Just then a group of people approached the store and Lucy held her breath, but they continued by. What if no one came at all? Then the door opened and an older couple came in, huddled under a large golf umbrella. They stood a moment, looking around.
“Are you the author?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I told my husband we had to come, no matter how hard it’s raining. I picked up your book here two days ago and finished it this morning. I loved it.”
Lucy had to restrain herself to keep from jumping up and down.
“I actually cried at the end, and I never cry,” the woman went on, taking a copy of the book out of her bag. “Would you please sign it? My name is Laura.”
As she signed and Laura chattered away, Lucy noticed a few more people walk in. She heard Kate tell them they were launching a new novel by a local author. As they sauntered over, Lucy handed the signed book to Laura, who thanked her. It was a thrilling moment! She was feeling like a real author now! One of the tourists picked up a book and stood a long moment, reading the back cover. Lucy wasn’t sure if she should say something to fill the growing silence.
“It’s really a good book,” she said with a giggle, “and I promise I’m not biased.”
The young woman smiled, and without a word put the book down and walked out with her friends.
Well, that was awkward, Lucy thought. Gushing about a piece of pottery was definitely easier than plugging her own book.
A short while later, Lucy’s breath caught as another group walked in and she recognized acid-tongued Regan from her old writers’ workshop.
“Hey, Lucy, long time,” Regan said. “We saw the article and wanted to come and say congratulations. Nice to see one of us finally made it.”
Regan had three novels and a memoir under her belt, all unpublished, and they were actually pretty good.
The short woman in the back picked up a book and said, “That’s a great cover. Did they let you have any say in it?”
A hot wave of dread had been slowly growing in Lucy’s stomach since Regan walked in. “Yes, actually it was my vision.”
“I’m on my fourth novel and still can’t even get a nibble from an agent,” the other woman said, handing her the book. “Could you sign it to me, Valerie, and write ‘good luck with your own novel?’”
She nodded and picked up her pen, not daring to look up at Regan.
“Did you submit it right to this publisher, or did you have an agent?”
“No, I didn’t have an agent,” she said, writing really slowly. “I…um…dealt directly with the publisher.” Which was true.
When she finally handed Valerie her signed book, she could feel Regan’s eyes boring into her.
“Did you publish this yourself?”
Oh, the hell with it, she thought. “Yes. I was tired of the publishing world telling me my book wasn’t good enough and decided to take matters into my own hands. And I deliberately didn’t choose one of the big self-publishers because I didn’t want people to pick it up and…” she hesitated, searching for the right words.
“And assume it’s no good?” Regan said.
“Actually, that’s right. I want people to just read it, with no prejudice.”
A slow smile broke out on Regan’s round face. “Well, you had us fooled there. We were actually discussing the pros and cons of self-publishing at our last meeting. I mean, sure, you can self-publish online for free in some cases, but getting a real book printed, like yours, costs money, and in the end, who’s really making the money? Not the writers.”
Lucy looked right into Regan’s eyes now. “I want my book out there. When you write, it’s for someone to read, not just in a workshop. Not just your relatives and friends.”
“But don’t you get it? The only people who ever buy these books are your relatives and friends, because nobody else even knows about it.”
“Actually, I have several bookstores already asking to carry the book.” Well, actually one. “They’ve read it and like it enough to put it on their shelves and even recommend it to their book clubs.”
They were all staring at her now.
“In fact, I’ve actually got a signing scheduled in New York and I’m putting together a book tour of my own.” Again, partly true, but as she said it, she realized it was exactly what she needed to do. Orchestrate a book tour. If The Book Lover wanted a signing, why couldn’t others?
“Well, I give you credit,” Valerie said. “You must really believe in your book.”
“I do,” she said, then sat down at the table, because her legs were trembling.
Imagine her further shock when Regan handed over the book she’d been holding all that time. “I’ll take it.”
“Thanks for coming,” Lucy said a few minutes later, letting her breath out as they headed up St. George Street.
But then she looked at her watch. There was just a half hour left. Where on earth was David?
* * *
RUTH PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT AND TURNED OFF HER CAR. She sat there a moment, looking at the high metal fence, the double row of razor wire that ran around the perimeter of the prison, the high brick guard towers spread across the campus. It never failed to send a shiver up her body, no matter how many times she’d been here over the years.
She tried to imagine, not for the first time, what it must be like to walk into that cold, concrete building, knowing you wouldn’t walk out again for fifteen years. She would probably go insane in a matter of weeks. But Thomas was so quiet. At times he seemed so…serene. It was an odd way to describe a prisoner.
She looked at the clock on her dashboard. Five more minutes. She wondered if Thomas, sitting in his cell, was counting the moments, too.
The idea to sell books to the inmates had been Jenny’s. It was tossed out one Christmas brunch while Jenny and Alex carried dishes into her kitchen. Both had helped in the store over the years and knew the never-ending challenges of keeping the place afloat. Holidays were often spent talking shop for a while, throwing out moneymaking ideas, until Ruth brought it to a halt, usually as the food was being laid on the table.
They’d been discussing ways to get more people into the store.
“Hey,” Jenny had said with a laugh, as she scraped a plate. “Who says you need to get them into the store? What about going out with your books, kind of like the Bookmobile?”
“And where on earth would I be taking my books?” Ruth had asked.
“Well…how about the prison?” Then she added with a chuckle, “They’re kind of a captive audience, aren’t they? My friend Andrea’s husband works there. Maybe he can get you an in.”
Ruth had dismissed it with a wave of her hand, then changed the subject. She didn’t like talking about her problems with the kids. But a week later, when she saw a photo in the local paper of a student from a nearby college volunteering for a literacy program for inmates, the idea started to take root.
She’d come here that first day with a throat so dry, her first words were barely audible, as she walked in with a carton of books and a rehearsed speech. After a thorough vetting and some personal references, The Book Lover became the sole provider of books for these prisoners.
Her mind turned to her last trip to the prison to take book orders. She had sat across the table from Thomas and her eyes kept drifting to his bruised hand. When she looked up, he was staring at her. His look deepened and his face turned pink. Ever so slowly his hand began to glide across the table, until their fingers were barely an inch apart. Her own fingers trembled, but suddenly they were moving toward his, nearly touching, when the guard, who’d been standing in the doorway with his back to them talking on his cell, suddenly snapped it shut.
Thomas quickly reached back for the order sheet that was in front of him. Ruth began tapping on the calculator once again. The guard glanced at them, then turned toward the door and opened his phone once more.
After a few moments of quiet between them, Thomas said in a l
ow voice, “Remember this one?” He slid the sheet over, and she took it quickly, not daring to repeat what had almost happened.
“Ah, someone ordered A Tale of Two Cities,” she read and smiled back. It thrilled her that so many of them at least tried the classics. “I remember when you did. You weren’t sure you’d like Dickens.”
“Turned out I loved Dickens,” he said, looking straight into her eyes.
“You read everything by him after that.”
“Just like you did your freshman year of high school.”
“You remembered that?”
“I remember everything about you, Ruth,” he’d said in barely a whisper, his fingers slowly moving toward hers again. She watched transfixed as his hand lifted, as it was about to cover hers, and a wild longing soared in her chest. She closed her eyes, waiting…
Then she heard the guard close the door.
Opening her eyes, she found Thomas’s hand gone. Her face must have registered disappointment, because he said, “Don’t worry, next month’ll be better, I’m sure.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about the orders.
Just then a prison clerk came out wheeling a cart, stopping at her car to load her books. She followed him inside through the security check, dumping her purse as well as her tote bag on a conveyor belt, then walking through the metal detector, something that was now rote for her. She deposited her car keys at the final checkpoint and was then led by a guard she’d never met before down a green cinder block corridor to the library, a small room with no windows.
She walked in, her eyes scanning the long table surrounded by chairs, landing on the one at the head where Thomas usually sat waiting for her. It was empty.
* * *
LUCY NOTICED THE RAIN HAD STOPPED and the street musicians had taken up their places on St. George Street again, one of them strumming a haunting melody on an acoustic guitar in front of the shop across the street. She marveled again at how good some of these people were who simply sat on a sidewalk all day with a hat on the ground for tips. And it hit her—was she really any different from him? How many people in the world have artistic ambitions and ever really achieve success?
“Well, I rang up four books so far,” Kate said, coming up behind her.
“Better than zero.”
“We’ve got a little time left, and the rain is over, so let’s think positive, okay?”
She nodded, then spent the next minutes walking circles around the signing table, straightening shelves, looking at her watch and waiting for David to walk in. With a big bouquet of flowers and a face that begged forgiveness for being late. To buy a copy of her book, as he’d promised, and have her sign it. And finally read it.
Kate was considerate enough not to bring up David’s absence as she locked up. Lucy gave her a quick hug in thanks.
“Good luck with the third store. And I’m sorry to abandon you at such an inconvenient time.”
“I knew when I hired you it wasn’t going to be forever. Besides, aren’t we doing the same thing? Going after our dreams? I’m really glad you’re doing this.”
“So am I,” Lucy said, and then managed a laugh. “I think.”
“Don’t do this halfway. You’ve got to give it everything, promise?”
“I will. I keep thinking of that woman tonight, Laura, who loved the book. And Ruth, the bookseller in New York. If they like it, how many other readers would fall in love with it, if only they had a chance to read it?”
“Atta girl!”
Then they turned and walked in opposite directions to where their cars were parked. A moment later, she stopped in front of the guitarist. He wasn’t a kid, probably late thirties or even forty, and she saw a handsome face beneath the beard and the long, straggled hair. He began another slow, beautiful song.
“You’re an amazing musician,” she said, tossing the pile of bills from her book sales into his hat. He looked up at her and smiled. And she wondered, was this how David saw her?
It was nearly dark, wispy gray clouds skittering across the sky as she got in her car. She sat there a moment, then hit the steering wheel in frustration. She pulled out her cell and called the house. No answer. Then she called David’s cell, which was turned off. Driving out of the lot she made a right, not toward home, but to David’s office. How could he not have shown up, knowing how important this was to her? This wasn’t like David. But she had to admit, so much about him lately wasn’t like the David she knew.
Turning onto Cuna Street, she saw the white Victorian up ahead. His office, which was the entire first floor, was all lit up. She was so intent on David, she didn’t notice at first the line of cars parked on both sides of the street in front of the building. As she slowed, she recognized a St. Augustine Police Department Cruiser with the lights off. A black sedan with lettering on the door was from the St. John’s County Detective Bureau. She sat there in the middle of the street, her eyes travelling from the dark, empty cars to the long windows of David’s office, where the shadows of men passed back and forth.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. All she could think of was that eerie voice on David’s voicemail. The soft laughter, the chilling words.
You’re a dead man, Barrett.
5
RUTH PARKED IN THE MUNICIPAL LOT, and clipped on Sam’s leash, and she could swear that Sam was smiling, her tongue hanging sideways out of her mouth. Sam loved spending the day with Ruth at the store.
First they walked up Main Street to Elaine’s. Ruth was amazed she didn’t even need a sweater today. For early May it felt more like June, and she hoped it would last. It wasn’t unusual to get a frost in Warwick this far into spring. But the flowering pear trees lining the sidewalks in town were a stunning vision of white blossoms. The window boxes at Elaine’s were bursting with yellow daffodils and purple pansies.
“Morning, Ruth,” Elaine called over the counter as she came in with Sam.
Elaine had left a corporate job seven years ago to open the small restaurant. With leather booths and a long counter with round stools, it had the charm and character of a much-loved, and used, diner.
“You on for the meeting next week?” Elaine asked, as she turned for the coffee pot.
“Sure am. I just hope we get something accomplished this time.”
The Downtown Warwick Revitalization Committee had been formed six months ago, but little progress had been made since, except for the longer hours to compete with the malls. Which didn’t seem to be doing much.
Elaine handed Ruth a large coffee, then looked over her shoulder to make sure Hannah wasn’t in earshot. “We just have to keep Eddie from blowin’ steam for two hours and maybe we can. I know his appliance business is hurting from that box store opening, but hey, we’re all hurting, aren’t we?”
“I can’t argue with you.”
Then Elaine noticed Sam sitting patiently, her tail thumping the floor in anticipation. She knelt down and gave her a biscuit and a pat on the head.
“What’s on your agenda today?” Elaine asked, as Sam savored her treat.
“Oh, the usual. Getting ready for an author signing next week. Then Megan’s going to show me some ideas she has for My Face. Or is it Spacebook?”
Elaine laughed. “It’s Facebook and My Space.”
“I know. She thinks I’m an old fart. She’s always got ideas and according to her I’m always shooting them down. We’re a bookseller, you know? I don’t want things to get too complicated. Anyway,” she said, “hopefully this heavenly day will bring people into town for a nice lunch and a good book.”
“My idea of heaven is a good book and a chair parked at the beach.”
“Amen. Only when was the last time either of us took time for something like that?”
“I thought just doing breakfast and lunch would give me a bit of a life after the corporate rat race. By the time we get cleaned up and prepped for the next day, guess what?”
“You’re ready for bed. Sounds like my life.”
<
br /> Sam licked the last few crumbs off the floor, then looked up at Ruth, waiting.
“Ever think of retiring?” Elaine asked with raised eyebrows.
“Are you kidding? For what?”
As Ruth turned, Hannah came by carrying a tray loaded with pancakes. “Oh, hey Ruth,” she called out, “I was just thinking about you. Can you wait a sec?”
Ruth sipped her coffee as Hannah delivered her platters, then deposited her empty tray on the counter. “Whew, my knees are screaming. Listen, I was going to stop by later and see if you might have some time this week to come over. I’ve got my class reunion coming up, and I wondered if you’d give me your opinion on an outfit I got.”
“Sure, how about Monday?”
“Okay. It’s a little different, a bit more daring, actually, than what I normally wear, but I thought Eddie might like it. I want to surprise him.”
“That’s great,” she said, wondering if Deepak had instigated the bold wardrobe choice.
“Oh, I finished the Chopra book,” Hannah said, as if reading her mind. “I did like it, but not all of it…” Her words trailed off as a customer began waving at her.
“I’ll call you Monday. We’ll talk about it then.”
Ruth walked up Main Street to her store, shaking her head. How was it she was always giving advice, to Hannah and so many of her customers, when she had no certainty at all regarding herself.
She unlocked the door, walked inside and flipped on the lights. Sam nestled into her doggie bed under the counter for a little snooze. Ruth checked the phone for messages, and found three, for special orders. There were also two hang-ups. Ruth listened to them again, trying to discern background noise as butterflies swooped through her stomach. It was five weeks since she’d gone to the prison and Thomas wasn’t there. Not a night went by that she didn’t wonder what had happened to him.
Just then, the lights in the store went out. Ruth groaned. Was it Hazel, their ghost? Or the circuit breaker again? She walked back to the bathroom/storage room, and Sam got up and followed her. Opening the electrical panel, she saw the main breaker had tripped. She flipped it once and the lights flickered on, then went out again. She flipped the switch once more, the lights came on, and she stood there waiting. They stayed on. But this situation wasn’t good. And it was the third time this month.
Book Lover, The Page 6
