Reaching under the counter for her purse and sweater, she spotted the cardboard box which had arrived around lunchtime, and which she’d stashed before anyone else noticed it. My God, she surely wasn’t herself today. How on earth had she forgotten the box? She smiled in spite of her exhaustion, now having two things to look forward to tonight.
She opened it on the counter, tossing a smaller box that also came in that day’s mail inside as well. Maybe some things hadn’t changed, she thought. A ripple of pleasure washed through her as she anticipated pulling out one treasure after another. Her daughter Jenny had been harping on her lately that she needed to get a life. But Ruth honestly couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than the evening now ahead of her. So what if she would spend another Saturday night alone? She was used to alone. And she wasn’t lonely, not really. Without her even thinking, a palm drifted across the top of the box, stroking it the way someone might caress a lover’s cheek. There would be plenty of people to share her evening with now, of that she was certain.
CRASH!
She jumped at the explosion of hardcovers hitting the floor in the back of the store. Her heart leaped to a gallop in her chest. Oh Lord, she’d forgotten Colin. He’d been so quiet, as usual, organizing a clearance rack. Books that had not sold, that had outlived their shelf life, like poor, unpopular relatives who’d overstayed their visit and had to be gotten rid of quickly.
“No harm done,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
She sighed, and her heart began slowing to a canter. How was it she forgot about the accident at times? Was she really that scatterbrained? Not as scatterbrained as her friend Hannah Meeker, who was supposed to come in hours ago, but hadn’t shown or called, as usual. Could it be Ruth’s age catching up with her? She was sixty-four, although in her mind she still labeled herself middle-aged. But who was she kidding besides herself? She was nearly ready for Medicare, with an aging brain that seemed to tire more quickly, that was overloaded most every day.
“What do you say I throw the goodies in your car?”
She turned to see Colin coming up the aisle. She hadn’t noticed before how handsome he looked, in pressed khakis and a button-down shirt the same light blue as his eyes. He had that knowing little smile. He’d been helping her in the store long enough to know how much the box meant to her. But it would be tricky for him. The carton wasn’t heavy, but it was cumbersome and her car was across the street in the municipal lot.
She had to let him.
“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” She handed him the car keys. “Just leave it on the front seat with the keys.”
“You look tired, Mom.”
She took a long breath. Had Jenny and Alex been talking to him? They really seemed to be on a mission lately.
“I’m fine,” she said with more certainty than she felt.
She walked around the counter, toward the woman who was still opening and closing books.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No thanks.” She didn’t even look up and Ruth decided to just get ready to close. She knew this game well.
She walked to the back of the store, her fingers gliding across the rows of books, as they’d done each night for nearly three decades. She washed her hands, and as she dried them, she stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing wisps of hair, more silver than black, into her long braid. Quickly she tidied up the bathroom, abused by customers and staff alike. Like her, this bathroom was in need of a makeover. It was a combination storeroom, nap place and dump for everything she didn’t know what to do with in the store. Even if she had the time, though, she didn’t have the money to fix up the bathroom. Or herself. The low heels she wore tonight had been an impulse buy, a silly indulgence. They’d been ridiculously cheap.
She closed the bathroom door. Right now, what she really needed was simply to soak for an hour or two in a hot tub. Her insides felt as if they were vibrating from exhaustion. She grabbed her coat, and as she made her way back to the counter, wondering if she had the nerve to be rude enough to tell the woman she was closing, she heard the bell tinkle once again.
“I’m sorry, am I too late?”
It was Hannah, breathless and yes, late, both of which seemed to be her habitual state of being.
“I’m sorry, I lost track of the time. My hot water heater exploded and of course all the plumbers are too busy to come right over. Not to mention Eddie’s stuck at the store…”
Ruth felt a flush of warmth crawl up her neck, a stress-induced hot flash, and tossed her coat behind the counter.
As well as a lifelong crisis of confidence, her friend Hannah seemed to have a disaster every month or so. She’d been coming in for years, and Ruth knew her from their school days, although Hannah was a good five years younger.
Hannah hurried over to the Self-Help section now, just a few shelves because Ruth didn’t have the square footage to devote huge amounts of space to each and every genre.
“The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success. You’ve read this?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, it’s very good,” Ruth said, slipping off the heels and sitting on the stool again. “He has amazing insight.”
She watched Hannah read the book jacket, then frown.
“I don’t know, Ruth,” she sighed as she carried the book to the counter. “I’m not really looking for money. I just want to find that thing, you know? That I’m meant to do.”
They’d been having this conversation for as long as Ruth could remember. At the moment, staring at Hannah’s pale face, the fading dirty blonde hair, the worried brown eyes fringed with gold lashes, she realized that nothing she said tonight was going to make a difference, really.
“It might not be the answer, but I think you’ll find a lot of really worthwhile advice here. And who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it will be the one.”
“Okay. I need something to read this weekend anyway. I’m off for two whole days and Eddie has a sale at the store, so…”
“Why don’t I just ring it up,” Ruth said, gently taking the book from Hannah.
Hannah dug in her purse and pulled out a fistful of bills. “Sorry, my tips for today.”
“It’s fine, I can always use singles.”
Ruth put the book in a bag, just as another book smacked shut and the woman headed for the door.
“Nice of her to paw all your books so she can go home and order—”
“Hannah, shush!”
“Sorry.—
It wasn’t like Ruth wasn’t thinking the same thing.
As they walked out together, Hannah stood on the sidewalk, saying as she did each and every time she came in for a book, “You’re so lucky, Ruth. Knowing what you really wanted. And making it happen.”
Ruth just smiled, then shrugged.
It was mild for a March evening, although the downtown streets appeared deserted. They crossed Main Street to the community parking lot, where Hannah said goodbye and kept on walking home. As Ruth pulled out, she looked across at her store, the big front window so cozy with books lined up in the glow of a small lamp, and a poster of an upcoming signing for a local poet. Then she noticed the sign above the window, that the L from The Book Lover must have fallen off, although where it had gone to, she couldn’t imagine. The letter was big enough that someone should certainly have noticed it on the sidewalk. Although she hadn’t. But she knew how that was, when you saw something every day of your life, after a while you stopped really seeing it.
With a frown she read it again; now it was “The Book over.” She shivered, then told herself not to believe in that karma crap. That was something Hannah would fall for. And that probably was why at nearly sixty, Hannah was still trying to find out what she wanted to be when she grew up.
* * *
LUCY OFTEN SAW HERSELF AS ONE OF HER CHARACTERS. Sometimes it was the easiest way to make light of a situation that might send her into a tailspin. Like now, standing in her driveway in her robe with the St. Augustine Times
in her hands, staring at the bold black headline just above a smiling picture of herself: DREAM OF BEING PUBLISHED COMES TRUE.
Lucinda collapsed from embarrassment on the red brick driveway, praying none of her neighbors were watching. That somehow, today, no one would actually read the newspaper.
If only she could will it to happen. When she went back inside, she found David dressed and in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a cup of coffee. She handed him the paper.
“Front of the Arts section. That’s great coverage.”
She said nothing, waiting.
He put the paper down a few moments later. “You realize this makes it sound like you got a real publisher?”
“Well, when the reporter asked who my publisher was, I just said ‘small potatoes press,’ implying no one would have heard of them. Which is technically true.”
“Yes, but you had to know that…”
David’s voice faded. Her dream hadn’t come true; she had published the book herself. But she didn’t want people pre-judging it, and now it had all come out wrong. It was her own fault, really.
“Lucy, did you hear what I said?”
She looked up. David was staring at her. “What?”
“Don’t you ever listen when I’m talking?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“I just reminded you that I’ll be home late. I have a deposition in Fort Lauderdale, then my poker game tonight.”
“I remembered,” she said, although she hadn’t. She was doing that a lot lately, zoning out in the middle of conversations.
As he walked to the bedroom, she saw him pause as he passed the dining room, where piles of her book—nearly $1,000 worth—sat all over the table and floor. Yesterday he’d made a comment about the sink filled with dishes from the day before.
“Do you think you could find ten minutes today to straighten up?”
“I’m surprised you noticed,” she said, trailing him into the bedroom, “since you’re never home.”
“Someone has to pay the bills.”
“Jesus, David, that’s a low blow. It wasn’t so long ago the tables were turned and I was the only one working.”
He stood there a moment and said nothing.
“What are we doing, David?”
He shrugged.
She took a deep breath, then walked to him and straightened his tie. “Listen, you’ve got a deposition, I’ve got a million booksellers to contact, plus the launch party is nearly here. We’re both stressed.”
He nodded, grabbing his wallet from the dresser. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”
“Are you having doubts about me doing this?”
“No, I think you need to get it out of your system. This is the first time I’ve seen you really excited about anything since…” His words died off and they looked at each other a long moment. Then he slipped on his suit jacket. “What about you, are you having second thoughts?”
“Not at all,” she lied.
She went and put her arms around him, breathing in his cologne, the smell of his skin. He squeezed back before patting his pocket to check for his wallet.
“You just put it in there,” she reminded him with a laugh. “Obviously I’m not the only one in la la land.” But her attempt at levity didn’t even bring a smile.
As they walked back to the kitchen, the phone in David’s study began to ring.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” She realized it had been ringing when she walked in with the newspaper, before it was even seven o’clock.
“It’s just Jason. I made a big mistake hiring him. He can’t even handle a simple closing.”
David grabbed his briefcase and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Don’t forget to invite your poker buddies and their wives to the launch party. I could use all the bodies I can get.”
She watched him walk out and down the driveway. David was tall and thin, a bit stoop-shouldered like his mother had been. And despite being forty-five, he still had a full head of dark hair with barely a fleck of grey. He was an attractive man and right now as he got in his car, shut the door, then sat back and yawned, she thought he seemed like a stranger. And lately nothing she did could please him.
She went into the dining room and looked at the two hundred books. She picked one up and opened to the dedication page. For Ben, For always… She wondered how her husband was going to feel when he saw that.
Then she walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, staring at her ridiculously short hair. She picked up the cuticle scissors, held out a one-inch strand near her temple and snipped.
* * *
AS WATER RAN IN THE TUB UPSTAIRS, Ruth stood barefoot in the kitchen, the waistband of her long skirt unbuttoned. She reached for the box. Her dog Samantha, a mutt who’d appeared to be mostly beagle when Ruth rescued her from the shelter eight years ago, was miffed at not going to the store today and sat in the corner, ignoring her.
“Okay, girl, here we go,” she said as she pulled the lid apart. She inhaled, and there it was.
Before there was a glimpse of a cover, the smell of the pages rose up to her. How did you describe the wonder of that scent? An odor that took her back in time to libraries, classrooms, clandestine hours beneath the covers of her bed, escaping to a world that didn’t exist. Except in imagination.
She reached in and pulled out the first book. The cover was in muted shades of gray with the silhouette of a woman running away. Ruth set it on the table, reaching for another book. And then another, as well as the tiny box that must have come from a small publisher, and obviously held just one paperback. It was like Christmas, these shipments of galleys. These books wouldn’t be released for months, but her orders had to be placed one or two seasons ahead. The publishers hoped she, and other booksellers, would fall in love with these books, order lots of copies, and then recommend them to their customers.
Handselling was the art of the small bookseller. Ruth loved being part of this process. In the world of bookselling, word of mouth was perhaps the most powerful tool to success, and Ruth knew that her word was gold to a lot of people. She would pick out a few for now, then bring the rest back for Harry, Kris and Megan to choose from.
She stared now at a pale gold cover, plain except for the distant image of a face. It was being hyped like crazy, with her sales rep telling her it could be the blockbuster of the year. Ruth held it to her breast, and then went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of cranberry juice.
“Well,” she said to Sam, still lying in the corner, looking back at her with half-closed lids. “I’m going to take a bath.”
At that, Sam, who also loved nothing more than spending a few hours in a warm, steamy bathroom snuggled on a soft towel beside the tub, swallowed her pride, rose to her four feet, and with a haughty shake of her ears, followed Ruth upstairs.
“Ummmm,” Ruth sighed a few minutes later as her sore toes hit the warm water, and then her calves, her aching thighs, and the rest of her weary body. Lying back, she closed her eyes. A candle, the galley, and the day’s mail perched on the windowsill just above the tub. She did her best thinking here, and some of her best work, referring to the tub as her “liquid office.”
“Who says this isn’t heaven?” she asked Sam, stroking the dog with her still dry right hand. Sam, too, gave a contented little sigh.
Then she picked up the book and began reading. By the third page, she felt her thoughts drifting and snapped herself back to attention. But then she began wondering what Colin was up to tonight. He was wearing a nice shirt and some spicy cologne. Was he seeing someone? Could it possibly be Gloryanne? She’d come into the store a few days ago when Colin was working. Oh, Ruth hoped so. She didn’t want him spending the rest of his life alone. Shit! She’d just finished an entire page and had no idea what she’d read. Turning back a page, she forced herself to reread. Five minutes later, she dropped the book to the floor.
“I give up, Sam.” She closed her eyes and splash
ed water on her face, holding her palms to her eyes. “There are way too many books out there to waste my time on this one.”
There was a time when she would force herself to finish a book once she’d started. But years ago, inundated with galleys and review copies, she finally gave herself permission to stop. It had been liberating.
She looked at the stack of mail sitting on the window sill. There in the midst of bills and late payment notices, she saw the plain blue envelope she’d brought home from the store, with the slanted scrawl.
“Oh, Sam, I am a pathetic old woman, torturing myself with anticipation.”
No one knew about these letters. Not Hannah, or the staff at work, and especially not her children. They would think she was crazy, or it was dangerous somehow. She wondered what Thomas was doing at that moment while she sat luxuriating in a tub of warm water, a lavender candle burning, an endless supply of books at her fingertips. Was he thinking of her?
She slipped a fingernail across the envelope and pulled the letter out.
Dear Ruth,
You were right about Gatsby. I like it. I’m reading it slow, like you suggested. When I got to the line “her voice was full of money” I had to stop. I remembered all of a sudden you telling me that phrase a long time ago, when you said it was your favorite book
I can picture Jay Gatsby listening to Daisy. Feeling like an outsider. He just wants into that world, but you get the feeling he already knows he’s not good enough. We’ll see what happens, but I don’t have a good feeling.
I thought about what your voice sounds like, after reading that. I used up an entire evening, which is not a bad thing, as I’ve told you how endless the nights are. Even if you can’t see that it’s dark outside, you know it, and there’s a whole different feeling being in here. It should be worse when the sun is out, but somehow it isn’t. Sorry, I’m digressing.
Anyway, Ruth, your voice is full of kindness. To me and everyone else you deal with in here. And for others, I’m sure. You’re a good woman, I could tell that the first time I saw you here, nibbling on your lower lip, looking nervous. But here you are, how many years later? Five? Still coming. I’m glad.
Book Lover, The Page 2
