The sultry summer breeze from the window had become too warm for my tastes. I stood up to close it so I could turn on my little air conditioner, watching a couple below in the streetlight.

  They walked away together, in the direction of the corner, and then I recognized Tim's jacket with the garage logo. The woman was Annette, the sweater she wore in the chilly hospital lounge tied around the shoulders of her nursing scrubs. She glanced up into Tim's face, laughing at something he was saying. They were both smiling, both evidently enjoying each other's company.

  I wondered if they met by accident, or if they were spending time together this evening. Was something said in the antique shop earlier? It wasn't any of my business, of course. But it gave me a pleasant, warm feeling to watch them walk away together, and imagine what it might mean.

  Across the hall, in my little office, I pulled a book from the shelf at random. A Love Both Practical and Romantic: The Romance of Jane and Rochester. It seemed like a good way to spend the evening, boning up before my next meeting. It was entirely possible that Tim and Annette would have a lot to say on the subject by then.

  ***

  "Mushroom ravioli?" said Stacy, with a grin.

  "So I've heard," I answered, leaning forward conspiratorially, my grin every bit as mischievous as Stacy's. "I saw Tim in the grocery store, buying portabellas and porcini mushrooms on Monday afternoon, and Jeremy Wilkes told me that Annette was at the greenhouse that same day, buying a basil plant and an oregano."

  "It sounds real to me," said Stacy, taking a sip of coffee. "Who would have thought — two hopeless romantics made for each other?"

  "Who's made for each other?" Cam placed a plate of strawberry cookies on our table.

  "Nobody you know," said Stacy, lying. She took a bite out of a cookie. "Mm. Peg, these are heaven."

  "Seriously, who?" said Cam.

  "I'll tell you when it's serious," I promised him. "Until then, I have to keep it under wraps." I took one of the cookies from the plate and took a bite, then let my eyes roll back in my head. Stacy wasn't kidding about Cam's latest menu item.

  "Are you hiding something?" Cam stared at me, looking suspicious. Just then, Caroline sat down in the third chair at our table.

  "Double espresso, please," she said to Cam. "I'm celebrating."

  "Won Miss Bundle of Energy for the third year running, huh?" he said.

  "Actually, I sold a two story Victorian for asking price today," she said. "I feel I've earned a little treat along with my commission, so add a shot of caramel to that, will you?"

  "Whoa, don't get carried away," said Cam. "You might overload, putting sugar in that caffeine fuel tank."

  "Don't tease her about it, or she'll never eat the stuff again," I reminded him. Rolling his eyes, Cam made a note on his pad and retreated to the coffee counter.

  "So, are you going to call Dwayne, or am I going to have to twist your arm?" demanded Caroline.

  "Dwayne who?" said Stacy.

  "My blind date," I informed her. "I'm going to call him, I promise. Eventually," I said.

  "You'd better do it, or I'll just make the date for you," threatened Caroline.

  "You wouldn't," I said, lowering my voice and adding a little tone of warning.

  "You promised, Peg. You promised you were going to get back out there. And this was the big opportunity I found for you, so don't blow it."

  "I'm not going to," I said. "In fact, if it will make you feel better, I'm going to call him tonight."

  "Tonight?" said Caroline.

  "You heard me," I said. "I'm calling him tonight to talk about our date."

  Cam placed a coffee cup in front of Caroline. "One double espresso with a shot of caramel," he said. He glanced at me as he spoke, as I snagged a second cookie.

  "Good," said Caroline. "You'll have a great time. There's a little Indian place in the city that Greg loves, and I know that he happened to drop a mention to Dwayne that you used to love Indian food in college."

  "Mmm," I said. Caroline's phone buzzed.

  "Ooh, it's my client," she said. "Back in a moment." She rose and hurried away to the point most distant from Mallory's latest CD, a sad-sounding Rumer album.

  "Don't let her bully you," said Cam.

  "What?" I said.

  "The whole blind date thing. Just because somebody asks you out, you don't have to go," he said. "Call him, don't call him, the world won't end. She's getting carried away, pressuring you to date this guy." He sounded almost resentful of this fact.

  "No, it's fine," I said. "I wasn't pretending to Caroline. I'm really going to call him."

  "He could be the love of your life," said Stacy, waggling her eyebrows. "Love is in the air...all signs point to it." She hid her expression behind her coffee cup as Cam glanced her way.

  "Love, huh?" he said.

  "I think it's a little early for that," I said. "Ignore her, Cam."

  "He must be quite a guy." He laid the check for our coffee on the table and moved on. I thought his tone of voice conveyed deep skepticism — or maybe he was feeling grumpy over the number of customers who were complimenting Mallory on the music selection.

  "Love the cookies," I called after him. All I received in reply was a grunt.

  "Are you serious about calling Caroline's setup?" Stacy asked. "You hate blind dates, and you haven't been on a dinner date in two years, probably. Not since you said 'yes' to that guy who was obviously just trying to avoid going stag to his brother's wedding."

  "I'm serious," I answered, sipping my coffee. "I'm going to call Greg's friend tonight...and tell him that I'm probably not available for a couple of weeks because of how crazy things are at work."

  "You're a librarian, Peg."

  "It's super busy there. We have juvenile fiction piled up to our eyeballs," I said. "If he's serious, he'll wait two or three weeks to have dinner with me. Or longer. Like maybe after my car is out of the shop." At this rate, it might be next Fourth of July before Marty figured out which part of it was broken.

  "You are quite the trickster," said Stacy. "Caroline will be angry when she finds out, you know."

  "By then, he'll probably have asked some other girl out. Or we'll go to dinner and discover like always that we're only meant to be friends. I think any friend of Greg's who's been a victim of one of Caroline's setup schemes will be happy for an excuse to escape the madness."

  "Unless he really is the lov
e of your life," pointed out Stacy.

  "I think nobody would be more surprised than me," I said. "I've always imagined that love would take me by surprise...and not over a pre-arranged plate of curry, for instance."

  Suddenly, Rumer's voice disappeared from the coffee shop's speakers. A moment later, Buddy Holly surged to life with a peppy fifties' dance rhythm. I noticed some of the younger crowd exchange glances of distaste and confusion.

  "Guess Cam got tired of not getting his way," said Stacy.

  Stacy took the last strawberry cookie, something I didn't begrudge her, despite their delectable nature. We window shopped at the local boutique and the bakery on our way back from lunch, since Marina was at the helm at work. From here, I could see two tiny figures on the library roof, moving the new rafter into place. Enrique and his assistant were pretty much invisible to me most days, except for this view.

  "You're in a good mood today," said Stacy. "You didn't let Caroline's pushy matchmaking get to you. Is that because of Tim and Annette?"

  "Maybe a little," I confessed. "I needed something to happen this summer. My vacation's on hold indefinitely ... my poor car's in the hospital ... and the highlight of my summer has been counting the number of times I've checked in our copy of The Runaway Bunny."

  "Forty-two," said Stacy. "I've been counting, too."

  "See?" I said. "I needed a change. And finding out that the Hopeless Romantics aren't so hopeless is good for us all."

  "So, now that Tim and Annette are maybe together ... who's next?" said Stacy.

  I hadn't thought about this question until now. "Maybe Sophy?" I said. "She's been a hopeless romantic since the age of seven, I'll bet. Probably wearing princess dresses every day after school, and pretending her tree house was Rapunzel's tower. Although with an armored breastplate over it, probably. I can imagine Sophy slaying her fair share of dragons."