Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  Bookends—packed. Anyone who said small bookstores were extinct had never visited Fairbury and its thriving establishment of literary offerings. Parents of bookworms tried to stem the tide of dollars dancing gaily from their account to the register at the front of the store. Parents of reluctant readers promised to sell a kidney if their offspring would only choose a book or twenty. When that didn’t work, video games added to the bribes with better success.

  Calendars—already at half off. He’d forgotten to buy one every time he’d been at the store in the past two months. Selby mocked his “unnecessary” habit of hanging one on the fridge when he had a perfectly good one on his phone, but a lifetime of checking the fridge for the date did not disappear even after almost ten years back in the States. He snagged one of the safari animals and grumbled at the loss of the ease of just buying one from work.

  Next year, they’d better go back to paper calendars. Otherwise, I’ll just suffer for the first couple weeks of January and get one at half off.

  The crowd thinned at the register, leaving Heath a perfect opening. The owner, he assumed, reached for the calendar. “Whew. I hoped marking them down a bit sooner than usual would move more. Seems to be working. I might break even at this rate.”

  His plan for saving money fizzled at that news. “I usually buy one at work, but this year they went digital. Then I kept forgetting until I saw that display.”

  “Do you know how many people have told me something similar? I’m considering doing a “Surprise Calendar” next year. You tell me what size and features you like, and I mail one out when they come in.”

  “Sign me up.”

  The guy laughed.

  Heath leaned one forearm on the counter and shook his head. “It wasn’t a joke. As long as you don’t send me something that’ll call my masculinity into question—I do that enough on my own, thank-you-very-much—then we’re set. Can I pay for that now?”

  A little girl—she couldn’t have been ten—bounced up to the counter clutching a book of poetry. The Best-Loved Poems of the American People. She caught Heath trying to read it and beamed as she addressed the guy behind the counter. “Hi, Todd! I found out it was my grandpa’s favorite poetry book, so I want it, too. It has ‘Annie and Willie’s Prayer’ and ‘Casey at the Bat!’”

  The second sounded familiar, but he didn’t know the first one. “I’ll have to look up Annie and Willie later. Go ahead. Mine will take a bit of time anyway.”

  “Really? Thanks! Mom says if I hurry, we can get cocoa at The Grind before we go to Great Aunt Doris’s house.”

  Judging by the way the girl’s nose wrinkled at ‘Great Aunt Doris’s name, Heath surmised the woman was not a favorite person to visit. “Can I give you a hint?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ask Great Aunt Doris to look at the index and find one of her favorite poems. Older folks just like to know that people still care about what they think. When they don’t, sometimes they seem grumpy, but they’re really just hurt.”

  Without relinquishing the book, the girl passed a twenty across the counter and peeled off the sticker on the back—an obviously seasoned buyer. Todd counted change, passed over a bag that Heath suspected would never be used, and laid a receipt on top. “Let me know which one was your favorite, Dee.”

  “I will. And get the new Valimar series, okay? I want those next.”

  “Valimar it is.” The moment the girl stepped away, Todd pulled out a notebook marked “Special Orders” and passed it to Heath. “Just put your email and phone number in there. I’ll get it set up and invoice you when it’s time to send out. And thanks for Dee. She really hates visiting Aunt Doris. The old gal is a bit crusty, but you nailed it. And Dee’s a lot more like her than she knows.”

  He was related to Dee. And if that was the case… “Named for her?”

  Todd nodded as he rang up the calendar. “Yep. Second cousin—or cousin removed a time or two. I can’t keep that stuff straight. Total is—”

  “I actually wanted to ask a favor.” Heath glanced around, and once satisfied that no one, especially Jordan, could overhear, explained his mission. “I know Jordan Aylward has a book on order here. I wanted to pay for it and maybe add a note to it for when she comes in?”

  “Sure! Your name?”

  His beard would only hide some of the redness creeping up his neck and heating his face. “Um, that’s the thing. I don’t want her to know it’s me. Not yet. It’s sort of a thing.” At the skeptical look that formed on Todd’s face, Heath threw out his only “reference.” “Her mom’s my boss. You could call Ann and get her okay if it made you feel better.”

  But even before he got out Ann’s name, Todd’s expression cleared. “You’re not asking for personal information. It’s fine. I get so paranoid about identity theft over Christmas that I forget not everyone is out to ruin the lives of my customers. Got paper?”

  Heath pulled out the small notebook he’d brought and reached for a pen in the cup before him. A smile formed at the words on the mug. Carpe librum—seize the book! “Great mug.”

  “We have them in the gift corner. My favorite is the one with the fox that says, ‘Not today. I’m booked.’”

  With the paper before him, the pen in hand, and Todd watching while pretending to wrap up the calendar, all the note ideas he’d rehearsed sounded lame. Heath wrote Jordan’s name first… and then took much too long to put the comma after it. “What’s the book she’s buying again?”

  “You mean you’re buying?”

  “Right. The one she ordered.”

  Todd gave him an odd look before answering. “Black Beauty. She said it was one her mom bought her the year her dad died, so she never read it. Now she can’t find it, so…”

  Jordan had lost her father as a girl. He’d always assumed a divorce. In fact, he thought he’d heard Ann refer to her “ex” a few times. “Got it. Thanks.”

  The note flowed. Easy to do when your paper is small, and you don’t want to use more than one sheet. All written, he folded it in half and tucked it into the book. That’s when curiosity overrode sense. “What’s the Guernsey audiobook?”

  Todd passed it across. “It’s a huge thing again after the movie came out. We sold a bunch when the book first released, and now we’re getting more requests.”

  “Should I read the book or listen to the audio.”

  “If you like audio, go with that. They have different narrators for each person writing the letters—it’s epistolary. And it’s hilarious in places.” He dropped his voice and glanced around as if about to share state secrets. “I’d lose my reputation as a spec fic guy, but I finally listened when people couldn’t stop talking about it. It was great.”

  Heath pulled out his wallet and retrieved the three twenties he’d brought—cash didn’t give a name. “I’ve got an audiobook subscription, but if you have it in stock…”

  “Well, Jordan’s first on the list and then—”

  “No,” he broke in. “I want to buy it. My sister will like it, too.”

  Todd shook his head. “Sorry. I just got the one. People tend to rent them from me and then order the ones they want to keep—it’s cheaper than a subscription.”

  “Good to know. Okay, so I need to pay for Jordan’s stuff separately so she can have the receipt. Can we do that?”

  Todd pulled out tape, wrapped a small piece around the middle of the note and slipped it into the front cover. A moment later, he had the receipt added, and all of it in a bag—book rental included. “Hers is nineteen fifty-three.”

  By the time his own package was paid for, Heath came to a decision. “Hey, do me a favor.”

  “Sure…”

  “Order another copy of that audio. I’ll come in sometime next week?”

  “Make it after next Friday, and you’re good. The audios sometimes take more than a day or two.”

  Perfect. Maybe I’ll see her again.

  “Your name?”

  Heath grinned. “That’s the clinch
er. You have to either let me pay for it now without a name or you have to let me pay for it when I pick it up—without a name.”

  “No name?” Just as Heath thought Todd would refuse, the guy grinned. “I like the sound of this. Can’t wait for Jordan to come in now. I’ve got it. Just stop in any time after two on Friday or call after two on Wednesday if you want it sooner. It’ll probably be here.”

  “Thanks.” A last glance up showed Todd eying him closely. “And if you’d be kind enough not to give Jordan too much information about me, that’d be great. It’s no fun if she guesses too soon.”

  “So, she knows you, right? I mean, you know her name…”

  Heath shrugged and tucked the calendar under one arm. “Define knows. We’ve spent time together. We have a mutual friend or two.” Todd leaned forward as if waiting for more, but Heath refused. “That’s all you’re getting out of me. Sorry. Have a good one.”

  In the music store, down the side street to a vintage clothing store, and past a library—the town resonated with him in ways he hadn’t expected. It’s nice here. Wonder what the houses are like…

  A drive through residential areas only increased his curiosity. Larger two-storied homes, smaller turn-of-the-century bungalows, and even row houses—he found them all. But when he turned on a street in an area full of flower names like Honeysuckle, Lilac, and Primrose, and saw what he thought was Jordan shoveling snow by a house, he turned around and shot out of there.

  At the turnoff for the highway, he told his phone to message his boss. “Just confessing now. I was exploring Fairbury and think I ended up on Jordan’s street. Was hard to tell. Turned around and drove out before I could be sure. Just thought you would want me to tell you.”

  A reply came in just a couple of minutes later, read to him by his phone’s British accent. “What street?”

  “Reply. Primrose.”

  When no message followed, Heath took it as verification. Need to get approval to use the information. I could do so many cool things if it weren’t creepy. I wish I could ask Selby…

  A reply to her email to Floyd Brighton arrived just before Jordan left for town. Standing at the little butcher block counter, she sipped a cup of hot cider and read it.

  To: jordan.aylward@thelettersbox.com

  From: fandwbrighton@thelettersbox.com

  Subject: Re: Biological search

  Ms. Aylward,

  Thank you for taking the time to contact me. I have little doubt that your employer is the man I’ve been looking for. I would be happy to meet with you anytime you say. A public place is preferred for me as well. You said Fairbury works best for you. Would you prefer The Diner or The Grind?”

  You have my number. Feel free to call and set up a time. I will say that evenings, very early mornings, or weekends are best for me.

  Thank you for taking care of this for us. I look forward to meeting my biological father if that works out.

  Floyd Brighton

  A call to Arnie assured her that finalizing the meet still met with Arnie’s approval. So, with a suggestion of six o’clock the next morning at The Diner zipped to the number she’d copied from the original letter, she grabbed her dry coat, wallet, and keys. Inside ten minutes, she’d finally made it to the counter at Bookends.

  “Hey, Todd. You’re busy!”

  “There’s that winter concert this afternoon. Folks are just shopping first.” He grabbed a small brown shopping bag and slid it across the counter. “There you are.”

  Jordan pulled out her wallet and reached for her debit card. “How much?”

  “All paid for.”

  She frowned. “I don’t get it.” The moment she said it, Jordan did “get it.” Her “secret admirer” was back. “Wait. Did a guy with a beard come in? What’s his name?”

  “He refused to give it, but yeah. He had a beard. Left a note in the book for you.” Todd glanced around before leaning forward. “He also ordered the Guernsey book—on audio. He’s picking it up.”

  A smile formed. “You’ll tell me when he’s supposed to be coming in?”

  “Maybe…”

  That was Todd-speak for, “I can be bribed.”

  With the bag in hand, Jordan tried one more thing. “Did you see him leave? Did he get in a car or walk?”

  “Walked—toward The Diner, if that matters.”

  “How long ago?”

  A man cleared his throat behind her, so Jordan stepped aside. “Sorry… Todd?”

  “Maybe an hour?”

  That’s all it took. She bolted from the building, glanced around the square for anyone wearing a work coat, wearing a hoodie, or had a beard. One work coat and three beards—none of them right. Jordan walked toward The Diner, but no one inside looked like Aya’s “Mr. Cutie.”

  He likes the Grind… Only when she’d gotten inside and ordered her usual did Jordan realize that really, all she knew is that he knew she liked The Grind. Wonder how… At the corner table, where she could watch the whole room, Jordan pulled out the book and the audio disc. The audio looked like any other one—except for its ridiculously long and bizarre title.

  Black Beauty. Blue background, scrollwork, block typeface. It looked like a collector’s edition. She had requested hardback, and now a twinge of guilt struck. Must have been pricey.

  The receipt stuck out from the middle of the book, but the note wasn’t there. It slipped from between the cover and flyleaves before she could turn back—just a small 4x6” piece of lined paper. Nothing too surprising. Still, it didn’t look like the paper scraps with “Bookends” printed on the bottom that Todd handed out when people requested. The paper was too white—too slick. Too thick.

  And taped. If she’d brought her purse, she might have had a pair of nail scissors to slice it with. Instead, she got up to grab a tack off the bulletin board that hung nearby. She used it to pierce the tape. As expected, it tore open without any resistance after that, and after returning the tack, she settled in with coffee and her note. In small, half-cursive, half-print, the note showed more of the personality of the writer than she’d been able to see with marker on a coffee sleeve.

  Jordan,

  Black Beauty. Good choice. Warning. If you’re anything like my sister, you’ll need to keep tissues handy.

  At the age most girls read and fall in love with Black Beauty, I read The Jungle Book and became even more of an animal lover than I already was. If you haven’t read it, I recommend that next. After all, I’m listening to your audio. The least you could do is read my suggestion, right?

  Your sorta secret admirer

  “Sort of secret…”

  It just confirmed that someone knew her. How or from where, she didn’t yet know, and part of her almost hated to find out. The notes were cute, simple, and not creepy like she would have assumed if someone had warned her it was coming. I’ll let it go for now…

  “Letting it go,” however, proved harder than she’d imagined. Despite finding her audiobook completely enchanting, her mind would wander at this word here, that turn of phrase there, and every time the narrator for Juliette said the name “Sidney.”

  She just didn’t know why.

  A text message from her mom said that a struggling zebra foal brought all hands on deck at the zoo.

  Mom: Meet me there?

  The modern miracle known as speech-to-text zipped her reply of, On my way across airwaves to her mother’s phone without the need for her to remove her hands from the wheel. “So glad I bought this car.”

  The car replied. “Should I send, ‘So glad I bought this car,’ to Mom?”

  “Maybe not. No, don’t send.”

  “Sending, ‘So glad I bought this car.’ Message sent.”

  Thanks to her rogue car assistant, the first thing her mother said when she arrived at the equine enclosure and requested admittance was, “Glad you bought your car, but is there any particular reason?”

  “It sent it for me. How’s the foal?”

  “The vet’s with hi
m now. Come over here to the observation window, and you can see. The mare’s caring for him, he seems to be eating, but…”

  Jordan leaned against the cold concrete and peered through the Plexiglas at the foal. “He looks weak. Or is it a she—the brown stripes?”

  “All foals are born with brown. They darken later.”

  A man walked past with arms full of blankets and a phone on speaker. The voice on the other end said, “Did you get the blankets? We need those here now.”

  “Almost there. Sakir is bringing formula.”

  Jordan shot a look at her mother. “The mare’s not producing enough?”

  “Sounds like… or they’re going to test and see.” Mom pulled out her phone and sent a message. A moment later, the phone rang. “Hey… guy. What’ve you got for me?”

  Guy? Since when does she call anyone guy?

  “Oh… good call. Okay, do you need anything from me? Well, thanks for coming in. Just let me know. I’m taking my daughter out, so I’ll be off-site, but I can come back if we need anything. Make sure the vet gets that mama some better supplements. We can’t lose either of them.”

  “Can’t lose.” It was Ann Weik-speak for, “It’ll break my heart of one of them dies.”

  A thumb shot up over the head of one of the men and women working with the foal. Blankets arrived—a bottle. Once the foal attacked that bottle with the kind of gusto one would expect from a semi-starving animal, her mom decided it was time to go. “They’ll be fine. Tilly’s just not producing enough, I guess. They’ll up her feed and get it taken care of. Meanwhile, that’s what bottles are for.”

  At the gate, Jordan tugged her mother toward the public parking lot. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  “But I thought we—”

  “We’ll take my car. Trust me.”

  Only when her mom slid into the seat and held the shopping bag did Jordan realize she’d have to confess to never having read that book. “So… remember when you bought me Black Beauty?”

  “Yeah…”

  “I never read it. Lost it after Dad, and…”

  Mom eyed her before pulling the book from the bag. “So, you bought me a copy to replace the one I gave you?”