The Bronte Book Club for Hopeless Romantics

by Laura Briggs

  "I'm impressed," I said. "So ... ever meet a handsome knight while on the battlefield?"

  Sophy's lips twisted to one side. "Not even when I'm in a princess dress," she said. "You know how most guys are. They can be jerks. And most of them are too busy acting stupid when they're not in the game."

  I didn't ask her to elaborate what 'stupid' meant. "It's tough to find knights and princes in real life, apparently," I said, with a sympathetic smile.

  "If only guys really knew how to be that chivalrous and assertive," said Sophy. "You know, and not be so dumb and wishy-washy."

  "I know," I said. "Then again ... I'll bet knights have complaints about princesses, too."

  "Not in these books," said Sophy, holding up one that depicted a castle and Queen Guinevere in a velvet gown. "That's where I'll be for the next two hours. See you later," she said. "See you later, Romeo," she added, as she passed him. He didn't stir from his sleeping spot in the stained glass sunlight, where he looked like an old mohair hat someone had left on the sofa.

  "What do you think, Romeo?" I asked. "Any tips on finding love from your days of neighborhood casanova courtships?" Romeo stretched his paws lazily and inserted his claws in the green velvet cushion. A slight ripping noise followed.

  "All right, time to move back to your own pillow," I said.

  At five P.M., I stopped at Tim's garage. Beetie's bay was open — but Beetie herself looked like the victim of a chop shop's horrors. Hood propped open, various parts scattered on the garage floor, and Tim and Marty covered in grease as they shone a light deep into her engine compartment.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  Tim shook his head. "I still can't find the part responsible," he said. "First I thought it was a belt for sure. Then we moved on to the transmission, then the engine block —"

  "What's left?" I said. "I think every single part must be on your garage floor now."

  "Sometimes to find a tree, one must search the entire forest," said Marty.

  "Confucius?"

  "Fortune cookie," said Marty. "I had pork lo mein for dinner last night."

  Poor Beetie. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon; therefore, neither was I. That's why I went for a long walk after dinner, one that stretched into the night as I wandered through the neighborhoods of Lewis Cove. I was trying to sort out my thoughts and put things back where they belonged. Before I was meddling in the love lives of the Bronte Book Club, before I was spending my vacation counting copies of Runaway Bunny, and before I decided to cut back on my coffee dependency.

  To that end, the last place I stopped was Hill o' Beans. Even though it was closing time, the shades were still up and the neon sign was glowing. I pushed open the door, a mellow pop mix greeting me.

  "You're playing James Blunt?" I said.

  "Yes," said Cam, sounding exasperated. "But not by choice. Now, for the last time, Mallory, turn it off."

  "It's good for you," said Mallory. "This is the music of love, Cam. Our customers crave it." She wiped down the table facing the shop's windows. "Paige will back me up on this one."

  "You've been a stranger the last two days," he said to me. "Something up?"

  "Summer reading program. Stampede of kids through the library. That's my thing, remember?" I glanced at his counter. "Any chance there's still a cup of coffee and a muffin for me?"

  "Sorry, Peg. I cleaned out the cases already," said Mallory, apologetically. "Maybe Cam has something stashed in the back?" She looked at him.

  "I've got a better idea." He grabbed his jacket off the hook. "Come on," he said to me. "I'll get you something to eat. Just let's get out of here before that music kills off the rest of my brain."

  "It's the music of lo—" But Cam let the door close before Mallory could finish shouting this line.

  The only place open later than Hill o' Beans in Lewis Cove is the only true fast food — Planet Diner. It got its name from the globe-like dome on top of its roof, painted to look like Saturn. A big metal ring swooped around it, and the whole thing was lit up with bands of neon. It was pretty random for a small town, but Fred, its owner, had previously owned a west coast diner shaped like a bulldog.

  Planet Diner has oversized burgers and incredible batter-dipped fries, and both Cam and I had a soft spot for their grilled tomato and onion burger and the chili-cheddar patty melt. And, because Cam supplies Fred with a free morning cup of coffee, we are allowed to occupy the best seats on the planet — that is to say, literally on the planet. The restaurant's rooftop, where you can see all the surrounding streets of Lewis Cove's downtown. And, if you have either a strong imagination or strong eyesight, a tiny glimpse of the ocean.

  "I love this view," I said. I reached for a few more fries and dipped them in the spicy ketchup Fred provided in little paper cups. "From here, all the little lights seem magical — porch lamps, security lights, window lights — they seem way more romantic."

  "Ever wonder why they call this place Lewis Cove?" asked Cam. "We're not exactly a stunning cove. The sea barely touches this place — you can't even see it from most parts of town. You got to get out on the highway to go there." He stole two of my fries from my paper packet. "I think the naming committee took a wrong turn. They meant to give this name to Valencia down the highway, which has an actual shoreline."

  "You can pretend this view is the ocean," I said, waving my hand towards the lights of Main Street and beyond. "Squint into the haze of civilization's lights, and it's there." If you did, you could imagine that glow was a sunset over the dark ocean below. Squint just a little more, and the lights became stars. The view of the sea itself would be total darkness anyway, trapped in its little rock channel.

  "I'm serious," he said. "You know, I've lived here most of my life and nobody's ever explained how this place got its name from what's basically a little dip in the ocean's coast. A cove that's barely a crag."

  "Do you really want to know?" I said.

  "You know the answer to this?" he said.

  "No. But there's this place you might could find it."

  "Let me guess. It's called the library."

  "No, silly, it's called the internet." I tossed a broken fry at him. "We're modern youth — sort of. We know how to text, tweet, and use Google." I leaned back, taking advantage of Saturn's ring for support. "Besides, the stuff the local historical society stores with us is in boxes right now. There's a piece of a roof missing over that room."

  He pulled out his phone and keyed in the letters. "No Wiki page for 'Lewis Cove,'" he announced after a moment. "And nothing on the historical society's page...nothing on the town's official page, either...doesn't anybody know?"

  "Maybe you're not asking the right question," I said. "Maybe instead of asking why Lewis Cove didn't end up by the sea, we should ask why the sea didn't come to Lewis Cove. See?"

  "That's pretty silly, even for you." Cam shoved his phone into his pocket again. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a double-sugar chocolate frosty while we were downstairs ordering."

  "Maybe I'm just in a silly mood," I said. That wasn't the best description for it, but I felt it would do.

  "So what's eating you?" Cam asked.

  "What do you mean?" I said.

  "Come on. Nearly forty-eight hours without coffee. Ordering your burger with extra cheese. I know you, Peg Turner. I know what that means."

  I released a slow breath. "I don't know," I said. "Maybe it's summer getting to me. Vacations, romance. That's the stuff it's made of, right?"

  "I haven't been on vacation in two years," he said. "My summer? Spent tasting dried coffee beans and baking kiwi crunch bars."

  "Kiwi crunch bars? Are those new?"

  "You'd know if you'd come in yesterday," he said.

  I toyed with the remaining bite of my burger. "Speaking of romance...how was your date?" I tried to sound playful with this question.

  "Date?"

  "You remember. Sunday? Coffee?" I pictured perfect, beautiful Summer sitting beside Cam for an acous
tic concert.

  "Oh, yeah. It was all right." He took another fry from the packet. "I had a thing, though. I had to get back early. You know how it is."

  "Actually, I don't. What did you have to rush back to?" I said, amused and puzzled. "A coffee emergency? Mallory playing Jason Mraz too loud for the neighboring stores?" I couldn't imagine what would tear him away from a girl that gorgeous — and an evening of coffee tasting, to boot.

  "Nothing like that," he scoffed. "You know, just ... stuff...." He nudged the fries closer to me. "Eat these, will you? I don't want to finish all yours, too."

  "Buy me extra ones next time," I said. "Curly ones."

  "You got it," he said. He cleared his throat. "How come that evening didn't happen between you and Caroline's latest dream guy?"

  "Greg's friend," I said. "I guess I just didn't feel like going out that night." I didn't feel like being set up with someone at all, truthfully. It occurred to me that the same logic probably applied to all the Hopeless Romantics, too. "How did you know I hadn't gone through with it yet?"

  "Something Caroline might've said," answered Cam, vaguely.

  "When she called to scold you for cutting short your evening with Summer," I presumed. "I told Caroline I just wasn't rushing it. She's very into rushing people, as you've witnessed."

  I was still planning to call Greg's friend and suggest that our schedules were permanently incompatible, I just kept forgetting. "I'm sure he's a great guy," I added. "After all, Greg is."

  "Probably. Maybe he's rich and handsome."

  "Summer seemed really great, by the way," I said. "You two seemed really comfortable together when Caroline introduced you."

  "She's nice," he said. "She's an actress. She wants to be in A Streetcar Named Desire."

  "Weren't you in that play in high school?"

  "Me?" Cam made a sound between a snort and a laugh. "Heck, no. I barely passed speech class. Besides, for me, good theater better have some kind of action or adventure in the story. Maybe with pirates in the title."

  I wondered if he would end up sitting through all of Summer's shows. Or at least one, to make up for leaving the coffee house opening early. I wondered exactly why he left early, and I wanted to ask. Instead, however, we both gazed at the glow of the town lights around us.

  "Peterson's left his attic light on again," said Cam. "That's the big one just over to the left."

  "I see Susan must've changed her lamp's bulb to a pink one," I said. The antique shop left a light on all night so the deputy sheriff could see inside on his rounds. "It's pretty."

  "There's a constellation aglow from the library, I see."

  "I leave lights on for security reasons, too," I defended. "Okay, not the second story ones, I forgot about them. But the one in my apartment. It makes it feel more cheerful to come home to a lighted house."

  From here, even by night, the library was its magnificent self. The streetlamps softened its pink walls, and the white gingerbread cast weird shadows on the lawn, probably. Or, rather, the tangled-and-in-need-of-taming back garden blocked from the street by an old board fence between it and the street. I knew every bit of that view, even by night — the broken rose glass window pane in the attic, the cracks in the molding around the back door, the funny archway exiting the sun porch, a fragile old basket-weave arbor that a big bridal's wreath was trying to tear down for us.

  "There's still a lot of dark and silent rooms in between," said Cam, as we gazed at the library shrouded in darkness. "Maybe I should walk you home and check the place out before you go inside. Make sure no burglars crawled through the big hole in your roof."

  "Enrique swears that it'll be finished tomorrow," I said. "I have confidence in him."

  "Yeah, but did he leave you with a security alarm in the meantime?"

  "Romeo will defend me," I said. "He was a stealth ninja in a previous life."

  Beside me, Cam burst into laughter. I did too, after a moment, when I pictured a younger version of Romeo donning a mask and black suit to fight crime.

  As our laughter subsided, I felt an arm around my shoulders. Cam's hand was on my shoulder with a light, gentle touch. "Don't worry about things between you and Caroline's setup," said Cam. "It'll work out. He'll be great ... or you'll never have to see him again."

  "I'm not worried about that," I said. I didn't know what was really upsetting me. But I accepted his hug anyway, catching the scent of rich, earthen spice from his clothes as I leaned against him for a moment.

  "What scent are you wearing?" I asked.

  "Like it?" he said. "It's called Caribbean West."

  "Really?"

  "Really. The bean grinder kind of went wild this morning. Showered me with the blend."

  "I think it makes a nice cologne," I said. But I remembered that Cam didn't stock Caribbean blend usually. This must be something he bought at the place he and Summer visited.

  "I'll have to come and try some," I said. "Tomorrow."

  "I'll save you one of those new crunch bars," he said.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Something about this just ... felt right. This was how a real relationship would feel, I thought, even when it reached the comfortable stage after butterflies and fiery sparks. It was impossible to explain, and, just as suddenly, the comfortable feeling dissolved into strange little butterflies taking flight in the pit of my stomach.

  I drew a little distance between me and Cam. "I guess we should be going now," I said. "Fred will probably come kick us downstairs soon, so he can lock up."

  "We don't have to go," said Cam. "We'll tell him to go ahead and lock the place. We'll just jump from roof to roof until we're home."

  "And what about that giant gap between here and the hardware store?" I asked, giggling.

  "We'll think of something," he said. "Maybe there's a ladder on the neighboring roof, and we'll just walk across its rungs like a bridge. When we get to your place, I'll pry open an attic window, and you can squeeze inside."

  "How will you get inside yours?" I said. "There's no rooftop access, Cam."

  "No need. I'll sleep up on top," he said. "Under the stars. Just like camping, only without the sleeping bag."

  "Sounds better than my attic," I said. And, for a brief second, I imagined joining him on the roof of Hill o' Beans old building, lying side by side and gazing at the stars — never mind the gritty black pitch and sealant that would stain our clothes and leave a lumpy surface for any would-be campers to snooze on.

  Just then, the roof's hatch opened.

  "Hey, Cam, buddy, what gives?" Fred called. "It's eleven-thirty. You know I'm shutting the place down. You and Peg gotta come off of here, all right?" He stood on the roof hatch's ladder, giving us an exasperated look.

  "All right. We're coming." Cam stood up, gathering the remains of his chili burger wrapper and empty fry box. He held out his hand for me, and we walked away as Fred went back down to turn off Saturn's lights.

  "Sure you don't want me to come check the library, just to be safe?" asked Cam. "It would take me five minutes, tops. I know all the places where burglars hide."

  "I think I'm probably pretty secure in this town," I said, smiling. "But thanks anyway."

  ***

  The Bronte Book Club met on Tuesday this week, due to a scheduling conflict for Annette at work. She and Tim arrived together, I couldn't help noticing, talking in that quiet-but-laughing way that new couples do. Italian cooking nights must be working their magic.

  By the time I laid out the mint chocolate cookies I had located in the back of the kitchen cupboard, everyone was here but Llourdes.

  "She quit," said Annette.

  "Quit?" I repeated, at the same moment as C.J.

  "Something about getting her college credit through another option," said Annette. "I was surprised she called to tell me, really. Apparently she got an offer to spend the rest of the summer volunteering at a literacy program run by some celebrity she admires. She sounded thrilled, but it means she won't be aro
und for the end of Jane Eyre, I'm afraid."

  It wasn't surprising to me, since it was obvious from the start that Llourdes was mostly interested in whatever value the book club possessed in her academic portfolio. Most of us had realized that from the time Llourdes joined us — except for possibly C.J., who looked completely crushed by this news.

  "I wish her luck," chuckled Tim. "But I'll miss her remarks on Jane's struggles. Some of them were pretty different. I thought maybe she'd stick with us through Wuthering Heights."

  "That was never my favorite," said Annette. "I always thought the characters were behaving kind of stupidly." She pulled the bookmark from her last place in Jane Eyre.

  "I only ever saw the movie with my grandmother," said Tim. "This'll be a first for me."

  "So did anybody besides me think this ending is one of the most awesome in all of literature?" asked Sophy, who was clearly excited to begin.

  But C.J. said nothing during the whole discussion about Jane and Rochester's happily-ever-after, and I couldn't help but wonder what had happened with his heartfelt paper valentine plan. He looked miserable as he sat listening to all of us, like someone who had been struck by the biggest shock of their life.

  "...and it's so cool that Jane and Rochester aren't just in love — they're friends. That's how their relationship got its start," said Sophy.

  "That's the best way," said Annette. She and Tim exchanged smiling glances, briefly.

  Wednesday morning, C.J.'s paper hearts books were in the return box. I removed little slips of paper that marked special projects, some of which had little hearts drawn on the top edge, and handed the books over to Stacy.

  "Looks like at least half the Hopeless Romantics are still under their curse this summer," I said. "I guess C.J.'s love letter didn't change Llourdes's mind about joining a celebrity's charity."

  "No surprise there," said Stacy. "And don't talk about curses. I don't want to go in search of a counterspell for a loveless life." She gave me a wink as she gathered up a few more books from the desk.

  "Take that one, too," I said, nudging a thick hardback closer to her. "The book on World War One pilots. It's one Tim gave me last night — he finished it last week and forgot it until now."