“That’s a scarlet tanager,” he whispered, and she remembered the gorgeous red bird print.
He cupped his hand and she watched, amazed, as he mimicked the bird’s cry. A few seconds later, the bird in the woods sang again. They did this for several minutes, Colin and the bird echoing each other, the bird sounding closer and closer, until she saw the red flash as the bird flew out of the trees and then back in again.
“How did you know that?”
“My father taught me. Scarlet tanagers are actually pretty easy to imitate and lure out of the woods.”
She laughed. “If you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s not that hard, really. There are other—”
“Colin, look!” She put a hand on his chair, halting him. Just ahead, down the steep slope of the riverbank, she spotted a huge bird, close enough to recognize the white cap and dark body.
Colin pulled his binoculars to his eyes. The bird must have sensed them, because it turned and began to open its wings, then stopped, staring at them.
“You don’t usually see an eagle on the ground unless it’s eating. Otherwise it’s perching, diving, or flying. That bird clearly isn’t eating.” He turned to her. “I don’t have my cell, do you?”
She unzipped the maroon backpack she’d found in the cabin and handed it to him, wondering if it was really possible to get reception there. A moment later, she saw you could.
“Hey Randy, it’s Colin Hardaway. I was on my way in and stopped at Worthington and I’m watching an eagle that I think might be in distress.” He paused a moment, listening, then said, “It’s on the riverbank, close to the water. I think you’d better bring a kayak.”
He handed her the phone then.
“What can we do?”
“Nothing. Just be quiet so we don’t stress it any further, and hopefully the bird stays right where it is and doesn’t venture into the water. If it does it might drown.”
She had so many questions to ask him. She felt helpless just standing there. In the endless minutes waiting for help, she prayed the bird wouldn’t move. Beside her, she imagined Colin was doing the same thing as he sat there in silence.
A SMALL GROUP FROM THE RAPTOR CENTER, led by Randy, one of their medics, and Susan, who was in charge of the education programs, arrived on the scene about forty minutes later, a kayak strapped to the top of their van.
The situation grew tense as they first tried to scale down the river bank, with heavy gloves to their elbows, carrying several large blankets to retrieve the bird. Lucy and Colin inched closer. Her heart broke for the wounded eagle as it backed away and began to thrash once it hit the water, desperately trying to get away from them, its fight or flight instinct in high gear. But it was helpless. After a few minutes, the current caught the bird and it was carried into the river. They could see it struggling, its wings flailing, one horribly crooked. Randy and another man jumped into the kayak and paddled furiously toward the eagle.
“Oh, Colin, I hope they get it before it drowns.”
“It’s not just drowning we have to worry about. Being touched by a human is a major stress on a healthy bird. That alone can kill it,” Colin said softly.
They watched as the kayak closed in on the bird and suddenly Randy tossed the blanket, covering the eagle. He grabbed the ends and they began pulling it back to shore. It was a dangerous mission, for both the men and the eagle, but within minutes the bird was carried to the van by both men, their gloves still on, and they drove off.
When Lucy and Colin arrived at The Raptor Center, Randy informed them that the bird had been examined and had blood drawn.
“It’s got a broken wing, and probably lead poisoning, but we won’t know for sure until we get the lab results.” He then explained that the eagle was safely ensconced in the Quiet Zone, an ICU for birds, on the floor above the infirmary. “As soon as we get a bird assessed, our first course of action is to get it in a warm, dark, quiet place where there’s minimal human contact, so it can begin to calm down,” he explained to Lucy.
“Do you think this bird will make it?”
“I’m not sure. He’s pretty weak, that’s why I’m guessing lead poisoning. He was probably diving for fish and just didn’t make it. The wing break seems pretty fresh.”
“So it’s a he?” Lucy asked.
Randy smiled. “Yes, a he.”
He excused himself then and she and Colin left the infirmary.
“If I hadn’t been with you, I would have had no idea that bird was injured,” she said, as they headed back on the gravel path. “I would have just been thrilled to see an eagle up close.”
“Well, it was a good spot on your part. We might’ve just walked past and not even noticed him in the brush there.”
“I’d like to volunteer, too. Do you think they’d let me?”
“They might just have you wash dishes, or clean cages,” he said with a smile.
“I don’t care,” she said, smiling right back.
“Well, I’ve got to stop in the office. You can ask Susan yourself.”
Susan was delighted at her request, but turned her down, explaining that they needed volunteers who could make long-term commitments, sometimes a year in advance. That was something she just couldn’t do.
She had no idea where she might be a year from now.
21
AS SHE WAITED FOR THE PAGE TURNERS TO ARRIVE, Ruth stared out the store window at the pots of purple petunias and red geraniums that sat on each corner of Main Street, beneath the gas lanterns. It was June already, with the longest day of the year just a few weeks away. It would be the 4th of July before you knew it, and then Labor Day and Halloween, and on and on. Life seemed to speed up each year, and when you were nearly sixty-five, it was hard to imagine how many might actually be left.
She looked back at the registration form for the Independent Bookseller’s Convention in September. She knew she shouldn’t spend the money, an argument she had with herself every year. It was her one big splurge and now she gazed at pictures of Philadelphia’s historic district, with horse-drawn carriage rides. Not that she’d do much sightseeing. She loved just talking books with the other booksellers, getting reenergized and full of ideas. And coming home with bags of galleys and signed copies from some of the biggest authors in the country.
What else did she really have to look forward to? The seasons of her life had been established long ago: work, family, duty. Right now she needed something else to get her through the long days that loomed ahead. Of course Thomas’s face flashed before her.
Just then the bell tinkled and in walked Larry Porter, a welcome interruption to her thoughts.
“And how did she like Sonnets From The Portuguese?”
“She loved it. We read to each other over dinner.”
“I’m so glad. Where’s Angela been, anyway? She hasn’t come in with you in a while.”
“She’s working a lot of overtime at the hospital. I’m here to find something for both of us. We’re going away for the weekend.”
“Well, save some money for food,” she joked.
He chuckled, then headed to the romance shelf, which she knew was Angela’s passion. Ruth turned back to the convention form. Things were tighter than ever since the rent increase, but she hoped that after August, she might be able to pay off some debts. The past three years, August had always been her best month, thanks to Stephanie Meyer’s vampire series. And Megan’s idea to hold midnight release parties, which grew each year.
Maybe she’d call her friend Deb from Chapter One Books to share a room again; that would cut the cost in half. She was going, she decided, no matter what it took. She filled in the registration form, wrote out a check and put a stamp on the envelope.
Larry came up with a stack of books and after she rang them up, she asked him to drop the envelope in the mailbox out front, before she changed her mind.
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK THE PAGE TURNERS TRICKLED in for their monthly book club meeting. They were ten
women, give or take, and brought wine and snacks. For Ruth it was nice to hear the chatter in the back corner of the store, which typically got louder as the evening wore on. By eight, she’d sit with them as they picked her brain about new books, favorite authors, and her recommendations. Last month she’d suggested Lucy’s book, but they’d passed because someone already had a book picked. Ruth hoped they’d order it tonight for their next meeting.
As they settled down in the back of the store, she turned to the day’s mail. Bills and more bills. She shoved them in her purse to agonize over later. There was no blue envelope, of course. There wouldn’t be any more. Again and again she’d picked up the phone to call the cell number he’d left on the table, but never made the call. She wondered for the thousandth time how Thomas was doing in Pine Island, pumping gas at the garage, living in a few rooms above it. She knew the world wouldn’t be an easy place for him to navigate. Perhaps he wasn’t even there anymore. Perhaps he’d gone back to Albany, finally giving up on her. He must still have a few friends there, some family. But what if there was no one?
All she had to do was drive out to Pine Island to see if he was still there. That he was doing okay. To explain that it wasn’t really him or what he did. It was her. It was simply too late.
A loud voice brought her back to the moment. The Page Turners were chatting up a storm now. Then Ruth overheard a name that made her stop and listen more carefully.
“It’s true, I heard it when I was at town hall.” She recognized Vicki Hoffman’s voice. “Won’t that be great?”
Vicki had just told them that BookWorld was coming to Warwick, in that new mall that had the revitalization committee up in arms, just a few miles from downtown.
“I love BookWorld,” Nancy Beasley chimed in. “Whenever I go to my sister’s in Virginia, we spend hours at hers.”
Ruth wanted to go smack Nancy. Last month, before Ruth even got back to the register to ring up the books for this meeting, Nancy had whispered in that gravelly voice that she was going to order hers online and save money. That they didn’t have to get all of their books from Ruth, even if they did meet in her store and she took the time to sit with them and give them her personal recommendations. Someone had shushed her, and more than half had ordered the book that night, a few others saying they were going to share, which was fine with Ruth. She understood economizing. No one understood that better than her.
But Ruth knew Nancy wasn’t in the minority. For every customer who came into The Book Lover and paid for the privilege of her staff’s hand selling, knowing their tastes, catering to their idiosyncrasies, giving them a warm and comfortable place to linger with books, there were probably a few dozen others who bargain-shopped online, or at discount box chains. Then they lamented when another store in town went out of business, Ruth thought.
She said nothing now, as she hadn’t last month. She just gritted her teeth and told herself once again you couldn’t win them all. But who was she kidding? A megabookstore was coming to town. E-books were taking off, and you didn’t need a bricks and mortar store for that, you just had to go online, as they’d been lamenting at the past few conventions. They would laugh about being dinosaurs, worrying that phones and handheld gadgets would wipe out books as they knew them one day. Ruth loved a real book, with a beautiful cover and bound pages, a carefully chosen find.
She looked around at her shelves and shelves of books. The creative labor of someone’s mind and hands for months or even years. Once, the most precious thing someone might own.
Ruth couldn’t imagine giving up the pleasure of a real book.
But little by little the world was changing, the book business was changing and as much as she kept trying to keep up with it, somehow she felt things slipping from her grasp.
22
LUCY CONTINUED TO RISE EARLY EACH MORNING, at first dabbling in poetry, and now creating snippets of scenes for a new book. The first thing she always did, though, as she opened her laptop and sipped her first cup of tea, was check her e-mail, in hopes of hearing something good about her book. But every time she got even a shred of good news, it always seemed to be followed by something bad. She was starting to feel like a yo-yo, constantly up and down.
She had a handful of bookstores on board now, and gladly sent copies on consignment. Some even suggested A Quiet Wanting to their book clubs, as Ruth had done, but…Ruth’s store club, The Page Turners, had decided to pass on her book, after all.
A reader e-mailed to say she loved Lucy’s novel, and gave it a five-star review online. When Lucy checked the website, she was floored to see a one-star review just below it. Been there, done that, was all it said. She tried to stay upbeat, reminding herself that five stars was incredible. But her confidence was a fragile thing, and it was that one star that haunted her.
This morning her eyes were riveted to two e-mails, one from Clinton Books in New Jersey, with a subject line: We’d love to do a signing with you. The other was from David, and the subject line was blank. She opted for the good news first. Yes, they wanted her for a signing! She’d sent them a book on Ruth’s recommendation, and the owner’s mother—We consider her the Oprah of Clinton, they wrote—screened all their women’s fiction and loved it. They were going to invite all their book clubs and make it a “Girls’ Night Out.” She just had to send them a press release for the media. Yes! She squealed, pumping her fists. She would gladly put together a new press release. She’d become an expert while working at Serendipity.
Then she looked at David’s e-mail, knowing that this was probably the down to her current up.
She clicked it open:
Dear Lucy,
As you no doubt know, I’m home now, and have begun my house arrest. I’ve had a lot of time to think, as I’m sure you have, too. My attorney told me that you’re somewhere up north, traveling around for your book. I hope it’s working out for you.
Lucy, I need you to understand what’s been going on with me.
She stopped, shaking her head. He needed her to understand? Was he kidding? As if she hadn’t been willing to listen? To understand? Hadn’t she been trying since this nightmare unfolded to get him to open up?
Ever since Ben died, I’ve felt like someone who is just going through the motions. I’m not using that as an excuse for what I did. I take full blame for that. No matter how much turmoil I was in, that was horribly wrong. I’m sorry.
The two words she’d waited and waited for and here they were, nearly three months later. She shook her head, running her hands through her hair.
Do you remember when we started talking about the future after our mothers met? We both said we didn’t want children. You’d spent most of your childhood being the caretaker for your brothers and it made sense you didn’t want to do it again. I told you I didn’t think I was father material. I had no siblings, no other family besides my parents. And to be honest, I thought I was probably a little too selfish to be a good father.
After a while, you changed your mind. Despite my own feelings, I agreed.
When we couldn’t get pregnant, I went along with all the fertility treatments. When the first pregnancy ended in miscarriage, I was upset as much as you were. Then it happened again. The third time it was so early, and I was almost relieved. Don’t hate me for saying that, I just want to be honest. It was barely real, and I was scared. It was wearing us both down, the constant sadness. Then you got pregnant with Ben, ironically without even trying. You said it was a miracle. I was holding my breath. In the beginning I told myself that if it happened again, that would be it. I would tell you I wasn’t going to go through it again.
The feelings I had consumed me with guilt, not that you knew any of this. But none of it compared to the guilt I felt when Ben died. I knew it was my fault. That God was punishing me for not really wanting a child. If you knew all of this you would hate me. While you retreated from me and the rest of the world in your grief, I said nothing. Because Lucy you have to believe me, from the moment I held
him, when his gray eyes looked up at me and his tiny hand grasped my finger, I was a goner. I wanted him more than anything in this world. Suddenly it was real. We had a son.
Why was he doing this? Bringing all this up now? And then she remembered the rest of his sentence. He must have started his mandatory counseling. So the gambling, the stealing, the betrayal was all because of Ben?
When we lost our son I was consumed with guilt. But I was also filled with anger. Toward you, for putting me through it all. But even while I was angry, I was grieving for you because you were suffering so much. Moving south seemed like a good solution and after a while, things started to fade. I thought I’d gotten over it all, that time really could heal all wounds. But I guess it didn’t, because somewhere deep inside it’s been simmering away and I didn’t even realize it. I was just trying to escape it. I can’t begin to understand it all yet, and I’m not using it as an excuse. I just need to tell you this. It’s been eating away at me for a long time.
David.
She sat there, her head reeling. So it wasn’t because of Ben. It was because of her. All of it, because of her. A sob bubbled up in her chest and she closed her eyes, pressing them with the heels of her hands. She jumped up and ran to the door, throwing it open, heading toward the lake, sparkling in the morning sun. She needed to walk, but there was nowhere to go with woods stretching along the shore past Colin’s cabin.
Then she remembered Ruth mentioning a trail. She went back up the hill and rounded the cabin. Just beyond the small patch of grass she saw an opening in the woods that might be a path. If she recalled correctly, Ruth also said it led to a state park that covered the ridge on this side of the lake and continued down to the other side, where the park entrance was. The trail was narrow, barely enough for one person, and cut straight though a thicket of hardwoods. She moved quickly, breathing hard as she climbed, inhaling the woodsy scent of dirt and decaying leaves and the fresh, almost sweet smell of ferns and skunk cabbage that grew in the wet spots.
Book Lover, The Page 19
