The Book Charmer

by Karen Hawkins

  Trav stared after them, scowling. Then, muttering furiously to himself, he backed his machine into the street and, with a smooth twist of his wrist, took off.

  He revved his engine as he rode by Grace’s empty house, the sound as defiant as it was loud.

  Sarah watched, smiling.

  “Good lord, but that motorcycle is loud.”

  Sarah turned to find Ava climbing out of her truck in the driveway. “I didn’t hear you pull up.”

  “You can’t hear anything when he’s revving that bike.” Ava joined Sarah at the fence and eyed the beer in her hand. “Since when do you drink IPAs?”

  “It’s Trav’s. I was just being polite.”

  “Give it to me. He’ll never know.”

  Sarah grinned and handed the beer to her sister. “I had an interesting discussion with him. I’m starting to think our uptight, gravely wounded, and too-private-for-his-own-good neighbor isn’t as immune to the Wheeler family as I thought. That makes me happy.”

  “You’re a romantic. Too bad Trav isn’t.” Ava took an appreciative drink of the beer. “To be honest, I can’t see Trav with a girlfriend who has both a kid and a sick mother. He’s not domesticated enough for that kind of responsibility. And Grace seems as if she’d only date an executive type of guy, someone with a fat IRA account and a briefcase full of savings bonds. As much as I love him, that’s not our Trav.”

  Sarah sighed. “No, it’s not.”

  Ava took another drink of her beer, her gray-green gaze curious. “Have you asked the books?”

  “Repeatedly. They’re being stubborn. They’ve always been that way where Trav is concerned. He’s not a big reader, you know.”

  Ava made a face.

  “I know. I’ll never understand how that’s even a thing. In all the years I’ve known him, only one book has asked to visit him, and that was when his dad got sick.”

  “It’s frustrating.” Ava cast an expert eye over the closest lavender plant, using the toe of her boot to push some of the white gravel back around the base. “I know the feeling, though. I’ve been trying to develop a tea to help Mrs. Perez with her arthritis, but I can’t quite figure it out.”

  “We can only do so much,” Sarah said regretfully.

  “True.” Ava took another drink. A bee buzzed nearby and she watched it land on a lavender bloom. “Bees love lavender. So do butterflies.”

  “Do you think it would work on reluctant town clerks?”

  Ava laughed. “Maybe. Mom always said you’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” She finished her beer. “I’m heading inside. Are you hungry? I was thinking of warming up that broccoli-and-chicken casserole for dinner.”

  “I’ll make a salad to go with it.”

  “Sounds good. And, Sarah, don’t worry about Grace. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

  At one time, Sarah and Ava hadn’t been particularly close, but now Sarah didn’t know what she’d do without her sister. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

  “It’s just the truth.” Ava smiled. “Let’s go fix dinner.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” Ava left, crossing the lawn toward the front door, the empty beer bottle in her hand.

  Sarah stayed by the fence, her gaze returning to the Wheeler house. Mom was right about honey catching more flies, but Sarah didn’t think honey would have much of an effect on Grace. Sarah might have better luck with cake. A nice, yummy coffee cake made with pecans and sour cream and—

  Sarah straightened. Maybe that was the answer, as simple as it was. Who could say no to fresh, warm coffee cake?

  It was a ridiculously small idea. But all big plans began with a small step, and this small step was better than none.

  Feeling hopeful, Sarah left the fence and headed inside, already wondering if she had all the ingredients to make some of her sister Ella’s irresistible coffee cake.

  CHAPTER 9

  Grace

  Grace eyed the misty gray morning with a sour glare. She hated Mondays. It always seemed that the first day of the week waited with sharpened claws, eager to shred one’s hopes and dreams. The piles of mindless data entry work stacked on Grace’s desk waiting for her to arrive supported this theory, and she scowled as she put her car into reverse.

  She’d just begun easing her foot off the brake when the passenger door flew open and Sarah Dove stuck her head in. “Hi!” the librarian chirped as Grace slammed on her brakes.

  Grace’s irk factor flew up a few points. Under the best of circumstances, even with a good night’s rest, she wasn’t a morning person. She needed time, quiet, and at least two cups of coffee before she could face the day with anything close to a smile. And so far, she’d had none of those things.

  Last night, a few hours after going to bed, she’d been awakened by the sound of Mama G calling, “Theo!” over and over. Still half asleep, Grace had grabbed her robe and padded downstairs, where she found the front door ajar. Mama G stood outside on the porch in her nightgown, a bowl of milk in her hands.

  Alarmed, Grace had followed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for Theo. He hasn’t come for his milk.”

  Still bleary-eyed and slightly irritated at being awoken, Grace had said in a sharper tone than she’d meant to use, “That’s ridiculous. Theo’s been dead for years. Now, come inside.”

  The words and tone had an instant effect, none of it good.

  “Dead?” Mama G’s voice had quavered with hurt.

  Grace, instantly contrite but too tired to think, had nodded. “For years now. Let’s go inside. You’re just confused, and it’s damp—”

  “No.” Mama G’s expression had turned mulish and she’d backed away. “I just saw Theo yesterday; he’s not dead. He’s fine and he’s hungry. I know he is.” Before Grace could answer, Mama G turned and hurried down the steps, unsteady in the dark, the milk sloshing from the bowl and dribbling down her nightgown.

  For a shocked and horrified moment, Grace had thought Mama G might fall, but at the last minute, she’d regained her balance. She’d stopped at the foot of the porch stairs to glare up at Grace. “I have to give Theo his milk. I’ve been waiting for hours, but he hasn’t come home.” Mama G looked across the front yard to the road. “Maybe I should put the milk by the road. He used to sleep in the mailbox. Made Mr. Horner so mad.”

  It had taken a solid twenty minutes of reasoning and then pleading, but finally Grace had managed to get Mama G inside with a promise to leave the milk on the porch for the missing “Theo.” Still, the incident had left Grace shaken. If she hadn’t woken up when she had, Mama G might have wandered off, and Grace had no illusions what might happen then. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach.

  After she’d gotten Mama G back to bed, Grace had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, every creak of the old house making her bolt upright. It had been well after four in the morning when Grace had finally fallen asleep.

  This morning, as soon as the alarm went off, Grace had forced herself to get up. While trying to stay awake in the shower, she decided to tell Linda what had happened and see if she had any suggestions for keeping Mama G from wandering out of the house after everyone was asleep. Tin cans tied to doorknobs? A bell of some sort? A house alarm?

  To her relief, Linda had a number of helpful suggestions, the easiest and quickest of which was to put a lock high up on the door, out of Mama G’s reach. Grace had called the Callahan brothers, the handymen Mrs. Phelps had recommended before she’d left, and explained the situation. To Grace’s relief, one of them had promised to stop by this afternoon and install the lock.

  Now, a mere hour later, feeling exhausted and as if she’d been run over by a semi, she faced the humid morning with a headache that had made her eyes want to cross.

  So when Sarah beamed at Grace from the passenger door, looking fresh and well rested, and smiling widely as if morning was something to be celebrated and not merely survive
d, all Grace wanted to do was spew morning venom.

  Fortunately, before Grace could open her mouth, Sarah shouldered the door aside and thrust a tumbler of coffee under Grace’s nose.

  The rich scent of hazelnut curled with the steam from the opening in the cup’s cover, and Grace’s soul sighed in relief. She put the car in park, then took the tumbler between both hands and held it as reverently as though it were a holy chalice.

  “I’m glad I caught you.” Sarah, burdened with a heavy book tote, a paper bag, and her own cup of coffee, slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. “I thought we might ride together.” She dropped her tote on the floor beside her feet, slipped her cup into the nearest holder, and placed the paper bag onto the console between them.

  The smell of vanilla and cinnamon filled the car, mingling with that of the coffee. “What’s that?” Grace couldn’t keep the hope from her voice.

  Sarah opened the bag, and Grace’s mouth watered at the fresh-baked smell.

  “It’s coffee cake,” Sarah said. “It’s my mom’s recipe, although my sister Ella changed it a bit, and now it’s even better.”

  She sipped the coffee. Rich, slightly bitter, with just the right amount of cream, it poured over her tongue and warmed her from head to toe. She took another sip, stunned into submission.

  Grace looked at the bag and then at her cup. She could give in to her lesser impulses and refuse to drive Sarah and her delicious snacks to work and deprive them both of a pleasant drive and some much-needed coffee, or she could indulge them both and accept the gifts and the company.

  While thinking through her options, she absently took another drink of the coffee. “God, that’s good.”

  “Enough cream? I had to guess, but I thought since I take cream that you might, too.”

  It was too early to follow such a questionable line of reasoning, so Grace just said, “It’s perfect. I’m not even exaggerating. Perfect.”

  Sarah grinned, her expression far too bright for this time of the day. “Coffee is the elixir of life.”

  Grace was too busy savoring the hot perfection in her cup to answer.

  Sarah reached into the paper bag and pulled out some napkins. They were party size and had HAPPY BIRTHDAY written on them in garish pink. She placed one on Grace’s knee. “I hope you don’t mind driving today. It dawned on me last night that we should carpool. We live almost next door, and we work right across the street from each other. We can save time and gas.”

  Grace didn’t want to carpool, especially not with a freakishly happy morning person, which Sarah obviously was. But the coffee that had warmed her fingers had somehow also managed to unfreeze her soul just enough that she managed to murmur a polite “It would be environmentally sound.” She took another sip and decided that a ten-minute drive with Sarah (if it was even that long) wouldn’t be so bad. Just for today, she told herself. But no more.

  Sarah pulled two pieces of coffee cake wrapped in parchment paper from the bag and handed one to Grace.

  It smelled like warm brown sugar, spicy cinnamon, and sweet vanilla. Grace unwrapped her piece of cake, broke off a corner, and popped it in her mouth.

  She almost moaned. Oh God, the cake is as good as the coffee. “My gosh, I can’t even,” Grace said. Maybe we could ride together two days a week. “It’s delicious.”

  “Thanks. I can bring you the recipe if you’d like.”

  “I could never get this result. Baking isn’t my thing.”

  “It’s an easy recipe. If I can bake this and not mess it up, anyone can.”

  Grace tried not to gobble the cake down, but it was that good, plus it was just one slice. And a small slice at that. Almost a sliver, she told herself as she finished it.

  Sarah licked an errant crumb from her lip. “When my sister Ella lived at home, we had a booth at the farmers’ market every Saturday. People would come from as far away as Asheville for her coffee cake.”

  “I can see why.” Grace wiped her fingers on a napkin and dropped it and the empty parchment back into the bag, wishing Sarah had thought to bring a few extra pieces.

  “I’m glad we’re riding together today.” Sarah finished her cake and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the social club.”

  Great. That was the last thing Grace wanted to talk about. Coffee cake was one thing, chatting was another, and Grace realized that the quicker she reached the town hall parking lot, the quicker this conversation would be over.

  She reluctantly replaced her coffee cup in the holder, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway.

  Sarah didn’t waste any time. “Zoe and I were talking this morning and we hope you’re not upset about what happened with the club.”

  Upset? Grace was ecstatic. “Why would I be upset?”

  “I didn’t think it was what you wanted.”

  But it was. She’d wanted to get rid of it, and she had. “I’m perfectly fine with the outcome.” It had been a little over a week since Grace had handed the reins of the club to Zoe (actually, it had been more like “tossed and ran,” but still ), so Grace wasn’t sure what Sarah wanted to hear her say.

  Not that it mattered. What was done was done, and she was just glad she could now focus on getting the office organized. “The club couldn’t be in better hands.”

  “That’s what I think, too.” Sarah beamed and dropped her napkin into the empty bag. “Whew, I was worried you’d be upset and here you are, perfectly fine!”

  “I’ve been too busy to think about it. All municipalities have to migrate their tax records to the new state system by the end of the month, and Mrs. Phelps didn’t bother to even start getting things set up, so I’m swamped.”

  “Maybe she just got behind?”

  “Oh no. There’s a Post-it on the folder that says, ‘For the New Person—NOT ME.’ ”

  Sarah winced. “That was cold.”

  “She apparently had tendencies.”

  “More than you know. And wow, did Mrs. Phelps hate computers.”

  “There are times I don’t like them, either, but technology helps.”

  Sarah sipped her coffee. “Mrs. Giano was right. You take to challenges like a duck to water.”

  Surprised, Grace looked at Sarah. The woman’s eyes were the palest gray green, almost silver in color, and it seemed as if they could see right through her. “When did you talk to Mama G?”

  “I’ve been dropping by on my short days.” Sarah pursed her lips. “I think it was Thursday that she told me you liked challenges. We were talking about the town, and the social club. I don’t know if she understood it all, because she seemed distracted. She kept calling me Hannah.” The pale green eyes locked on Grace. “That was your sister, wasn’t it?”

  The lulling effect of the coffee and cake faded as Grace’s habitual morning ire returned in full force. “Yes.” She snapped the word so that it had the sound of a drawer being slammed shut.

  Sarah was quiet a moment. “Hannah is a pretty name.”

  Grace’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to talk about my sister.” There. That should end it.

  “Okay.” Sarah sipped her coffee.

  For a moment there was glorious silence, and Grace was just starting to relax when Sarah said, “It’s funny how having a sister can define you.”

  Good God. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Sarah grimaced. “Sorry. But . . . I know it must have been hard. If you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  Grace frowned. “There’s nothing to say.”

  Sarah nodded in sympathy.

  Irked, Grace added, “Besides, Hannah didn’t define me. Nor did I define her. Your relationship with your sisters is obviously quite different from ours.”

  “Maybe. I sort of think our family defines us whether we know it or not. I mean, look at me. I’m the youngest, so I got hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs. The only thing new I ever got to buy for myself was
underwear.” With a faint smile, she smoothed the soft, multicolored maxi-dress over her knee. “Which is why I love fashion so much now.”

  Grace wouldn’t have called what Sarah wore “fashion,” but she grudgingly had to admit that cool pastels worked with the woman’s pale skin and ash-blond hair. Still, Grace could relate to the agony of having to wear used clothing. As a foster child, she and Hannah had worn more than their fair share.

  But still, Hannah’d had no impact on Grace’s current fashion sense. If anything, Hannah’s wildness had sent Grace down her own, conservative, professional path. Hannah might have been happy wearing dirty jeans and torn T-shirts, but Grace had wanted something more substantial for herself, which was why she’d migrated toward conservative suits, the opposite of Hannah—

  The thought froze in Grace’s mind. Oh God. Sarah’s right. Hannah did define me. Grace wondered what other ways her sister had influenced her life, and she was suddenly hit with the painful realization that whatever influence Hannah might have had, it was no more. She was gone, never to return. Sadness and loneliness swamped Grace with devastating suddenness, and she had to bite her lip to keep the tears from her eyes.

  This was why she didn’t want to talk about Hannah. Sarah’s sisters were all still alive and well, so she couldn’t understand how grief could sneak up on you, or what it felt like to go from being the oldest sister to not even being a sister at all. It was as if a hole had been cut into every childhood memory Grace possessed.

  Sarah, evidently unaware of the effects of her words, sipped her coffee. “By the way, did Linda give you the book?”

  Grateful to be talking about something other than Hannah, Grace said, “What book? I don’t— Oh. Little Women. She did.” As far as Grace knew, it was still in the breadbox. “That was very thoughtful of you, and while I appreciate that you took the time to send it, I don’t have time to read it. I would have returned it already, but I keep forgetting to bring it with me.”

  Sarah waved her hand. “Keep it as long as you want.”