The Bronte Book Club for Hopeless Romantics

by Laura Briggs

  Stacy added the book to her stack, but didn't move. I looked up from my computer screen to find her staring at me.

  "What?" I asked, puzzled. I pushed my reading glasses to my forehead, to better see the frown on Stacy's face.

  "You're still blue," she said. "Something's still bothering you."

  "You got all that from a book on airplanes?"

  "No," she scoffed. "I can tell, Peg. You've been quiet all morning. You've been different all summer. There's something not quite right, and I can sense it."

  "Summer blues, like you said," I answered. "You know what it's been like this month. A lot of disasters. Some of them on my part." I shrugged. "Besides, I'm missing out on my beach blanket and paperbacks, remember?"

  She shook her head. "That's not it," she said. "I don't think you're bothered by the armies of kids who show up every week, or by your car being out of order. I don't even think it's because this silly thing with the book club got out of hand — or that Caroline matched Cam successfully while you let C.J. down. I think it's something bigger."

  "Like what?" I said. But I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say. My heart was beating a little more quickly than before. "The Curse of the Hopeless Romantics?" I suggested, weakly.

  "I think you need a bigger change than helping the book club find happily ever after," said Stacy. "You need something personal, Peg. And I think maybe the answer has been in front of you for a long time and you haven't seen it yourself."

  I didn't say anything because I didn't have the words. It seemed really warm in the foyer suddenly, and I felt the need for fresh air.

  "If you like him, just go for it," said Stacy. "I wish I had the same opportunity in my life." With a knowing smile, she gathered up the rest of the books and left to shelve them.

  Of course I liked Cam. I liked him a lot. And there was all the time we spent together, and all the opinions and stories we shared ... and did it all add up to what Stacy was suggesting? Were Cam and I —?

  I seized a second pile of books from the desk and began walking — not to the shelves where these belonged necessarily, but just to move and escape my own thoughts. I remembered the evening Cam and I had spent on the rooftop of the diner, and knew that Stacy was right, at least about the feelings I had experienced at that moment.

  But does a moment mean anything more?

  Footsteps on the stairs drew my attention away from my thoughts, and startled me. It wasn't the ghost of Alice Wilshire coming down from the attics, however, but Enrique with his tool belt and a calculator.

  "We're only a few shingles away from your roof finishing," he said. "I have to go and pick them up — then we will take the scaffolding down tomorrow and be out of your way."

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Is everything okay?" he asked. Apparently, I was a magnet for this question today.

  "Do you know anything about love, Enrique?" I asked.

  "Love?" he laughed. "I know plenty. Everybody does. And we all know the same amount, which is ... nothing. Who really understands love? We just know what we feel."

  "Right now, I'm not sure what I feel," I said. "I guess I was hoping for an exact identification of it. You know what I mean?"

  "I have no one, so I am not the one to ask," said Enrique, with a regretful smile. "Sorry."

  "No problem," I said. "Thinking aloud, that's all." I took the first book from my stack, which was a paperback love story, and shoved it into place on a hall shelf.

  As Enrique departed, three small children seized hold of the door and pushed their way inside before it could close. "It's the last week, Miss Paige!" they shouted, as their mom wrestled a stroller through the door Enrique held open for her.

  "Indoor voices," she hushed them, pleadingly. Four more children, all wearing battered paper pirate hats from week one, squeezed past her, carrying armloads of storybooks that spilled onto the carpet, despite warnings from their parents, who were struggling in vain to catch up. The door closed behind the stroller lady, jammed open by a fallen copy of The Lorax.

  Stacy and I exchanged exhausted glances and grins as she emerged from the children's room. "Last week," we echoed.

  ***

  I ate the last of my Planet Diner fries for dinner, cold from the fridge, and split a homemade tuna burger with Romeo, who had spent most of the day sleeping in my closet on my rolled-up beach towel and a stack of old umbrellas. At the first sound of a can opener cranking through metal, however, I heard the heavy patter of paws as he emerged stiff-legged and trotted enthusiastically towards the kitchenette.

  "Tomorrow, you're going back to work," I said. "Too many people inquired about your absence." Romeo might not be the friendliest elderly cat on the planet, but all the kids were still fascinated by a 'real' library cat. Romeo's empty cushion downstairs meant small patrons had been disappointed today.

  "Want to go for a walk?" I asked, as he scarfed down the last of his tuna. A rhetorical question — Romeo hadn't left the building in years. I, on the other hand, was in need of a few essential supplies.

  Summer meant the neighborhood kids played outside until the last possible moment at dark, when mothers began demanding baths and bedtimes. I passed two kids pretending to fly a kite, and a yard where two boys were trying to catch fireflies while — for reasons unknown — wearing scuba goggles and swim trunks.

  Several kids were riding bikes through the town square at the end of Main, along with their parents. Dusk was darkness now, and the fireflies were rivaled by the big, old-fashioned street lamps along the sidewalk, and the outdoor globe light burning by the statue depicting — of all things — a mermaid and a small child gathering shells on a big sea rock as a seal looks on from below. A sea of lavender blue daisies and bright pink petunias surrounded it, with all the ornamental hedges trimmed neatly near the square's benches. On one of these, a familiar figure was sitting forlornly right now.

  I walked closer, hitching my canvas tote bag higher on my shoulder. C.J. was sitting with a tablet computer beside him, but his earbuds were dangling along his shoulders instead of streaming sound into his ears. On the small screen, I saw an animated knight ceaselessly galloping on horseback across a rocky terrain. C.J. held a stylus between two fingers, but it was obvious he'd lost heart for whatever changes he was making to his graphics.

  "Hey," I said. "Mind if I sit down?"

  He looked up. "No. I guess not."

  I felt better that his tone wasn't an annoyed one. He probably hadn't forgotten my ill-timed advice from a week ago, but being angry about it now would be pretty pointless, given the circumstances.

  "I like your dragon," I said.

  "Thanks," he mumbled. "It's for this video game about finding Arthur's tomb. I'm doing the menu design."

  "I'll bet the game's designer will be impressed," I said. "That knight looks almost real."

  "Don't worry," he said. "It's not. There aren't real knights or real fairytales. It's all pretty dull and unromantic in life."

  I wanted to give him a sympathetic smile, but he was staring at the pavement below. "Sometimes it is," I said. He was quiet in return.

  "You were right," he said, at last. "I was dumb. I sent Llourdes a valentine...I told her how I felt in the note. She never even bothered to answer me."

  That was probably for the best, but I didn't say it aloud. "It's hard when you like the wrong person," I said. "It can make you pretty blind to their faults." I'd had personal experience with this in the past, and even now I still look back with a twinge of regret for a few impulsive choices.

  "Maybe Llourdes wasn't exactly a princess," I said. "And maybe there aren't fairytales in real life ... but that doesn't mean there's no romance, C.J. It just means it's harder to find. It doesn't look the same in our world." I thought about Sophy's remarks on the subject of princes and knights. "Instead of swords and shields, modern princes win their quests with chivalry and boldness. Modern-day princesses fight their own dragons...but they appreciate being recognized as a princess, eve
n if they don't wear a crown."

  "So I need something better than a valentine?" said C.J., with a wry smile. "I think the problem was bigger than that."

  "I think the problem was that you didn't know what you really wanted," I answered. "You need to know who you are and what you want before you worry about the rest of it. That's what I would say, as a friend."

  "I wish I had thought about things with Llourdes first. I guess I never really knew her," he said. "I wanted to. That was the point of sending the card. I thought love and romance would mean more in the end."

  "Friends is the best place to start," I said. "Maybe you should give it a try first. See what happens next." This wasn't advice from a past experience, but something a little closer to home.

  "Friends," repeated C.J. "Maybe. I don't know." He sighed. "I just hope I'm smarter the next time, instead of ... well, you know. Just liking a girl for what I imagine she's like."

  "Your imagination already has a pretty good use, I'd say." I watched as the video game's menu faded as a dragon's fire breathed the screen into blackness. He noticed my gaze.

  "That? That's nothing," he said, a little of his old enthusiasm returning. "Let me show you the opening sequence." His stylus flicked across the tablet's surface, revealing a misty river and a mysterious-looking tomb on a distant island.

  Hill o' Beans' neon sign performed its usual little dance over the window of Cam's place as I pushed open the door. The sounds of mellow pop were absent — my ears were greeted instead by Buddy Holly again.

  "What's happened?" I said. "Mallory?" I called. "Are you here, or sick at home?"

  "Mallory's fine." Cam wiped down the pastry case's display glass, removing smudgy fingerprints from its handle. "I told you we were switching to classic rock, didn't I? Does everybody think I'm kidding?"

  "It's just you've never won a battle, much less the war." I sat down at the table closest to the window. "But it's a nice change. I like Buddy Holly."

  "You'll like this, too." He set a plate in front of me, a simple vanilla-looking muffin on it, unadorned. "What coffee can I get you? How 'bout our new mocha cinnamon blend?"

  I gazed at the muffin, suspiciously. "What is this? A crumpet?" I asked. "This doesn't look like your usual dessert, Cam." It was a boring yellowish-white, for starters. A tiny little piece of what might be either a nut or a white chocolate shaving peeked from the uneven surface of its dome, but that was the only suggestion of flavor or decoration anywhere on it.

  "Try it," he said. "Don't let its plain looks fool you. Trust me, one taste will change your mind."

  I took a bite. Instantly, a rich, sweet vanilla and brown sugar taste flooded my tongue, a mellow cinnamon and coffee chasing on its heels. It melted in my mouth in an instant, leaving me craving more.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Like it?" he asked. The steamer hissed as he finished my latte.

  I moaned. "That could seriously be classified as an addictive substance," I said. "Is that ... hazelnut? With browned butter, maybe?"

  "It's my secret recipe." His smile was proof he was pleased with my response. "That's a macadamia nut in there, by the way." He sat down across from me, lifting one of the crumbs from my plate and popping it in his mouth.

  "You were completely right. Looks are so deceptive." I took a sip of coffee, in order to chase away my cravings for another one.

  "You should've come by earlier. I still had a full tray then." Cam poured himself a cup of plain black coffee. I noticed that regardless of his previous statements, there was no sign of Mallory working tonight. I hid a smile as I took a second sip.

  "I ran into a friend in the square," I said. "They were in need of a little romantic commiseration."

  "Are you the person for that?" Cam asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you've got Caroline's perfect match waiting for you," said Cam. "I know you said you weren't rushing things, but you're going to call him eventually, right?"

  "I did," I said. "I called and told him I wouldn't be available to meet for a little while. He didn't sound all that disappointed...or eager for me to call him when I had more time."

  "Are you disappointed?"

  "Not really. But Caroline is," I said. "She thinks I've passed on my last opportunity for love, probably." I had to smile as I thought of Caroline's frustration, and the accusations that I was hiding behind the reading program's exhaustion as an excuse. I hadn't told Caroline the truth: that my feelings were all confused by another attraction, which would make it hard for me to date anybody else right now.

  "Probably not," said Cam. I expected a little more scorn in his tone, but it wasn't there. He seemed terribly interested in his cup of coffee all of a sudden, and more quiet than his usual strong-and-silent self. I didn't know what to make of this.

  "How's Summer?" I asked.

  "Pretty busy. You've been here often enough to know that. Today we sold out of orange sticky buns before nine, even."

  "I meant the person, not the season," I said.

  "Oh." He paused. "That Summer. She's fine."

  My heart sank just a little bit. "Where did you guys go for date two?" I asked.

  "Date two. Um, we haven't made it that far," he said. Evasively.

  No second date? That might mean he wasn't as interested as it seemed at first — or that maybe there was a more definite reason he hadn't called her —

  "You know how it is ... it's busy. She's busy too, you know. Rehearsing for some part in Picnic, I think. I don't want to get in her way right now," he said. "I suggested we wait a few weeks."

  "Oh." It was my turn to hesitate now, out of embarrassment. "That's really nice of you."

  Cam didn't say anything. He seemed not to want to talk about it anymore, intent on stirring all the life out of his coffee's creamer. I felt a little ashamed of myself for being disappointed. Wasn't it great that Caroline was right — that Cam and Summer had a real connection? Whereas me and Cam — we had been friends for more than two years, and here we were, having coffee together the same as always, with the same old stories and same old problems.

  I just hadn't realized how much those stories and problems, those cups of coffee for two, meant to me.

  "You're sure things with Caroline's guy —" Cam began.

  "Definitely," I said. "Probably definitely, anyway." I took a breath. Somehow I felt sure that I wouldn't be calling Dwayne back after the reading program wrapped for the season.

  One more sip of coffee, and I felt more like myself again. "So what's new?" I asked. "How's the boat coming along?"

  "I'm thinking about putting some planks on it," he said. "I need a weekend or two to start shaping some boards. It'll be done before you know it."

  "So you've said before," I reminded him. I wondered if Summer liked the water.

  "I mean it," he said. "I guess you'll be free of all those kids hanging around the library after Saturday," he said. "That'll be good."

  "I'll kind of miss them. At the same time, I think I'm ready for some adventure to be off the page," I said. "For me, anyway. And that's only if Tim assembles my car into something other than modern art."

  "If he can't figure it out, let me take a look," said Cam. "I'm handy with a motor now and then."

  "On bean grinders and espresso machines, yeah," I said, with a grin. "We're talking about a car, Cam."

  "Engines. Motors. Same difference," he said. "What could it hurt to let me look?"

  "Thanks," I said. I studied my half-empty coffee cup, where Cam's latest blend swirled with cinnamon and ground hazelnuts. "You're a good friend, Cam," I said, softly. "The best."

  A sound between a snort and a scoff came from his throat in reply. He took the empty plate in front of me and his coffee cup, and got up from the table. He missed my smile, which probably would've said more than my words did.

  Outside, the timer in Susan's antiques turned on a light somewhere in her shop, casting a rosy-red glow over the window display. A firefly blinked once before the window, a
flash of gold that vanished in the blink of an eye. I took a deep breath as the darkness shifted before my vision and became a reflection of my own face in the glass.

  A clink between me and the person settling across from me. Cam was back, and between us was a plate with a second muffin.

  "Found one last one in the back," he said. He nudged the plate towards me. "Help yourself."

  "Thanks," I said.

  "You're welcome." His smile, brief before he studied the outside with a scrutinizing gaze, was a warm one that I hoped Summer appreciated as much as it deserved.

  ***

  "She runs?" I said. "Are you sure?"

  "Purrs like a kitten," said Marty. "Tim made sure of it himself. He stayed a little late last night to finish it — would've brought it back to you then, but he had to meet somebody for a film retrospect, he said. Wuthering Heights." He made a face between distaste and bewilderment for this title.

  Annette, I imagined, feeling a warm glow inside at the thought. "Thank you, Marty. A thousand times. And tell Tim thank you for me." I was scribbling a check as quickly as my fingers could fly. Before me, Beetie gleamed with evidence of a fresh washing to remove any grease or grime from her baby blue paint and the pink and yellow daisies on her doors. She looked ready to see the world ... or, at least, the shores that lay along the coastal highway, with me behind her wheel.

  "I'm so glad to see you, baby." I ran a hand along her hood. "We're getting away for a few days, I promise. Just give me time to wrap things up here, okay?" I made sure Marty was already gone before I talked to my car.

  The summer reading program's tide had washed out to the streets of Lewis Cove for the last time, leaving debris in its wake. Abandoned paper pirate hats, piles of finished Doctor Seuss books, forgotten reading certificates, and prizes that hadn't survived long enough to be carried home — gum and candy wrappers, tiny toy boxes, and scattered Lego blocks.

  Stacy swept the pieces into the Lost and Found box under the circulation desk, and the rest of the debris into the trash. "Another summer, another generation who can thank us for widening their vocabularies and their imaginations," she said.