The Bookshop of Yesterdays

by Amy Meyerson

  Evelyn always feigned ignorance to her effect on people. When she met your eye, you felt as though she really saw you. And she remembered everyone. Greeted them by name and asked them questions about their families, their pets, their jobs, questions that may have seemed generic or insincere coming from someone else. In return, they wanted nothing more than to please her. Lee wasn’t immune to it, either. Every time she walked into the bookstore, a softness spread through his chest. A flurry like a crush.

  Evelyn started with The Master and Margarita. She handed her dog-eared copy to the owner of the leftist bookshop as though she was handing him part of herself.

  I think you’ll like this. She smiled, turning Bulgakov into a secret between them. And what self-proclaimed communist wouldn’t benefit from reading Bulgakov’s critique of Stalinist Russia, its allegory of good and evil? Then she gave the owner her copy of Graham Greene’s The Quiet American, then Atlas Shrugged, The Grapes of Wrath, Orlando, The Bluest Eye, until he gave her a corner of the store and told her to stock it as she saw fit.

  Readings are a good idea. She twisted her emerald earring, batting her eyes at him as though the idea had been his, and it wasn’t long before she had a reading series, wasn’t long before the activists were also readers of literature.

  “And that was Evelyn. She was a healer. She was generous. And she was unfathomably generous with me.”

  Lee didn’t remember how it started. They spent hours in the store arguing about books they’d recently read, Midnight’s Children and The World According to Garp. They always loved the same books for different reasons. Lee praised Jenny Fields and her individualism while Evelyn condemned Irving’s patriarchal, so-called feminism. They had heated arguments about whether Mr. Rochester was a sociopath, Lee insisting that he’d been forced into an impossible marriage and Evelyn outraged that Lee would defend a man who locked his wife in the attic. Lee didn’t believe half of what he said, but he liked how Evelyn’s face grew red when she was exasperated. On one work, however, they always agreed. The Tempest was the perfect play. Prospero the perfect protagonist.

  “I said something like, if we owned a bookstore we should name it after Prospero, and then that became a joke. If we owned a bookstore, we’d have an entire section devoted to literary criticism, with not one book of politics. If we owned a bookstore we’d have Romeo and Juliet appreciation day. We’d have a party in honor of literature’s great lovers, and finally Evelyn said, ‘Well, why don’t we? Why don’t we have our own bookstore?’”

  For most people the answer would have been obvious—capital. Evelyn had a trust, modest by trust standards, but a trust nonetheless.

  Well, why don’t we? Evelyn said with that glint in her eye, and how could Lee possibly refuse her?

  She deferred to him on almost everything. He’d been in books longer than she had. He understood which storefronts were too big, which were too small, how far down Sunset Boulevard the growing gentry of Silver Lake would be willing to venture. On one thing she was adamant. The walls had to be bright, almost blindingly green. She also insisted on the divisions between literary, historical and artist biographies, essays from memoirs. A table for first-time authors by the register.

  “I wish she’d had more time there,” he said. “We weren’t open a year when it happened.” Lee disappeared inside himself, appearing tortured by something he found there, something he could never forget. I’d thought Billy was using Jess to describe his own loss, but it was Lee’s suffering, his connection to Terabithia, that Billy wanted me to understand.

  “You found her?” I guessed.

  “I’ve never told anyone what happened that day.” Lee crossed and uncrossed his legs. “Paul was with me, and Billy never wanted to talk about it. It wasn’t something I could ever tell anyone else. When Vince called this morning and said you were looking for me, I knew I was going to tell you. I knew I wanted to.”

  “It means a lot to me. I know it must be difficult. It means a lot that you’d return to all of that.”

  “I never left it,” he said. “Looking back, it was reckless. Evelyn was over eight months pregnant. They never should have been there.” Evelyn had insisted. They’d been up to the cabin the last three New Year’s Eves, since they’d bought the place, and Evelyn wanted it to be their tradition. She’d never had traditions growing up.

  I waited for him to tell me it wasn’t true. I wasn’t the baby. Some small part of me still hoped I could restore my family unit as it had always been.

  “It was the last trip they’d be able to make before the baby—before you—arrived,” Lee said. He didn’t try to deny my origins. I didn’t try to make him. “And once you were here, they needed to do a lot to the house before it was safe.”

  Lee studied me, trying to gauge my reaction. I remained perfectly still, seemingly calm, even though my body thudded with every heartbeat and I was worried I might start seeing double again. But I could breathe, so I breathed, in and out, steady, serene. I nodded to him to continue, that I could handle the details that would come next. And I could handle them. I needed to. This was the moment Billy had guided me to. The truth of my birth. The night of my mother’s death.

  “For starters,” Lee continued, “the house needed a new roof.” The roof leaked and was caving in. The vents were corroded and needed replacing. It’s like the opening credits for a horror film, Paul had said the first time they saw the cabin, a comment he would regret for years to come. But the house’s shabbiness was its charm. Pale blue paint chipping off the wood, a post missing from the porch railing. No television. No stereo system. Only a telephone, installed at Lee’s insistence when he’d been unable to reach Evelyn after there had been a mix-up at the bank, and he couldn’t proceed without her signature.

  “Evelyn had been after Billy for months to fix the roof. Billy was pretty handy and he saw that house as his Sistine Chapel.”

  Billy had promised to repair the roof in the summer. Then he’d been busy at the lab. By the time things slowed down, the snow had arrived, and they would have to wait until the following summer to replace the roof.

  Look at it, Evelyn said, pointing to the part where it curved downward. A pile of snow and it could snap.

  If anything it will slowly leak. It’s not going to buckle all at once, Billy reasoned.

  And what about that? she said, pointing to a vent on the roof. What if there’s lead? Or if a squirrel crawls into the house?

  Then it will bite us and we’ll go rabid. Billy nibbled her neck. She giggled, allowing herself to embody the moment, the happy couple about to be parents, her fears merely a new mother’s nerves, evidence that she was ready for the baby and all that came with it.

  Think about it in terms of probability, Billy told her. Statistically, the likelihood of a roof caving in is less probable than getting in a car crash or getting mauled by a bear. Heck, it’s less probable than getting mauled by a bear in a place called Big Bear. And Evelyn loved how he reasoned, how he removed the emotion and relied on logic. But that’s the thing about probability, however unlikely. There’s always a chance.

  Lee and Paul were planning on coming up the afternoon of the twenty-ninth, after Lee closed Prospero Books for the holiday. A few customers had lingered and one of the employees had had trouble with the credit card processing machine. By the time Lee got through to the credit card company, the snow falling on Big Bear had thickened.

  You’d better wait until morning, Evelyn said when Lee called to tell her they were finally getting on the road. It’s a whiteout here.

  Paul wanted to be on the first ski lift up the mountain, so the next morning he dragged a bleary-eyed Lee out of their apartment and into the car. They were already on the 210 when the sun’s rays pierced the San Gabriel Mountains.

  “For weeks after, I tried to imagine what we could have done differently,” Lee said, “If we’d gotten there earlier that morning. If I’d
insisted we have a party at Prospero Books instead of the cabin. But if we’d gotten there the night before—then we’d all be dead.”

  Lee stared at the ski mountain as Paul steered the car along the road that hugged the lake. At seven, the mountain was still closed. The ski trails were blank canvases, the trees separating them covered in milky white. Small dots of dark green foliage pierced through the snow, like specks of paint splattered across the hillside.

  They turned off North Shore Road, into Fawnskin where the houses were small and old. Lee couldn’t remember the address, so they tried the first street, looking for the wind chimes that hung on the porch. Lee had bought them for Evelyn as a housewarming gift.

  You didn’t think it might help to bring the address, Paul said. He was already wearing his snow pants. They made a swishing sound as his foot pressed and released the clutch.

  It’s part of the adventure.

  Ski mountain sounds more adventurous to me.

  They turned onto the next block. Lee knew it wasn’t particularly efficient to drive around until they stumbled upon the house. Still, he liked searching for Evelyn’s house and eventually finding it. It felt charmingly small town.

  No chimes on the second street, so Paul turned at the end onto the next block.

  This is completely ridiculous, Paul said.

  Lee rested his hand on the back of Paul’s neck. The mountain isn’t even open yet. Just humor me.

  Paul continued to weave in and out of the neighborhood, not finding humor in any of it.

  Wait. Here. Lee pointed to a house three doors down from where Paul slid to a stop. The snow buried the broken banister and hid the old shingled roof, but Lee spotted them just as they passed. Patinaed copper and mahogany. The wind chimes.

  Paul parked, and they followed the path toward the house. It hadn’t been shoveled, and their calves disappeared into the snow. Lee laughed as he almost fell, kicking a bit of snow at Paul, who pretended to be annoyed. They knocked on the door. When no one answered, they knocked again. The house didn’t have a doorbell. Lee figured Billy and Evelyn were probably in the kitchen preparing breakfast and couldn’t hear the door. He carefully cracked the door open.

  Evelyn? When no one answered, he stepped in. Paul followed. Garlic and burned toast lingered in the air. The floorboards creaked under their weight. Lee found the light switch next to the door.

  “First thing I saw were Billy’s socked feet dangling off the couch.”

  Billy’s legs were crossed at the ankles, and when Lee saw them hanging like that, he knew something was wrong.

  Bill? Lee shook Billy. He was lying facedown on the couch, seemingly asleep. Billy. He continued to shake him. Evelyn? Ev?

  Paul rushed over and pushed Lee aside.

  Billy, he said, grabbing Billy’s shoulders. Is he drunk? Paul leaned in to smell his breath and shook his head. He’s breathing.

  What’s wrong with him?

  I don’t know. Paul shook Billy, breathed into his mouth, shook him some more. Lee ran upstairs.

  Evelyn, he called.

  Evelyn, he screamed.

  The bedroom door was shut. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open.

  Evelyn was in bed, sleeping. Two pillows rested behind her head. Her long blond hair fell around her shoulders. She looked peaceful, beautiful. Too peaceful. Too beautiful. Lee shook her shoulders, softly at first, then violently. Evelyn’s eyes remained closed. Lee felt woozy like his head had been hit with a hammer.

  Paul, he shouted. Come quick.

  Paul ran into the room.

  She won’t wake up, either.

  Paul checked her pulse.

  Let’s get her out of here. Paul lifted Evelyn off the bed. Her head and feet dangled in his arms, her stomach an enormous beach ball between his hands. Go call 9-1-1. Now.

  Lee sprinted into the kitchen, found the rotary phone on the wall.

  This is taking too long, Lee called to Paul as he waited for the operator. He could hear Paul careening down the stairs, one foot at a time, his steps heavy with the weight of Evelyn’s pregnant body. Hello?...There’s something wrong. They won’t wake up...What?...I don’t know...Yes, they’re breathing...No, I don’t know what’s happened...The address? I don’t know. We just got here...I don’t know the address. Paul rushed into the kitchen and searched a drawer. He handed Lee a piece of mail and Lee read the address to the operator. He hung up. They’re on their way.

  In the living room, Paul had seated Evelyn next to Billy on the couch. Billy was contorted at an awkward angle. It seemed painful. If it was, Billy couldn’t feel it. Evelyn was seated upright. Her head had fallen back like she was drugged. Lee’s head was pounding now. He massaged his temples. The throbbing didn’t go away.

  We should get them out of the house, Paul said.

  Lee found their jackets in the closet. He leaned against the doorframe, dizzier, out of breath. He willed himself to focus. He threw their coats to Paul. Focus.

  Lee sprinted outside. The air stung his lungs and cheeks. He thought he might fall he was so dizzy. He fumbled with the keys as he tried to unlock the door. Focus. Why had Paul even locked the car, anyway? Lee got into the car and turned over the ignition. He cranked the heat on full blast and rushed back to the house to help Paul.

  Move, Paul shouted as he wobbled with Evelyn in his arms. Jesus, Lee, get out of the way. The door. Get the car door.

  Lee rushed back to the car and opened the door, helping Paul put Evelyn inside.

  I’m sorry, Paul said once Evelyn was safely in the car. He stroked the side of Lee’s face.

  Never mind. Let’s go get Bill.

  Lee followed Paul to the front steps. Wait here, Paul instructed. I don’t want you going back inside the house.

  What’s wrong with the house?

  I don’t know. Paul covered his mouth with his sleeve as he swooped back in, but there was nothing to protect himself from. Burned toast and garlic. That was it. No odorous gas. Nothing obviously poisonous.

  When the ambulance arrived, the EMTs asked a few questions that Lee didn’t remember answering. They strapped Evelyn and Billy to gurneys and intubated them.

  Do you know what’s wrong with them? Lee asked the EMT who was checking his vitals.

  They’ll do tests at the hospital. The doctors will be able to tell you what’s happened.

  Lee felt nauseous and didn’t refuse when an EMT placed a mask over his face. He remembered the EMT’s hands were cold and surprisingly brittle. Paul insisted he was fine, then threw up all over the white snow.

  At the hospital, Lee and Paul were rushed in one direction, Billy and Evelyn in the other. Lee and Paul sat in a sterile room, confined to plastic chairs by oxygen tanks. The mask was claustrophobic. All Lee could hear was the inhalation and exhalation of his steadying breath. He looked over at Paul, who blinked at him with watery eyes. He reached over to take Paul’s hand, and they sat like that, hand in hand, staring at each other until the doctors returned.

  Lee learned the term carboxyhaemoglobin from the doctors. Their faces were grave when they said that Evelyn’s and Billy’s carboxyhaemoglobin levels were astronomical. Lee didn’t know what that meant but he understood that it was bad. And then they used a term he did understand.

  Carbon monoxide.

  “They didn’t have a detector?” I asked Lee.

  “I don’t think they were even on the market yet.”

  “So how did it happen, the carbon monoxide?”

  “I never got an exact story. It had something to do with a clogged vent on the roof from all the snow.”

  “You never got an exact story?”

  “At the hospital, the doctors told us that Evelyn was in surgery. Billy was stabilizing. We weren’t family, so they didn’t tell us anything else. The police asked us some questions, then the doctors told us to g
o home and get some sleep. We checked into a motel nearby. In the morning your parents were there.”

  Lee spotted Suzy and her husband—“David,” I told him. Lee had only met him that one time in the hospital and couldn’t remember his name—in the waiting room. Suzy was leaning against David’s shoulder, crying.

  Is that Bill’s sister? Paul asked Lee. Don’t you want to sit with her? When Lee hesitated, Paul said, Go sit with her.

  Lee wasn’t sure Suzy would recognize him. Whenever she came into the bookstore, she said hello as though she was trying to remember who he was, even though he was one of three employees at Prospero Books and had been friends with Evelyn for years. When he sat beside her, Suzy immediately said, Lee, and hugged him.

  “That’s how I knew. If it had been Billy, she wouldn’t have hugged me. That’s how I knew it was Evelyn.”