by Allison Sipe
"So what’s so earth-shattering that you’re out of bed before noon?” I asked, nibbling on a warm and deliciously gooey piece of donut.
She gave me a heavy sigh and said, “I needed an excuse to get away from my date.”
I gave her a sideways glance. “I’m assuming he wanted to make you breakfast or perform some other heinous act of kindness the morning after.”
“Pancakes.” She shook her head, mocking me.
“You know, some women would love to find a man who wanted to cook her breakfast in the morning.”
“Yeah well, I’m not some women. Besides, I did want to ask you something. Do you know a David Ainsworth?”
“No, I don’t think so, why?” I asked, puzzled.
“I was telling David a story last night, and when I mentioned your name he got a little weird and…” she wouldn’t meet my eye, which was never a good sign. “He knew your parents. He said he went to college with your mother.”
“My parents?” I wasn’t expecting that. They died when I was just a kid and I moved to Pismo, California after college in the hopes of having a fresh start. “David Ainsworth you said.” I rolled the name around in my head but nothing clicked.
“Medium latte,” the barista called out Becky’s drink.
She grabbed her paper cup from the counter and walked out of the café. We strolled along the sidewalk in silence for a few moments. I wondered if I could connect David to my parents, but I had never heard his name before. I took a sip of my water and closed my eyes, willing myself to remember David in some way.
“Did he say anything else?” A million questions zipped through my head before it dawned on me that Becky had just spent the night with this man. “Wait, back up. I’m assuming David is who you were trying to escape this morning after spending the night with him.”
“Yes,” she said and narrowed her eyes at me, puzzled.
“And David went to college with my mother.” I raised my eyebrows.
“Hey, I don’t discriminate. He’s damn good looking and to be honest he was very persistent.” She said the last part under her breath.
“Right.” I laughed and shook my head. “So did he say anything else about my parents?”
“No, not really. He sends his condolences. Do you want me to introduce you? Maybe he can tell you some stories or something.” Her half smile was sincere but anxiety rolled off her as she fidgeted with the lid of her coffee.
“No,” I said and took a deep breath. It was tempting, but I didn’t want to open old wounds and I didn’t want to put Becky in the middle of my past. “No, I think I’m okay. Thanks though.”
“Phew, I wasn’t really planning on seeing him again, if you catch my drift.” It was as though Becky had flipped an internal switch and turned to humor, instantly lightening the mood.
We both laughed as we walked around the corner and headed in the direction of the bookstore.
“Another book?” She asked as she noticed the direction we were walking in.
“I just want to pick up a collection of Walt Whitman’s poems, for a project,” I noted.
I’d always loved poetry and Walt Whitman was one of my absolute favorites. For as long as I could remember I’d wanted to put together a portfolio that paired pictures of my own work with Whitman’s poems.
“I don’t know why you need to have a book with all his poems when you can just look them up online,” Becky remarked.
Becky lived for the digital age. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her without her computer. Even now it was in the satchel hanging at her side. And don’t get me wrong, I updated my camera gear and software fairly often, but I also had an appreciation for the way life was before technology took over our lives.
“You know that I like having the actual book. There’s just something about the smell of the paper and having the pages in your hands that just makes the reading experience so much more exhilarating.”
“I guess.” Becky rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I worry about your sanity when you have your nose shoved in a book sniffing the pages like a Bloodhound.” She laughed and put her arm over my shoulders.
“Oh, please! I put up with you on a daily basis,” I said with a laugh of my own and nudged her in the ribs. Her arm dropped from my shoulders and rubbed at her side.
“Don’t you already have a copy you can use?”
“Yeah, but it was my dad’s.” I took a long gulp from my water bottle and tossed the empty container as we passed a trash can.
“Enough said,” Becky replied. “Are you still in for the Yosemite trip at the end of August?” She asked changing the subject.
“Of course, you know I love going on that trip every year.”
“Just making sure, I was planning on booking the same cabin we had last year.”
“That’d be perfect,” I said pushing open the door to the bookstore.
A familiar jingle welcomed us as we entered.
“Good morning, ladies,” Frank welcomed us from behind the counter. “How are you today Miss Evans?”
Frank Murphy was an older man who owned the bookstore and the bait shop down by the pier. He stood slightly taller than my five foot five inches and his hair had more salt than pepper. Every time I saw him wore a knitted vest over his shirt and khaki slacks that were just a little too big on him.
“Morning Frank. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Violet?” I said with a smile.
“Oh I know, but a lady should be addressed properly,” he said with a good-old fashioned nod, his manners reminiscent of an older time.
“Even so, I prefer Violet. So how’ve you been?”
“Oh, can’t complain. How about you? You ready for the big wedding?”
“You know I could shoot that wedding with one hand tied behind my back.” I shrugged my shoulders confidently.
“That’s true, you’re very talented with a camera. But this is a Maxwell wedding. That’s big doings you know. Everyone’s been buzzing that it’ll be the event of the decade.”
“Well I don’t know about that. I shrugged. Everyone seemed to care so much about the Maxwells, personally I didn’t get it. "I’m sure it’ll be predictably over the top though.”
“Now, now Violet, you behave yourself. The Maxwell family has a long history here. They’re good people,” Frank insisted. His tone was reminiscent of a parent reprimanding a misbehaving child.
“I’ll be on my best behavior, Scout’s honor,” I said, raising three fingers in salute.
Frank laughed and waved me off.
Knowing the shop by heart, I made my way back to the poetry section with Becky right behind me.
“That old man is so weird about the Maxwells,” Becky said under her breath.
I gave her a reproachful look and changed the subject. “So aside from the pancake mishap, how was your date last night?” I asked.
“A lot of fun actually. There’s something to be said about going out with an older man.” Her eyes glazed over as memories of the previous evening flashed before her.
“Finally met someone who could teach you a thing or two?”
She gave me a coy smile. “Let’s just say experience is the best teacher. You should really get back out there and have some fun.”
“Don’t start with me about dating,” I huffed.
I turned down the American Poets aisle and started skimming the shelves.
“And why not? When was the last time you went on a date? You’re never going to find someone hiding behind your camera,” Becky pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just focused on my work right now. And besides, it’s not like I’ve met anyone who lights a fire in me recently.”
“Lights a fire in you?” Becky laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, just get some coffee with someone, anyone. You need to stop being so picky.”
“I’m picky for a reason. You of all people know how bad things got with Nick.”
“I still can’t believe he was into all that voodoo magic stuff
,” Becky said, looking at me apologetically.
Finally I reached the W’s section and started flipping through the books.
I could feel Becky’s eyes watching me carefully. “When I find someone worthwhile, then I’ll give it a chance,” I said to placate her.
“Whatever you say.” Becky didn’t sound convinced.
Taking one of the Walt Whitman collections off the shelf I skimmed through the cream colored pages. Becky’s phone went off and she pulled it out of her bag.
“Shit, I totally forgot. Aaron’s coming into town and I’m supposed to meet him at my place,” Becky explained. She looked down at her watch. “Twenty minutes ago! Sorry, Violet, I’ve gotta run.” Becky exited the store as briskly as she could without breaking into a run.
“See ya later. Tell Aaron I say hi!” I called after her.
Becky waved her hand in acknowledgment and answered the phone.
Aaron was Becky’s older brother. He came down from San Francisco every summer to visit and I’d grown close to him over the last couple of years. He was a good friend and always there to give you an honest male opinion whether you liked it or not.
I put the book back on the shelf and pulled another one down to look through.
“Violet?” a man’s voice asked behind me in a soft, cautious tone.
Turning to see who had said my name I saw a man sitting in a plump leather chair with a book in his lap. His light blue button up shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and his well-muscled legs revealed him to be a tall man even though he was sitting. His hair was dark and wavy, parted to one side and styled like a suave Cary Grant. His warm eyes reminded me of melted dark chocolate as they stared into mine. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen outside of a magazine.
Taken off guard, I mumbled, “Err… hi. How do you know my name?”
He rose from the chair and walked toward me. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, exposing his fair skin. He’s not from around here, I thought. Even if you used sunscreen every day, you’d still have a golden tint to your skin.
“I overheard you and your friend talking. She said your name as she was leaving. I’m Robert.” He extended his hand to shake mine.
I placed my hand in his and he gave it a firm grip. His touch was soft and warm. The feel of his skin sent chills up my arm, the closeness of him heightening all my senses.
This is ridiculous, I thought. I don’t even know this man and I feel like I’m going to start hyperventilating any minute.
“Oh, well can I help you with something?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.
“Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you? “He quoted, and then smiled a crooked smile that I assumed undid most women.
“You know Walt Whitman?” I gave him a dubious look. Most people knew of the poet, but few could quote any of his work from memory.
“Who doesn’t,” he said with a shrug. “I noticed you were holding a compilation of his works.” He grinned, amused by my expression, and pointed to the book in my hand.
“Oh yeah. I’m trying to find a good collection of his work.” Handsome and smart, I thought, eying him.
“Might I suggest you get this one?” He reached around me, placing his body inches from mine. I inhaled at the closeness and caught the sweet smell of his cologne mixed with the cool ocean air. I smiled in spite of myself as he pulled away with a leather-bound book in hand.
I reached for the book, turning it over. I glanced up at him and his gaze caught mine. His eyes were warm and curious. The world seemed to slow around us and for the briefest moment I felt like I already knew him. I opened my mouth to thank him when his phone went off, startling us both. He cleared his throat and stepped away.
“I’m sorry, will you excuse me a moment?” he asked, looking apologetic.
“Sure, no problem.” I waved him away and turned back to the shelf behind me, heart still pounding in my chest.
He walked away and answered his cell. “This better be important.”
He stopped just out of earshot but I could still see him with his back turned toward me.
I looked between him and the book he had picked out for me. I didn’t remember seeing this particular volume on the shelf. I ran my fingers across the worn cover and its gold lettering. It felt smooth under my fingers and the corners had been worn down to a dull curve. I flipped the pages open and let them fan across my thumb. I took a deep breath and could almost smell the fresh ink on the pages mingled with a century of dust.
Turning the book over, I wondering how such an old, unique book could end up crammed on the shelves next to the ordinary mass-market paperbacks.
I looked over my shoulder to see if Robert was still close by and saw him a few aisles down, idly pulling books off the shelf and putting them back without looking at them. His eyes caught mine for a split second and he cocked his head like he was trying to decipher a code hidden in my features. I smiled and looked away as he continued his conversation.
Putting the book that I’d taken down back on the shelf I held on to the one Robert suggested. I walked a few aisles down to the fiction section to see if there was anything else I wanted while I was there. I examined a book with an interesting-looking cover and started reading the back. It looked like a promising murder-mystery, so I stuck it under my arm alongside the leather-bound book.
“Sorry about that,” Robert said, his voice deep and soft.
I turned around to see him leaning against one of the bookshelves across from me.
Why was he back? What did he want from me? A warning bell went off in the back of my mind. Being friendly to a stranger was one thing, but seeking them out was a little odd.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said and waved my hand at him. “I decided to go for the book you suggested.” I tapped the leather cover under my arm.
“Good, you won’t regret it,” he said with a devilish smirk.
I regarded him with careful consideration. “So, do you spend a lot of time loitering around bookshops?” I wasn’t sure why he was still standing there. He didn’t seem to be interested in any of the paperbacks lining the shelves. In fact his interest seemed to lie with me for some reason.
He laughed and uncrossed his arms as he stepped toward me. “Of course. You end up meeting the most interesting people that way.”
“Is that right?” I moved away from him and down the aisle. My breath quickened and the warning bells in my head dinged louder. He seemed nice enough, but you just never knew these days.
“Only the best kind of people enjoy a good read.” He plucked a book from the shelf nearest him and grinned at it before returning it to its rightful place.
I smiled at his unconscious fiddling before our eyes caught. For a split second everything around us blurred out of existence once more. A raw, almost primal feeling overcame me and it felt as though all my secrets and scars were laid out in the open.
I broke our gaze and tucked my hair behind my ear.
“Listen, I wish I could stay and chat, but that was my brother on the phone and apparently he’s having a crisis that needs my attention,” he lamented, shrugging and rolling his eyes.
“Oh okay, well it was nice meeting you… Robert,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Maybe I’ll see you around town.”
“Maybe.” I did my best to keep my voice even.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Violet.” He offered a slight bowing of his head, smiled and walked away.
He moved fluidly down the aisle and out of sight toward the front of the store. After a few moments I heard the jingle of the door and knew he was gone. I slumped against the bookshelf, finally able to breathe with him no longer nearby. He seemed like a perfectly normal guy but something about him left me feeling exposed and anxious. I took a deep breath and made my way to the front of the store to pay for my books.
“Just these today,” I said, putting the
murder mystery and Walt Whitman on the counter.
“It’s already been taken care of, Miss Evans,” Frank said, looking up at me with a frown.
“What do you mean, taken care of?”
“The gentleman who just left gave me fifty dollars and told me it was for any books you decided to buy, and then he just left.”
“He what?”
My legs still shook from his gaze, but that anxiety quickly turned into anger. Truthfully, I didn’t know why I was angry. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of him paying for my things, but the anger building inside of me couldn’t be justified by his dropping a Grant on my behalf.
“I’m sorry, I thought the two of you knew each other,” Frank said, coughing into his hand to hide his embarrassment.
“That’s okay Frank. How much do I owe you?” I asked, still trying to decipher my emotions.
“But…”
I raised my hand to cut him off.
“Now, now, I don’t need some strange man paying for my books. You’ll take my money and do whatever you want with the cash he gave you,” I insisted.
Frank rung me up and took my money, though he didn’t look very happy about it.
“It was a nice gesture, Miss. Evans,” he offered.
“Nice maybe, but all the same I’d rather pay for my own things.”
As I walked backed to where I had left my bike, I thought about my encounter with Robert, trying to figure out what had just happened. I thought about the way our eyes caught and how naked I’d felt in that moment. A feeling of unease seeped into my chest the more I thought about him standing there, looking at me like I was some sort of puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. There was definitely something different about him, something unique that I couldn’t put my finger on.
Lost in my own head, I reached my bike in what felt like in a matter of seconds. I decided to write the whole thing off and move on. I’d probably never see him again anyway, so there was no use in letting a stranger consume my thoughts. I shook the image of him from my mind, but couldn’t entirely shake off the feeling of vulnerability.
My ride to and from the coffee shop had renewed my strength. I felt like I could take on the world, or at least the bookkeeping I’d been neglecting. My studio was my second home, small but quaint, and I loved it. A few of my favorite pictures hung from the front office walls, two large desks easily filling the floor. The second desk was for my receptionist, Jessie, who would come in for a couple hours after school. Her parents wanted her to get a part time job to learn how to be responsible, so she came to work for me. It was nice having Jessie around to do some of the administrative tasks; it freed up a lot of my time so I could get out, take more pictures and spend more time in the dark room.
