Book Lover, The

by McFadden, Maryann

  He let out a breath. “She isn’t. But with enough prodding from Jenny, she probably had no choice. My sister thinks she has to take care of everyone, and knows how to yank my mother’s chain.”

  She didn’t know what to say. He obviously could have been angry or resentful. Yes, he was handicapped, but it was apparent he knew how to survive out there. Now that she knew the circumstances, though, she could only imagine the worries Ruth and her daughter might have. Especially with him swimming in the lake alone.

  “They’re good women. But having a little distance from family, it’s a good thing.” He began backing up, using his hands to accelerate and brake, the car modified for his needs. “So where is it I’m taking you?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure. First I need a garage. I also was hoping the general store has internet access.”

  “I doubt it. But I’ve got an errand to do in Vernon. I’m sure there’s someplace there.”

  “I’m really sorry, you can just drop me off wherever and I’ll figure it out.”

  “I can give you a ride back to the lake, it’s not a problem. Otherwise you might be stuck in Vernon all day.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  They drove in silence for a while. She really didn’t know what to say to him. All the normal questions seemed awkward, because of his handicap.

  “So you’re a writer,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

  “Well, trying to be,” she laughed.

  “You’re doing a signing, so you have a book, right? Wait, now I remember my mother talking about your book. A Quiet Wanting, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was suggesting it to a customer. I work at the store part-time,” he said, slowing as they approached a stop sign. “So if you’ve written a book, you are a writer.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m just trying to convince myself along with everyone else.”

  He gave her another amused look. “I’ll just have to read that book of yours.”

  “I’d be happy to give you a copy. As a thank you.”

  Ten minutes later they pulled into a garage. Lucy gave the mechanic the details and address, as well as her keys. He wasn’t sure he could tow it in until later that day, or perhaps the next. But she had no choice. A few miles later they began a long descent down a steep mountain road, and houses grew more frequent. A few blocks later, Colin slowed and turned into a parking lot. The sign read: Pond View Café, and in the window another advertised free Wifi.

  “Do you want to come in?” It would be an ordeal, but she thought it rude not to ask.

  “Go do your thing, I’ll just wait.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  He pulled a pair of binoculars from between the seats. “I’ll be happily occupied.”

  “Looking at what?”

  He held up a battered copy of The North American Field Guide to Birds.

  “Oh, you’re a bird watcher.”

  He nodded and smiled. “I’ll be parked on the other side of the pond,” he said and pointed.

  “Would you like me to get you a coffee or something in the meantime?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  She got out and stood there. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to be such a pest.”

  “Do you always apologize so much?”

  She blinked. “Yeah, I think I do.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling.

  * * *

  JUST AFTER TEN O’CLOCK RUTH LOOKED UP AS KRIS came in wearing big sunglasses.

  “Uh oh, not another headache, I hope.”

  Kris grimaced. “I took a Tylenol and an Advil which is supposed to do the trick, but so far nothing. But I’ve got two customers coming in for my suggestions on their next books.”

  Kris was passionate about books, which was why Ruth had hired her long ago when she couldn’t really afford to add another person onto the payroll. When Kris liked a book, it was hard for anyone to resist her fervent recommendations.

  “Well, it’s still quiet, so why don’t you—”

  Just then something fell in the back of the store. They looked at each other. There was no one else in the store yet. Slowly they turned, walking past the front shelves, stopping in the back corner. A book lay on the scuffed wood floor, face up. Ruth picked it up, reading the title out loud: Natural Cures for Head and Neck Pain.

  “Jesus, Ruth, I’ve got goose bumps up my arms. There’s no way that book just fell. It was shelved sideways, wedged between those other books.”

  Ruth looked at Kris with raised eyebrows. “Hazel?”

  “Well, I don’t know what else could explain it.”

  “I guess she’s trying to tell you something,” Ruth chuckled, handing her the book.

  “I don’t usually go in for that kind of stuff, but…”

  When she’d bought the business years ago, Ruth had no idea she’d inherited a ghost. An old woman who tended to lurk in the back corner near the clearance books. This wasn’t the first time Hazel had recommended a read in her own particular way.

  In the beginning, Ruth had chalked the little oddities up to coincidences, trucks rumbling by, or someone’s poor shelving. Then a psychic came for a signing and the minute she walked through the door her eyes widened, and she veered right for that corner.

  “You have a spirit here,” she announced.

  Ruth had shivered. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. How many dogs walked in and also headed for that corner, barking or whining for no apparent reason.

  “She’s friendly, don’t worry,” the psychic had assured her. “But she’s been here a long time. Was this always a bookstore?”

  “Well, the building is old, and before me another woman, Betsy, ran the bookstore, but before that I’m not sure.”

  “I’m seeing something else, flowers, colored…fabrics? Was this once a dry goods store?”

  Ruth shrugged.

  At the time someone had been reading a book with a ghost named Hazel in it, and so she’d been christened. Ruth forgot about her most of the time. Now she stood there, looking at the back corner, where the shelves were a little too crowded. There were some wonderful books there, just waiting for the right person to pick them up and feel that joy of discovering an unknown treasure. But these books weren’t really making her any money, and they were taking up valuable space. Still, Ruth hated to part with them.

  But like the bathroom, this part of the store was in need of some sprucing up. She took a few steps back and tried to envision the space differently. Before she’d canceled her cable, she used to watch HGTV at night when her eyes were too tired to read, marveling at the transformations to spaces on Design on a Dime and Weekend Warrior. As she stood there, something occurred to her out of the blue and she began to visualize…

  “Ruth,” Kris called. “Mail’s here, and one you need to sign for.”

  Ruth gave the space a final glance, then walked up front.

  “How’s it going?” Lizzie, their mail carrier, asked.

  “The usual,” Ruth said.

  Lizzie handed her a legal-size envelope. “Sign right there on the front of the card, and then the back.”

  Ruth glanced at the sender: her landlord, Jeff. Not good, she knew. She signed, handing Lizzie back the pen.

  “See you tomorrow,” Lizzie said.

  Kris began sorting through the pile of mail, while Ruth considered the envelope in her hand. Something told her she should probably leave it until later. She hesitated, then tore the top open and pulled out a notarized letter.

  “Oh, shit!” she said, closing her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she heard Kris say. “Are you all right?”

  Ruth shook her head and handed Kris the letter.

  “What! He can’t raise the rent that much, can he? Doesn’t the lease say—”

  “We don’t have a lease, remember? I’ve been asking him to renew it and he’s been putting me off for months now. I was afraid
maybe he was going to sell.”

  She sat on the stool and sighed. Five hundred dollars a month was more than she could handle. She was barely squeaking by now. And she’d just cut hours. What more could she cut? Or sell?

  * * *

  LUCY GOT ONLINE WITHIN SECONDS and there amidst an inbox full of junk was a message from David. She took a deep breath and opened it.

  Lucy,

  I know you still think I’m an addict, but I’m not. I stopped. It’s over. I tried to tell you when we were sitting on the beach, but you didn’t want to hear it. It was just an escape. I honestly didn’t care anymore about anything in my life.

  She stared out the café window, remembering that day on the beach, the only time she had seen him after his arrest. When she’d arrived, he was standing at the water’s edge, looking far out into the distance, dark smudges of sleeplessness beneath his hazel eyes, looking ten years older. A flicker of compassion had tugged at her heart. She’d opened her arms and pulled him in and he held her so tightly she could feel him trembling.

  Then he told her he’d cut a deal so he’d only have to serve thirty days in a minimum security prison, another month of house arrest, then six months parole with community service and mandatory counseling.

  “I don’t need counseling,” he said, when they sat up by the dunes. “I don’t have an addiction.”

  “How can you say that? Obviously you couldn’t stop gambling.”

  “I could have. But I liked it, feeling like I’d stepped into somebody else’s life for a while. It was exciting, and…it just made everything else bearable.” He’d closed his eyes. “Like nothing else in the world existed. And when you win, it’s the best feeling in the world.”

  “They call it a high, and that’s why it becomes an addiction. You’re acting just like my brother Charlie did—”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “What was it you were escaping? What was so terrible about our life to make you do something so awful? And why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “What’s the difference between an addiction and an obsession? Because it wasn’t like you were really there to talk to, Lucy. Haven’t you been escaping, too? When was the last time you really paid any attention to what’s been going on with us?”

  She remembered being stunned by how he was acting. He’d stolen from his clients, and then took everything they had. Where was the guilt? The begging? Where was the plea for forgiveness? It wasn’t the scene she’d imagined. He shook his head as if he didn’t get it.

  “What about that horrible man on your answering machine who threatened you?”

  “I paid him off the next day, and I put everything back in the trust account.”

  “But you took everything we had, David. I don’t even—”

  “I’ll pay you back. Don’t worry.”

  “You think this is just about the money? I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”

  He gave her a long look. “Well, I guess we each found our own way of coping with what we didn’t want to face. You had your book, and I had this.”

  “Jesus, David, are you saying this is because of Ben?”

  His eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  “David, I’ve moved on, I…” she’d felt her own tears come without warning.

  “Look, you and I both know nothing’s been the same since he died. We changed houses, changed states, tried on a new life, but guess what? It’s still there, and every time I look at his picture that you insist on hanging, Christ, every time I look at—” He stopped abruptly and looked away.

  “Every time you look at…me? Is that what you were about to say?”

  He hadn’t answered, but he didn’t have to. She turned back to the computer now and read the last lines of his message.

  I didn’t really want to move here after we lost Ben. What I really wanted then was to separate. But how could I do that to you? I hoped that maybe things would change once we got away that I would feel differently, so I gave it a go. And now, I’m almost relieved. I don’t have to live this lie anymore. But for me to feel like I could have any kind of a future, I have to let go of the past, completely. You need to do that, too. Hate me if you must, but let’s move on.

  David

  She forced herself to read it once more, her mind reeling. He’d wanted to separate after Ben died? How was that possible? She’d had absolutely no inkling, but then again, she was barely functioning then. Barely able to open her eyes each morning and get out of bed. What did that say about the past five years?

  With trembling fingers she typed: I won’t be bothering you anymore. She hit send.

  She sat there for ten long minutes, trying to calm down, longing for a cigarette and a big glass of wine. Finally she packed up and left. As she crossed the parking lot and headed up the road, lined with woods but for the pond surrounded by reeds, she saw Colin sitting in his Jeep, looking through the binoculars. You would never know he was a paraplegic from the way he appeared in the driver’s side window. He simply looked like any man watching for birds.

  She wondered if his loss still hit him at times the way her own grief over Ben used to suddenly bludgeon her in the middle of the night. Or in the first flush of consciousness after sleep. That thing that devastated your life and would define the rest of your days.

  Now that thing would be losing David.

  12

  THE DAY AFTER RUTH GOT JEFF’S LETTER RAISING THE RENT, Kris was still venting about it when once again Lizzie the mail carrier walked in and slapped her stack on the counter. Ruth spotted the blue envelope and immediately pulled it from the pile. Her employees all thought these letters had to do with the prison book orders which no one was allowed to touch, she told them, for security reasons. But of course it was the letter from Thomas. The one that was going to tell her exactly why he was in prison. How had he gotten it here so quickly?

  “I just don’t see how he has the gall to raise the rent like that. It’s not like he’s going to use the money to fix this place up,” Kris said, giving Ruth’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll think of something, Ruth. You always do.”

  “Think of something for what?” she heard Colin ask.

  She looked up and saw him sitting in front of the door. She hadn’t even heard the bell. He pushed his chair around the counter and she noticed Lucy’s book on his lap.

  “Oh, nothing. Kris, why don’t you go shelve those books? I’ll take care of the register.” Then she turned to her son again, intent on changing the subject. “I see you’ve got Lucy’s book.”

  “I met her yesterday when I gave her a ride to a garage to fix her car.”

  “Oh dear.” Colin had never returned her call about Lucy staying in the cabin next door.

  “Anyway, she gave me a copy to thank me, although I told her it wasn’t necessary. So how long will she be staying?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be leaving after her signing, but I wouldn’t mind if she stayed on longer if you wouldn’t. She’s going through a rough time.”

  “I sensed that.” He tilted his head, the way he’d done since he was a little boy, whenever considering something carefully. “Whatever she decides is fine with me.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  He smiled now. “Your hair looks nice today. Again.”

  “Your sister keeps telling me I’m too old for a braid, so I’m putting a little more effort into it.”

  His smile grew. “Are you sure that’s all it is? Because I get the feeling there’s something going on, Mom. You seem awfully distracted lately and you keep staring off into space.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “And what about you? Gloryanne’s been in several times in the past few weeks, I noticed.”

  He shook his head, and the teasing look disappeared. “Nothing going on.”

  And then he turned his wheelchair and headed toward the back of the store.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER RUTH MANAGED TO SLIP BACK in
to the restroom, the blue envelope tucked in her purse. She sank on the couch with a sigh. There was no saving this letter, no thrill of anticipation. Suddenly she had to know the truth. She hadn’t realized how frayed her nerves were until she saw that envelope in Kris’s hand. She took it from her purse and tore it open.

  Dear Ruth,

  I need you to know that I am not a Gatsby, or a Tom Buchanan. I’ve never mistreated a woman, as Tom did with Daisy, and Myrtle. And I’m never going to make up who I am or what I’ve done, as Gatsby did. I’ve had ten years in here, lots of hours to reflect on every mistake I made in my life. And every regret. The one thing keeping me going was knowing in my heart that once I got out of here, I would never come back, no matter what the statistics say.

  You’re a special woman, Ruth. You are smart and funny, kind and beautiful…

  She put the letter down and closed her eyes. The only time in her life she’d actually felt beautiful was early on with Bill. In that first blush of love her eyes sparkled, her skin glowed, and how he’d loved her wild hair, which back then shimmered with highlights. He would bury his face and breathe it in and she would feel like the most seductive creature in the world.

  She stood, facing the mirror over the sink, and stared at herself. A long, plain face looked back, nose a little too pointed, wild hair escaping a barrette. The skin around her eyes was crinkled, her neck beginning to pouch. She imagined Thomas looking back at her and smiled. In the mirror she saw her eyes light up, her entire face transform. That was what he saw.

  She picked up the second page of the letter.

  I know I don’t really have the right to ask if I could be part of your life. If it could even be a possibility. For five years we’ve had a wonderful friendship, although I think we both feel more than that. But there’s always been something keeping things safe. Bars. There’s a bit of irony, don’t you think? Because of these bars, we’ve never tried to go to the next step, as we would have in the outside world. But now is our chance.

  I was wrong about putting what I did in a letter. It’s just that you looked so frightened, and I never want you to be frightened. I need to say it to your face, Ruth, I need to see your eyes. I want to do this right. Please, when you come back next Saturday let me do that so you’ll understand. Then whatever you decide, I’ll agree. But I would never want you to be afraid of me.