The Book Charmer

by Karen Hawkins

  “Did you really ride a cow into your church?” Daisy asked.

  He sent her an impatient look. “No, but apparently my dad did. His name is—was—Robert. That’s who Mrs. Giano thinks I am.”

  “Oh.” Daisy glanced at Mrs. Giano, who was humming as she cleaned the window, before turning back to Trav. “If your name isn’t Robert, then what is it?”

  “Trav. Look, you guys need to go home to your aunt.”

  The little girl’s brows snapped down, the line of her mouth suddenly sharp. He felt sorry for her and whatever struggle she might be having, but he didn’t have the energy or the knowledge to get involved.

  Daisy said shortly, “Aunt Grace is still at work.”

  “Then who is keeping an eye on you?”

  “Ms. Jane is watching us this week. She’s only temporary until Ms. Linda can start on Monday.”

  “Linda Robinson?” At Daisy’s nod, he said, “She’s nice.” He had no idea who Ms. Jane was, but Linda was a professional caretaker and had helped with his father during his last months. “I bet Ms. Jane is looking all over for you.”

  “No. She’s having a fight with her sister, so she’s on the back porch on the phone, arguing.”

  Trav took a step back so he could see out one of the garage windows. Sure enough, an elderly woman he now recognized as Jane Lewis, the organist at the Methodist church, was on the porch, talking on the phone and pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly. “That looks like some fight,” he admitted.

  “Her sister Louisa ate all their leftovers. Jane wanted to bring them here for lunch, but late last night, Louisa snuck into their refrigerator and ate them. Jane’s mad because she didn’t get any, plus Louisa’s supposed to be on a diet.”

  Daisy spoke in the weirdly mature way that children who speak mainly to adults have. And yet, as mature as she sounded, she looked far too young to be standing here in his garage without a capable parent at her side.

  Trav ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got to change and get to work. Can you get Mrs. Giano home?”

  “Nope,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Why not?”

  Daisy sent him an impatient look. “If I tell Mama G we have to go before she’s done, it’ll upset her and she’ll cry. I can’t stand it when she cries.”

  Trav looked over to where Mrs. Giano was scrubbing a once-dingy pane of glass. There were four windows in total. She’d already cleaned two of them, and she was about halfway through one of the remaining two. “Surely she won’t mind leaving one for me to do?” But even as he said it, he knew it was unlikely. If Mrs. Giano’s illness was anything like his dad’s, she was becoming more stubborn as the days went by. That was how Dad had been, as determined as heck to hang on to his opinions when he could no longer hold on to his memories.

  Trav sighed. He didn’t know Mrs. Giano, but he knew he’d hate it if she cried. “I guess we’ll have to wait until she’s done. I have to change, anyway. When I get back, I’ll help you get her home.”

  Daisy shrugged. “Okay.”

  He started to go inside but stopped at the door. “Why are you all cleaning my garage, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. She was doing it when I got here.” Daisy leaned on her broom, looking far too cool for her age. “I jumped in because I figured it’d get her out of here quicker.”

  The kid had a point. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

  She eyed him as if he’d just said the most unoriginal thing in the world. Then she pointed behind him. “There’s another broom by the door. Feel free to join in.”

  He had to quell the urge to remind her that it was his house, so he damn well knew where the brooms were. “I’m late for work, so you’re on your own. Just finish up as soon as you can, okay?”

  “Okay.” Daisy’s gaze wandered back to her grandmother. “She’s not well, you know. She’s sick, which makes her confused.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. “My dad had the same thing.”

  The little girl looked at him, her eyes the bluest of blue and as innocent as a kitten’s. “Where is your dad now?”

  Trav rubbed his neck where his scars pulled. Damn it, this was why he hated talking to people. Because then they needed things—answers, thoughts, help, stuff—and he was in no position to offer any of those. He supposed the only thing he could do was tell her the truth. After a long silence, Trav said shortly, “He died.”

  Daisy nodded as if she’d suspected as much. “Mama G won’t die from this. She’s going to get better.”

  No, she wasn’t, but this wasn’t his war to fight, so Trav just shrugged, wishing it didn’t make him feel guilty. “I’ll be right back. If she gets done before then, feel free to leave. I’ll lock up.”

  Daisy went back to sweeping. “We won’t be too long. She only has one window left now.”

  He mumbled an agreement and went inside. Once he reached his room, he quickly changed into his coveralls and work boots. As soon as he finished, he headed down the hall on his way to the garage but found himself stopping at his dad’s bedroom door.

  Although Dad had been gone for over a year, Trav hadn’t touched the room. He should have, because this was the master bedroom and it had a large private bath, which would be more convenient than staying in his old, smaller room and using the bathroom down the hall. But the thought of going through his dad’s personal things seemed wrong somehow. I don’t have to do anything now. I’ll do it when the time is right.

  Still, he felt guilty, because Dad had been a stickler about neatness. He’d drilled his own habits into Trav’s head, which had made Trav’s move into the army far more effortless than it might have been. Dad had kept his shop the same way he’d kept the house—so clean and organized that the mechanics used to joke about being able to eat off the shiny concrete floor. But all that had changed when Dad had gotten sick.

  After the explosion that had torched him, Trav had been assigned to a burn hospital in Texas. After eight long months, he’d finally been released. He’d arrived home a hollow shell of himself, barely able to stand upright, the puckered skin on his back and shoulder aching as if still on fire, the pain medications leaving him numb and out of touch. But even through all of those distractions, he’d been shocked at the condition of Dad’s house. The dishes were undone, the beds unmade, piles of mail sat forgotten on tables and in chairs. But more astounding were the Post-it notes.

  There were dozens.

  Pink, blue, and yellow, they were all over the house, labeling everything from the food in the fridge, to which buttons on the remote adjusted the sound, to when various medicines were due. Dad had even written notes to remind him to feed Killer. There were Post-its on the bathroom mirror, the refrigerator door, the doorframe near the key hook, and just about everywhere else.

  Some of the Post-its had lost their adhesion and had drifted to the floor and lay abandoned under chairs and tables and in corners, where they’d faded and curled, collecting dust, their duties forgotten along with them. Yet despite the Post-its, Killer’s water bowl was still empty, food still rotted in the fridge, and Dad’s important medicine sat untouched in labeled vials in his bathroom cabinet.

  Other things had changed, too—Dad’s walk had become less certain, just like Mrs. Giano’s. He shuffled slowly, almost as if he were a thousand years old instead of fifty-six.

  But Trav didn’t fully understand the depth of Dad’s illness until they went to the shop one brisk morning. Trav had hoped that things would be better there, that perhaps Dad was just depressed, living at home alone. But things were worse at the shop. The place was devoid of customers, dirty rags and buckets of grimy oil sat in the corners of the once-pristine garage, the office was stacked with unfiled papers and unpaid bills, and the shelves in the parts room were empty. Shop manager Arnie Gonzalez was the only employee left, as the other two mechanics had moved on after Dad had repeatedly forgotten to pay them. According to Arnie, most of Dad’s prized customers were now taking their ca
rs thirty minutes away to a repair shop in Swannanoa.

  It took almost two weeks, but Trav had finally convinced Dad to see his physician, Doc Bolton. Trav would never forget the exact instant Doc said the word dementia. He could still see the deep, genuine sadness in Doc’s worn face, and the stubborn denial in Dad’s. That had been a horrible day, just one of many more horrible days that were yet to come.

  Trav rubbed his face and turned away from Dad’s bedroom, trying to silence the crackling feel of loneliness the room left him with. Just one day at a time, he told himself. Just one fricking day at a time.

  He’d just reached the kitchen when he heard a noise in the living room. Frowning, he made his way there.

  Mrs. Giano stood in front of the shelf beside the TV, a dust rag in her hand, one of Dad’s trophies in the other.

  She looked up as Trav came into the room. “Ah, there you are. I was looking at your trophies. So you’re a bowler.”

  “Those are my dad’s.”

  “Your dad’s?”

  “Robert Parker. He was my dad.” Trav waited, wishing he knew her well enough to know when she was lucid. “He used to live here, remember? You used to babysit him.”

  A startled look came over her face and her gaze moved over him and then down to the trophy she held. “Robert was your father,” she murmured, as if trying to comprehend that fact. After a moment, she looked back at him with a faintly embarrassed smile. “Well, then, I never knew your father was a bowler.”

  Relief swamped him as he realized she’d understood him. “Dad didn’t start bowling until I was in college, but he must have been pretty good, as he was on the premier league.”

  She put the trophy back and looked at the other awards. “Are any of these yours?”

  “No.”

  “Well.” She finished dusting the shelves. “You deserve some trophies, too. You should find a way to get some.”

  Although he was glad she was feeling better, he wished she would leave. He was used to being alone when he was here, and he was just now realizing how much he prized his privacy. He rubbed his neck where the scar pulled, suddenly tired. “Look, Mrs. Giano, I appreciate your help but—”

  Daisy popped her head around the front door. She looked from Mrs. Giano to him and then back. “What’s going on?”

  “I was just telling Mrs. Giano that it’s time she left, as I have to go to work.”

  Daisy came inside and shut the door. She looked around, her glance touching on every item in sight.

  “You should both go home, right?” he said impatiently.

  She dragged her gaze from the pictures of him when he was a kid that Dad had arranged along one shelf and shrugged. “Sure.” She wandered to where Mrs. Giano stood and touched one of the trophies. “Do you bowl?”

  It was obvious he was going to get no help from Daisy, the imp. “No. As much as I’d like you both to stay, I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Then go,” Mrs. Giano said. “We’ll lock up when we leave. I— Oh dear. That mirror is smudged.” She went into the hallway, where a mirror hung on the wall over a low table where Dad used to drop his wallet and keys when he came home.

  “We’ll go as soon as she’s done,” Daisy announced.

  Trav turned to find her sitting on the big leather recliner that dominated the room. “Don’t sit there. That was my dad’s chair.”

  “So?”

  “So get out of it,” he snapped.

  Her eyes ablaze, Daisy locked her gaze with his and deliberately reached down and popped up the footrest.

  “Dam— I mean, stop that!” He went to the chair and lowered the footrest. “Get up.”

  The little girl glared at him, but after a hostile moment, she stood. “You’re sort of a pain.”

  “You don’t even know.” He put his hand on her shoulder and directed her toward the door. “Go home and take your grandmother with you. You’ll be missed soon, and I don’t want your aunt marching over here thinking I’ve kidnapped you or worse.”

  Daisy looked interested. “You think she’d do that?”

  “Yes, and I wouldn’t blame her. No one is going to believe you all showed up just to clean an already clean house.”

  “The windows in the garage were—”

  “I know, I know. The garage was dirty, I’ll grant you that. But the house is clean.”

  “Cleaner than ours,” Daisy admitted. She tilted her head to one side. “Are you afraid of Aunt Grace?”

  “No.”

  “You should be. She can be mean. Sometimes she yells.”

  “I yell too. More than I should.”

  Daisy leaned against the chair. “You don’t have any friends, do you?”

  He frowned. “I have friends. Lots.”

  “You have one,” she said. “In all the time we’ve lived beside you, I’ve only seen you talk to Sarah Dove.”

  “You’ve only lived beside me for two weeks,” he pointed out, and then felt like a fool for even engaging her in this conversation. Still, he couldn’t help but add, “I meet most of my friends away from the house at a place called Po Dunks, where they don’t allow kids.” Which wasn’t exactly true, although he’d never seen any there. “Besides, you can’t really be alone when you live in Dove Pond. If I sneezed outside this house in the morning, by lunchtime at least seven people would have heard I was catching a cold.”

  She grinned. “Sounds like a pain.”

  “It can be.” He realized Daisy was watching him, so he asked, “How come you don’t have any friends?”

  “We’re not staying, so why would I bother? Aunt Grace says that as soon as we can afford it, we’re going to move to Charlotte, where she used to live and—”

  A staccato knock sounded at the door.

  Travis could feel the irritation in each rap. “There’s your aunt.”

  “That was an angry knock,” Daisy noticed.

  “Great.”

  Daisy never moved from where she stood leaning on the forbidden chair. “You’d better let her in or she’ll yell.”

  Of course she would. He went to open the door.

  Grace stood at the threshold, Jane standing behind her, looking sheepish.

  He’d seen Grace before, usually marching to or from her house. She was small, like her mother and niece, but she made up for her lack of size by walking as if she were at the head of a very large, very aggressive army.

  She didn’t even bother with a greeting. “Have you seen—” Her gaze had already moved past him and locked onto Daisy. “There you are!” Relief and irritation flashed across Grace’s face. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mama G wandered over, so I figured I’d better keep an eye on her.”

  “I can’t believe you—” Grace stopped and looked at Trav. “Excuse me, but would you mind stepping out of the way? I can’t speak to her with you in the middle.”

  “Sure. It’s my house, but—yeah. Do whatever you want.” Trav stood back. “You might as well come in. Everyone else has.”

  Without giving him a second glance, Grace walked past him. “Where’s Mama G?” she asked Daisy.

  “In the hallway,” the little girl said sourly.

  “Thank God you’re both okay. Why did she come here?”

  “She said the garage windows were dirty and they were bothering her, so she came over to clean them.”

  “To be fair,” Trav inserted, “Mrs. Giano did a great job on those windows.”

  He was rewarded with a look of chilly disdain from Ms. Grace. For some reason, that made him happy, so he grinned in return.

  Mrs. Giano, hearing her name, poked her head into the living room. “Grace! You’re home early.”

  “It’s not early. Why did you leave the house without letting Ms. Jane know where you were going? We’ve been so worried about you!”

  Jane, who’d stayed on the porch, waved weakly at Trav. “I’m so sorry about this. I was outside for only a few minutes, and when I came back, they were gone.”

&n
bsp; She looked as if she might cry, so Trav said, “It’s fine. Really it is. I was giving them time to finish whatever they thought needed doing. Next time I’ll just come and get you.”

  Mrs. Giano folded the dust rag into a neat square and placed it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’re done now.”

  “Mama G, why—” Grace caught herself and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was smooth and silky, not a trace of stress in it. “It’s time to come home. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “I hope we’re having biscuits.” As Mrs. Giano walked past Trav, she stopped and looked up at him. “I’ll leave the rest of the cleaning to you.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Clean this first.” She placed her hand over his heart, her hand surprisingly warm through his coveralls.

  He stared down at her, not knowing what to say. He was six feet three inches tall, and she was barely five feet flat, if that, and he easily weighed twice what she did, if not more. And yet at that moment, he felt as if he were a child of three, and she a giantess with dark eyes that could see into his very soul. “I need to clean my heart?”

  “There’s too much worry in there. It clouds things.” She chuckled. “Sometimes you just have to scrub out all the silliness and let the sun in.”

  “Life isn’t that simple.”

  “Isn’t it?” She patted his chest. “Think about it, will you? But not too much.”

  “Mama G,” Grace said, embarrassment obvious in her voice.

  Jane slipped her arm through Mama G’s and led her out the door to the porch. “Time to go home.”

  With a final smile at Trav, Mrs. Giano allowed Jane to lead her away.

  Daisy rubbed her nose as she eyed her aunt. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

  “You know it. You shouldn’t have left the house without telling Ms. Jane where you were.”

  “I didn’t have time. Besides, she was on the phone and—”

  “Daisy.” Grace’s voice cracked sharply. She cast a self-conscious glance at Trav and then said in a tight voice, “We’ll talk about this at home. Let’s go.”