The Bookshop Hotel

by A. K. Klemm

  “Where’s the coffee? Where’s—oh my god, where’s Matthew?” Ivy went from groggy and confused to nearly hysterical.

  “He left last night.”

  “Is he coming back?” Ivy’s eyes were wide. AJ just shrugged.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know? What happened?” Ivy took AJ by the shoulders.

  “He came to my room, said he needed a break or vacation or something. I was kind of sleepy. I assumed he meant, like, for the weekend or something. I just told him to go.”

  “Oh, AJ.” Ivy let go. “This is bad. This is really bad.”

  “Why? He’s just going somewhere. He’ll be back.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I guess I don’t.”

  “Oh, AJ. How could you let him?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Barricade the man in his room in the middle of the night?”

  “No, just take that damn ring off your finger and open your eyes!”

  “Excuse me?”

  In all her dramatic flurry, Ivy flung her arms up in the air. “He’s in love with you, you idiot!”

  “Oh.”

  When a few days had gone by with no word from Matthew and no lattes or cappuccinos in the café, AJ began to buy into Ivy’s hysteria. What if he didn’t come back? What had she done? What had she missed?

  “I can’t believe he just left! After all that research and planning the gala and he didn’t even let me know—not once—that he wouldn’t be here next June. And the Christmas party is coming. He didn’t tell me he’d be gone for that. Ivy, what if he never comes back?”

  “Then I’d say you blew it, sister.”

  AJ looked around the shop. This old hotel, this place, this was something stationary she could grab onto in times of trouble, a physical reminder of her foundation. It seemed everyone and everything else in life had a way of leaving, but this place stood firm. Even Matthew—reliable, sturdy, strong Matthew—had left. She couldn’t fault him for that. She could only blame herself for taking him for granted, expecting too much and offering too little, for doing to him what Kevin had always done to her.

  “AJ, snap out of it. You’ve still got me.”

  “You’re a gypsy. You’ve got one foot out the door every day.”

  “Not anymore. I’m a Lilyhollowan now.”

  “Sounds like something out of a Jonathan Swift adventure.” AJ smiled weakly.

  “Reading gives us someplace to go

  when we have to stay where we are.”

  — Mason Cooley

  AJ

  A few days into Matthew’s absence, AJ curled up with Geraldine Brooks’s March. The winter months were for the likes of Charles Dickens, Tolstoy, and Louisa May Alcott. AJ couldn’t remember a Christmas when Alcott hadn’t been on the reading menu in some capacity. Little Women, Jo’s Boys, Little Men, The Inheritance.

  Half a dozen Christmases in a row, she’d re-read A Whisper in the Dark and followed up with Little Women again So it wasn’t too much of a stretch to sit down with a hot mug, the snow a half step away from falling, and devour March after Ivy had shut down the shop below.

  AJ didn’t realize it yet, but the place seemed empty without Matthew, and she was just looking for a familiar man in her life to spend a cozy night by the fire with. A hundred pages in, AJ stopped reading and leaned back in her chair. This wasn’t her familiar man, this was someone else’s.

  Brooks had written an excellent fictionalized biography of Bronson Alcott, which made sense since Louisa May Alcott had based the March family in Little Women on her own family. But seeing behind the veil of Alcott’s imagination, AJ’s own ideas of the characters of Marmee and Mr. March were shattered.

  She had wanted to sit by the fire and enjoy the company of characters she thought she knew, people who had been pillars of strength in her own childhood. She hadn’t wanted to have people she thought she knew twisted into something else. AJ longed for the magical image she’d had of them before reading this adaptation, but now, she couldn’t think of them outside the tainted stain of Brooks’ version of their lives.

  Why hadn’t Brooks named her characters something else so not to spoil the saintly stature of Marmee and the sweet strength of Mr. March?

  AJ imagined this would be how people would feel if they ever knew what Kevin was really like, how he was just a man, and oftentimes a very sad man. That was why she rarely spoke of him, rarely spoke of their wedding and how she stood at the altar trying to find the boy she once knew in his eyes as she said, “I do.” She was afraid she’d slip up and spoil the dream that Lily Hollow had imagined they’d lived.

  Matthew was the only safe one to talk to, but talking to him about Kevin seemed too wrong. She loved that Matthew hadn’t know her with Kevin, and bringing Kevin up in conversation just reminded her that she was supposed to still feel sad.

  She liked that there was no expectation with Matthew, no expectation for her to behave like Mrs. Kevin Rhys. Matthew didn’t stare just past her at the void that was Kevin’s ghost. All that Lily Hollow knew of AJ was that she was an illegitimate child and that Kevin wasn’t far behind. When Matthew saw AJ coming, he just saw AJ.

  She was done feeling guilty about forgetting to feel sad. The truth was, she wasn’t really that sad anymore. She’d moved on. She loved this hotel. She loved that Granddaddy Jack had thought to give it to her. She loved what she’d done with the place. She loved her new life, her new self, and her new friends.

  AJ missed her new friend desperately. She missed his smile, his laugh, his jokes, and his desire to read anything she had read. She missed his passion for the bookstore, his ability to make the most delicious latte this side of the universe, and his gorgeous eyes. She missed his half-opened shirt and late-night chats. She missed him. He was a dear friend, and dear friends—she had discovered—were hard to come by.

  AJ looked down at her lap. Her left hand lay over her half-finished book. Her wedding ring glared at her.

  She slipped it off her finger and glared back. “You,” she thought. “You’re done.” The small band lay in her palm, a symbol of the life she was ready to leave behind. “Goodbye, Kevin,” she said aloud and stood up. She walked to her nightstand, opened the top drawer, and unceremoniously threw it in among the ink pens, safety pins, and small packages of tissues.

  She picked up her phone and hesitated. Her texting with Matthew had previously only been about supply runs and to-do lists. But now, they weren’t just partners running a business anymore—they were friends.

  “When are you coming home?” she sent.

  “Soon,” he replied immediately.

  Part Three

  “I never saw a prettier house in all my life, Will. It looks like a slice of Heaven.”

  — the first Mrs. Wilbur Bartholomew James

  The Bookshop Hotel took a deep breath. Like an old woman after a day at the spa, it felt refreshed. Clean rooms, freshly painted walls, the pitter patter of human feet in the corridors and stairwells. The elevator was greased, primed, and in working order, and the sunlight came in through brand-new window panes. For so long, the building had longed for heavy hearts to grow light and for weary souls to find laughter.

  The first Wilbur had been a jolly man, excited about building something from scratch with his own hands. The very wood contained his blood, sweat, and laughter. Will enjoyed every moment, every nail, every splinter, every headache. Indoor plumbing had been added when Wilbur Bartholomew James Jr., or Bartie, took over the place. He’d been a solemn son, not jovial at all. The building had longed for its creator, but it took the new generation with stride.

  Just as so much had changed for the James Estate over the years, Aspen Court had gone through transformations as well. Hedges had come and gone, new trees sprouted up, and old trees became diseased or were chopped down for firewood. The James children had grown up with a playhouse on the green of the unpaved cul-de-sac in the days when the family still owned horses and a carriage
despite the existence of the motorcar.

  The old building began to notice the loss of its neighbors. Servants’ cottages had been torn down or turned into sheds. The Clements House on the left had served for extra rooms and dining areas during the hotel years but caught fire during a party and was completely destroyed. The Simmons House on the right hadn’t survived the depression. Now, all that remained of the space they once held were young trees and an overgrown meadow.

  Now, 32 Aspen Court didn’t feel the pang of loneliness so harshly. It was inhabited and surround by people every day. The whole cul-de-sac felt less lonely, and the building less lonely in it. There was no longer a sag to the rafters and support beams. The chimneys stood tall and proud, no longer hidden by the trees around them.

  There were still some aches and pains here and there—a mouse hole yet to be discovered, a leak in the pipes that would later be a source of some minor grief, but nothing that couldn’t be dealt with in time.

  “It’s easy to mope around like a slug. Happiness takes work!”

  — Gemma Lacey, Abigail’s mother

  Abigail

  Abigail stood in the shop’s lobby. AJ had placed a huge tree that managed to reach all the way up into the second floor balcony level. She had to go shop the history section just to see the angel perched on top. The tree was covered in glass icicles, miniature brass bells, white lights, and, of course, antique books bound and hung with red ribbons. It was quite a sight.

  The whole shop was quite a sight, actually. Ivy stood at the door, greeting each of the Bibliophiles of Britain, a name given to Nancy’s book club for their Christmas celebration only. “Welcome to Harrigan Hall, ladies and gents.” Abigail saw Nancy blush with the pleasure of having the shop named after her for a night.

  Of course, Matthew was still nowhere to be found. Abigail kept her eye on AJ, who was wearing long skirts, a tailored jacket, and a plumed hat like the other members. It was an evening of Brits in the Victorian age, surrounded by the musty smell of books, aged candles, coffee, and cider.

  Abigail tisked under her breath. He should come back for this. She really liked that boy, and it was no longer because he wasn’t Kevin Rhys. She’d found she had quite forgiven Kevin, a silly nonsense to be mad at the boy to begin with. It was the town that put pressure on him. The town had wanted him to be their Savior, and—Abigail tisked under her breath at herself—they had had no business doing that. So what if he left home? So what if he didn’t live up to his potential? Who doesn’t go away at some point? Who does everything they could in this life?

  Abigail admired the room and all the people in costume eating her lemon scones. She sipped British-style tea and thought that everyone seemed sort of happy. Even AJ, who looked a little naked without Matthew at her side, had an air of peace about her.

  Nancy ushered the group to the café, it was too crisp and cold outside to linger in the gardens longer than a few minutes at a time. The group was chatty and referred to each other as Lady Sue and Duchess Chloe, and even the husbands had come along wearing top hats and chuckled as they smoked pipes and called each other sir. They pulled out copies of their books and chattered about British literature, the finer merits of each title they had read or were familiar with, and sipped hot drinks.

  “This is my favorite time of the year,” Abigail said to no one in particular.

  “This is my favorite time of the month,” Lady Harrigan said.

  Ivy laughed out loud, smiled at both women, and said, “Eh, it’s alright. You know, Nancy, if you ever want to join the other book club…”

  “Maybe, Ivy. Just maybe.”

  Both ladies thought it was lovely to be a part of clubs that actually read the book. Abigail just thought it was lovely that they were getting along so nicely.

  “Bless me Father, for I have sinned just looking at that boy!”

  — Theresa Vann, seventy-year member of St. Jude’s

  Catholic Church in Lily Hollow during confession after

  the first time she saw Matthew

  Matthew

  When Matthew had planned to go home to his parents, he expected the worst. He took pains to ensure his flight would arrive when his dad would be home, so as to not put his mother in an uncomfortable position. He spent fifteen minutes just sitting in the taxi staring at the house where he grew up. It had been a few years. Everything looked the same but strange to him at the same time.

  The Saint Augustine grass that was cut evenly across the yard looked rough after being away from Texas for so long. His mother’s azaleas were oddly green as they filled the garden in the center of the yard near the Rose of Sharon that shouldn’t have been heavy with blooms this time of year. He forgot how warm it could be in Texas, even in mid-December, and he pulled at the collar of the sweater he was wearing.

  “You getting out or what?” the driver asked.

  Matthew paid him and stepped out. His duffel bag was his only luggage, and he threw it over his shoulder.

  Up the sidewalk and at the front door, he could hear Humphrey barking inside. Humphrey was an old beagle mix they’d had since he was a kid, and until Matthew heard his howling, he didn’t realize he’d expected the dog to have died in the years that had passed.

  “Someone’s at the door!” he heard his mother call and the deadbolt turn.

  The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Mr. and Mrs. Atkins stood together in the foyer, Humphrey slowly loping his way toward their feet from the living room.

  “Oh, Matthew!” Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes.

  “Mom, Dad,” he said. They all stared at each other for a minute, then everyone broke out talking all at once. His dad gave him a huge hug, the dog rubbed himself against his pant leg, and his mother stood happily sobbing.

  Matthew was overwhelmed at the show of emotion after spending so much time in the Hotel with AJ, where so much was always left unsaid.

  At dinner, they caught up on what his life had become. His parents didn’t have much news—a cousin had married, there were a lot of new babies at church, and so on. They were pretty much as he had left them. But Matthew had so much to share.

  He showed them pictures of the shop. His father was amazed that Matthew had such a pivotal role in the renovation. He told them he had just registered for online classes for the spring semester and planned to go ahead and finish his degree now that he knew what he was going to be using it for.

  “I plan to do this forever, Dad.”

  “Renovation?”

  “No, The Bookshop Hotel. It’s home to me now. It’s what I want my life to be.”

  He glossed over AJ. There was nothing to tell them as long as she was hung up on Kevin. The fact that they were being supportive about the hotel was a start.

  After a few days, he kissed them goodbye. They promised to come see him soon. At the end of the visit, heading toward the taxi parked at the curb, he felt ready to start on his real mission.

  The phone rang so many times, he thought she’d never answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Sidney.”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “It’s Matthew. Where are you?”

  Sidney rolled out of bed to the knocking at the door. It was late in the day, and housekeeping had already come by twice. “You can just skip me today already!” Sidney shouted at the unopened door.

  “Sidney, it’s me, Matthew,” said the voice on the other side.

  Ugh. What did he want? She’d told him where she was on the phone, but she’d done it so AJ would know, not so he’d come looking for her.

  “What?” she asked, more as an announcement of her irritation with his presence than as a question. “What?” she repeated as she opened the door.

  “Get dressed. Pack. Come back to Lily Hollow with me.”

  “So eloquent.”

  “So classy.” He nodded at her disheveled pajamas and messy hair, but he was clearly referring to her attitude. He didn’t like her, but she liked that he didn’t put up with
her bad behavior either.

  “You must like her a lot if you came all the way to get me when she asked.” Sidney changed clothes right there in front of him, but when she took a peek through the thin material of her shirt over her head, she saw that he had turned his back, making a show of inspecting the hallway.

  “She didn’t ask. She doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Mmmm. So why should I come with you?”

  “Because I told you to.”

  “Do all Texan men boss their girlfriend’s mothers around like cattle?”

  “AJ’s not my girlfriend.” He turned and faced her, saw she was decent, and marched into the room to grab her suitcase.

  Matthew waited behind AJ’s Mom in the hotel lobby, an average sort of place right outside of Raleigh. He didn’t know what had brought her here other than her desire to be elsewhere and frankly he didn’t really care. He didn’t suppose AJ much cared where her mother was either, just where she wasn’t.

  It was cold, and he wore the one nice thing he’d kept from his old life, a leather jacket that kept Sidney from referring to him as cowboy for the time being.

  “Ok, all done,” she said and headed to the door, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

  Matthew wondered if, in another time or another life, AJ would have had more of this woman’s self-centered attributes. In the same thought, he daydreamed what AJ’s response would be when she saw that he came back with the person he knew she wanted to see most.

  Knowing AJ, she’d give her slightly blank stare of surprise, mentally adjust to the situation as she processed it all, and continue with whatever it was she was doing. A day or two after, she might think to say thank you. Asking for more would be to ask her to change who she was.