She looked at the next woman in line, who exclaimed, “I felt as if you were looking over my shoulder and writing my life. I can’t wait for your next book.”
The last woman was an angry-looking brunette, who’d been waiting a while.
“Is this book self-published?” she blurted out.
Up until that moment, no one had mentioned that fact.
“Well…yes, it is,” Lucy admitted.
The woman blinked twice and Lucy thought she might leave in a huff. But she handed over a book to be signed. When it was over, Lucy felt as if the wind had literally blown out of her sails—exhausted and exhilarated. Ruth asked about the “mystery woman,” who apparently came in sporadically. This was the first time she’d ever bought a book.
“She’s a frustrated writer, with two unpublished novels.”
“I guess that explains it,” Ruth said. “Now, about you. That was beautifully done.”
“Really? I was afraid it was a bit too much.”
“No, your passion came through. It was inspiring. And we sold twenty-three copies of your book!”
“Really?”
“Sometimes we get well-known authors who don’t sell that many in a signing,” Harry piped up suddenly, as he came over to begin clearing the table.
“But Ruth and Kris have really been pushing your book.”
“Keep going, Lucy,” Ruth said quietly.
“I will. I feel so hopeful, I can’t tell you. I’m through second-guessing myself.”
“Now come over to the counter. I have a stack of books I want you to sign so we can put them on the shelves this week. Oh, and I put together a list of some booksellers not too far away you might want to contact while you’re here.”
“I owe you so much, Ruth,” Lucy said, and gave her a quick hug. She was glad she could keep an eye on Colin for Ruth, but she’d have to think of something more.
“Don’t be silly. Discovering a new writer, satisfying readers with undiscovered works, that’s what I live for,” Ruth said, then reached for the extra books.
Over Ruth’s shoulder, she saw Colin near the door in an intense conversation with the pretty redhead. Suddenly Gloryanne turned and left. Colin looked up and caught Lucy’s eye. A moment later he wheeled himself out the door, before she could even thank him for the flowers.
* * *
FINALLY, THE STORE WAS ALMOST EMPTY. Ruth looked at the clock, her stomach in knots, picturing Thomas sitting in that awful visiting room, his face lit with hope, waiting for her.
“That clock’s not gonna move any faster just because you want it to,” she heard Harry joke.
She turned and looked at him in surprise.
“You put in a long day, Ruth. Go home. I’ll close up.”
She hesitated, remembering her promise to Jenny. Yet knowing she could still make it in time if she left right now. “If you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said, grabbing her purse.
“Go, and put your feet up.”
But she didn’t go home, nor did she put her feet up. She jumped into her car, heading to the thruway, with air conditioning blasting. It was hot as July. Or was it her nerves, rushing to make it? She turned the radio to the local NPR station, and let the relaxing classical music fill the car, trying to make her mind stop racing. But she couldn’t.
She thought about the first time she’d met Thomas. After she’d approached the warden through Andrea’s husband, Carl, the prison authorities had authorized her to hold a book fair in the prison library, to kind of test the waters. Several guards had carried extra tables in and she’d brought as many books as she could for the inmates to choose from. The event lasted four hours as one prisoner after another came in accompanied by a guard, and was given ten minutes to make a purchase.
Thomas had been in the first eight or so, when her nerves were still on high alert, and from the moment she saw him she’d felt…something. He’d come in the open doorway in that orange jumpsuit, a big, barrel-chested man back then, and stood across the room, looking all around at the tables full of books. Then his brown eyes landed on her and she watched him actually blush, then give her a shy smile.
“I haven’t felt this excited since I was a kid at Christmas,” he said softly.
“When I was a little girl books were always my favorite presents,” she finally responded, surprised at his gentle manner. The other prisoners up until then had spoken little, their comments and questions terse.
“Well, I can tell you there’s nothing as amazing as a 26-inch bicycle, or an air rifle, for a little boy. But in here, losing yourself in a good book is about as good as it gets.”
She watched him pick up one book after another, his big hands holding them carefully as he turned pages and scanned, asking her opinion on each and every one. At the end of his ten minutes, he had a teetering pile of books and she sat and made out his bill.
“Thanks for doing this. I imagine it can’t be easy,” he said, his voice low, so that the guard at the door couldn’t hear him. “You know, a nice lady like you coming to a place like this.”
She nearly said it was all fine. But then she looked up at him again, and his eyes were searching hers. “Actually, I was pretty nervous at first. When I arrived I bit my lip so hard, I think it bled. But I’m really glad to be here.”
“Me, too.” He gave her another warm smile. “This means a lot to us.
I hope they let you come back.”
The feedback from the book fair was so overwhelming, the warden had called and proposed she come back every few months so that the prisoners could order books on a regular basis. Over those next five years, she’d grown so comfortable with Thomas that there were actually moments she had a hard time believing he was really a prisoner. Or that he could possibly have done something horrible.
But he did do something horrible, she knew that for certain. Jenny had even brought a copy of an article she’d downloaded from The Albany Times to prove it. Now, Ruth turned into the prison complex, guard towers on all perimeters, and before the first security checkpoint, she suddenly pulled over.
“Mom, these kind of men prey on women like you,” Jenny had practically yelled at her. “They know just what to say and do. And let’s face it, you’re always trying to help people, of course you’re going to fall for it. You’re too damn nice.”
She’d felt like such a fool getting lectured by her daughter. Barely able to get a word in edgewise as she tried to explain that Thomas was different.
“Promise me, Mom, please. Tell me you’re not going to meet this man again. I already asked Andrea’s husband to take him off as your book liaison.”
She didn’t bother to tell Jenny it didn’t matter. That he wouldn’t be there anymore. But she couldn’t possibly let her daughter know he was getting out. That he wanted to see her.
She sat there, just yards away from the building where the visiting room was housed. Unable to move. Was she being a fool? Could it be possible that this man she’d grown so fond of, who brought something back to life inside her after decades, who made her feel like a woman again, could he really be dangerous? Would he really hurt her in some way?
“You’ve got a house and a business, Mom. An entire life it’s taken years to build. He could destroy that. Is that what you really want?”
What could she really say to that? That she’d bet it all Thomas wasn’t like that? That she was a good judge of people, if nothing else? But of course she’d felt that way about her husband, Bill, in the beginning. Who proved her to be completely wrong.
And suddenly it was as clear as the razor wire glinting in the setting sun, as she tried to imagine Thomas somehow becoming a part of her life. How would she introduce him to people? How could he possibly fit in with the store, her family, the tiny village of Warwick where people never locked their doors?
Of course there was no way Thomas could fit into her life. How could she possibly have thought otherwise?
16
LUCY ARRIVED BACK AT THE LAKE WIT
H A BAG OF GOODIES, from a gourmet shop in town and a bottle of sangria. The threatened heat wave had arrived, and she felt as if she were walking through a steam bath as she climbed the cabin steps. Once inside, she stripped off her clammy things and slipped on nothing but an old cotton shift. There was no air conditioning and the cabin was sweltering, the mustiness of the old furniture permeating the air.
The grass was soft and cool as she walked down to the dock in bare feet. Colin’s car wasn’t back and she wondered if he was out with Gloryanne. She sat on the wooden dock, her feet dangling in the cold lake. Reaching down, she brought a scoop of water up and released it on her neck, enjoying the delicious feeling of droplets running down her chest and back.
She took a sip of the chilled sangria and it slid down like an ice pop melting in her throat. Then she leaned back on her hands and looked up at the mountains, barely visible through the building haze. She was so proud of herself, having faced every doubt, every fear. Despite the tumultuous events of the past few months and her crazy trip north, today was a big achievement.
She felt a new surge of energy for the upcoming days and another round of bookstore visits. There was lots to share now, best of all the review from the Warwick paper, thanks again to Ruth, which she’d forgotten in the busyness of the afternoon. A stunning debut, it said in the first paragraph. Readers will be rooting for Hope as she navigates the heartbreaking terrain of a marriage falling apart, and the eventual discovery of a new future for herself. Now she had two fabulous reviews and she was going to send them everywhere.
She kicked her foot and a spray of water splashed across the still surface of the lake. People even wanted to know when her next book was coming out!
“I’m an author!” she shouted out loud, laughing a moment later at the insanity of sitting at the edge of this lake in the middle of nowhere, having a party for one and talking to herself.
She decided it was time to start writing again. The urge had been with her since her trip to The Raptor Center. Besides, it would keep her mind distracted.
She sat there contented, enjoying that brief moment of utter stillness before the nocturnal creatures came alive again as night descended. Hearing a splash, Lucy turned to see a turtle surface, peek at her, then dive again. It was funny, but as much as she loved the ocean, and the feel of the sand and all the things that came with it, there was a unique beauty here, too. The peaceful lake surrounded by woods, ringed by mountains, the high-pitched call of a hawk or the cacophony of tree frogs and cicadas. It was a place that could transform a character if she were there long enough. That might, perhaps, begin to heal a broken heart.
She drained the last of her glass and opened the contents of the basket, when suddenly it felt as if her cheeks were on fire, no doubt from the wine and humidity. Scooting to the edge of the dock, she hesitated, then plunged into the lake, yelping as she surfaced from the shockingly cold water. Within moments, though, it felt like heaven as she swam back and forth.
Her shift rode up, the wet fabric wrapping around her waist, the cool water intensely sensual as it flowed through all her private places. Was she drunk? She wondered suddenly in the black water, half naked, feeling such a sense of abandon. Maybe a little buzzed, but what she was doing seemed perfectly natural. It was the kind of thing kids would do, and she did feel giddy as a child.
The light began to disappear quickly and she hoisted herself up on the dock, refreshed and exhausted. She sat there a moment, dripping, ravenous, ready to dig into her feast. But suddenly she was cold, and there were no lights out there at all. She grabbed everything and ran up to the cabin, shivering by the time she reached the door. Flipping the lights on, she stood on the little scatter rug inside the door, pulling off the wet shift.
She poured another sangria and drank it as she pulled on dry clothes, then sat at the table, eating the bread and cheese, polishing off the almonds and an apple as the moon ascended in the haze, a fuzzy white pearl just above the far mountain. It amazed Lucy that there was no television, no stereo, in this single, rustic room. She was stripped of all of the comforts of her former existence. She didn’t miss any of it.
Once again she imagined her beautiful home. She would never live there again. But had it ever really felt like home? As she watched the moon rise through the mist, she poured a third glass of wine. And that’s when the good feelings of the day, the exhilaration of the evening, somehow collided with the emotions of the house in St. Augustine and the promise of that new life which never really came to fruition.
* * *
A STRANGE NOISE WOKE LUCY THE NEXT MORNING. She opened her eyes to bright sunlight and instantly her head began to throb. The pinging noise came again. It sounded like something hitting a window.
She got up and went into the main room, wobbly and lightheaded, and there it was again. She reached the big window as a pebble hit the glass. Looking down, she saw Colin in his wheelchair, in khaki pants and a sleeveless t-shirt.
She went out onto the deck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling in that favor you owe me. Did I wake you?” he said, and then she saw him looking her up and down. She was standing there in nothing but an old nightie.
She backed into the doorway, then peeked out. The lake sparkled in the late morning sunshine. Everything was wet, even the trees dripping, and she realized it had rained during the night.
“Yes, I slept in I guess.”
“Come on over later—I could use your help with something, if you don’t mind.”
“All right.”
She made a cup of strong tea. The humidity and drenching heat were gone, no doubt swept away by the rain. She was regretting that third glass of sangria last night, and the second. Then she stood under the shower as long as she dared. The water never stayed warm for more than a few minutes, but as it cooled, she forced herself to endure it, hoping to sweep away the cobwebs and the hangover. Then she fought with a comb to untangle her hair, which had been matted to her head in damp clumps when she went to bed. Finally she made another mug of tea and sipped it as she walked over to Colin’s.
It was gorgeous out, everything damp and glistening, the air so fresh and clean-smelling she immediately felt better. Looking down at the dock, she remembered how much she’d enjoyed herself, all alone. Suddenly, she didn’t regret anything about last night.
Colin’s deck was about ten feet above the ground and she walked up a long ramp, through a wide opening in the railing, marveling at the strength it must take him each time he pushed himself up the incline.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Colin said, opening the sliding screen door.
Whereas the cabin next door was shabby and cluttered, Colin’s was furnished sparely, and everything appeared to be nearly new. It was bigger, but with the same basic great room layout. The walls were sheetrocked and painted a light beige. In the kitchen area she noticed there were no upper cabinets; they were all under the counters, of course, where he could access them. The counters, too, were low enough so that he could reach into the sink, and there was a peg board on the wall, with utensils hung for easy reaching.
A navy couch and recliner were grouped to the left, with a flat-screen TV hung on the opposite wall. There wasn’t a coffee table, which would no doubt block the wheelchair. In the dining area, which took up the far corner of the great room, an oval table surrounded by just three chairs sat a far distance from the wall, which she realized gave easy access to the wheelchair. Aside from a few other odds and ends that was it. The walls were bare of décor, and the wood floors had no rugs at all, which would just get in the way. What enormous thought and planning must’ve gone into every detail, including the wide doorways that went into what she knew were the bedroom and bathroom. The windows were all open and you could hear the swish of last night’s raindrops that still clung to the trees as a light breeze came through.
“It’s lovely.”
“It wasn’t in great shape when I bought it, and it took about eight months to
get it adapted to suit me. It’s still a bit of a work in progress, as I realize things that could work better.” He nodded to a ladder that obviously went to a loft above, the same as in her cabin. “Needless to say, I don’t get up there much,” he added with a laugh.
She smiled, surprised this time that she didn’t feel uncomfortable at his references to his disability. After spending time with him at the store yesterday during the signing—especially when a customer backed up with a book in hand and ended up falling into his lap, only to hear Colin laugh and offer a ride—she’d realized the discomfort was all hers.
Turning, she noticed a bamboo screen blocking the front right corner of the room and wondered if he had an office there. He must have followed her eyes because he went over and pulled one panel back. Behind it was a large whirlpool tub, with windows all around it.
“This is one luxury I wouldn’t want to live without. It makes swimming in the lake possible. I can’t feel my body chilling like a normal person would, so a long soak in this afterward is a necessity.”
She remembered seeing him emerge from the lake that first morning, naked, and felt her cheeks turn pink. Since then, he always wore shorts.
“Well, it’s certainly a great house.”
“Thanks. Now, about that favor.” He turned and wheeled himself to the dining area, nodding at four framed prints on the table. “I never was very good at hanging pictures,” he said, turning to her with a smile, “but now it’s impossible.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing that unless he wanted the prints hung at a child’s level, someone would have to place them on the walls, then pound the nails in.
Book Lover, The Page 15
