Book Lover, The (14 page)

                            
13

I
T WAS PAST NOON. LUCY LAY IN BED, STARING AT THE CEILING. What was she doing in this battered old cabin? How was it possible this was her life? Her fingers drew light circles across her middle as she’d practiced in Lamaze years ago, trying to calm herself. She looked at the unlit cigarette on the nightstand. After tossing the last pack, she’d discovered that the general store sold single cigarettes. She grabbed it and pulled in a long drag, letting out a slow breath, over and over until she felt her body begin to relax. Squeezing her eyes closed, she felt wetness slide down her cheeks.

In the weeks after they lost Ben, when she told her therapist she wasn’t sure how she could get through an entire day, he told her to just think about getting through the next hour. And if that was too much, the next minute. She did that now, trying to envision something happy, as he’d also suggested. Something that would make her smile, because just the physical act of smiling could actually elevate your mood. It was no longer the beach at St. Augustine.

She pictured their old house in Mendham, with David and Ben, who would have been five now. She could see herself pushing him on a swing in the yard. He’d be laughing, yelling
higher, push me higher.
The yellow roses would be blooming on the arbor, a stew simmering in the kitchen, and she would be the happiest woman in that safe little world. In the house she’d thought they’d grow old in. That David hadn’t wanted to leave. Because now she knew the truth, he’d just wanted to leave her. And now he had.

She threw off the covers suddenly. She’d been wallowing in bed for hours, rehashing everything since his awful email. In the early days of grief, her therapist had also told her it was okay to wallow, to let her feelings out, and there were moments the release felt good. The sadness would somehow drain out of her. The guilt for trying to make something happen that obviously wasn’t meant to be. That David had never really wanted.

She was tired now of having her thoughts consumed with David and everything that had gone wrong. She couldn’t make David want her. She couldn’t change any of it. This was her life, and it was time to get a grip. Get back to work. Because it wasn’t time that healed the deepest wounds, it was staying busy, keeping yourself distracted.

She pulled on her robe and went into the living room and stood at the table in front of the big window, looking at the stack of her books beside her laptop. David’s accusation came flooding back. Was this book an obsession? She remembered him saying the same thing about having a child, after the third miscarriage.
One more try,
she’d begged.
Please.
Of course he gave in. He always gave her everything she wanted; he was so loving, so caring. And now he was someone else entirely.

She picked up a book and held it to her chest, shaking her head. This book was another dream of hers, and you didn’t give up on dreams until you’d tried everything possible. Besides, wasn’t this book proof that if you focused hard enough on something else, you could somehow swim out of grief that threatened to drown you? She could do it again. She was doing it, in fact. She thought of Ruth, and all of the wonderful things she’d said about the novel. A real book signing in just four days. There were other booksellers in a bunch of states now who had copies, who might actually be reading it at that moment. It was time to finally shower and get dressed and start this day, because she wasn’t turning back. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to lose, she thought with a laugh, because she actually had nothing left. And she’d never been a quitter.

* * *

BY TWO O’CLOCK LUCY WAS AT HER COMPUTER and miracle of miracles, she was able to get online. Maybe smacking the broadband card the way her mother used to hit the TV when it was on the blink had done the trick. Or maybe the trees were swaying just the right way. Now she stared at an e-mail from
The Midwest Book Review
and her stomach clenched in anticipation. It could be terrible. It might be the nail in the coffin of this escapade. She clicked open and gasped at the first line:
In this well-written debut novel, Lucinda Barrett mines the heart and soul of a woman dealing with love, loss and betrayal.

Well-written!
She paused, savoring the first words from this respected reviewer. She continued:
In A QUIET WANTING, Barrett writes with a sure touch, weaving an intricate plot—part romance, part mystery
—
that will have readers racing to the end to find out Matthew’s secret, and Hope’s final decision.

Her eyes went back to the word
romance,
wondering if the reviewer was considering this a romance novel, because it wasn’t. Or did they mean
romance
as in the literature vein? As in the romances of the early years of writing? Still,
intricate plot
was great, and
readers racing to the end
absolutely wonderful!

She laughed out loud! Her first official review and it was excellent. She forwarded it to Ruth along with a note:
I just want to thank you again for the use of the cabin. It’s just what I need right now. I’ll see you Saturday for the signing!
Just as she was opening her bookseller file, because she was sending this review to every store she’d visited, she heard the crunch of tires in her driveway and jumped up, wondering who it could be.

Colin’s jeep was coming to a stop just beside the cabin. Before he went through the difficulty of getting his wheelchair out, she raced down the porch to meet him.

“You mentioned your car was going to be ready this afternoon. I can give you a lift, since I’ll be going that way anyway.”

“Yes, he said about three, but I don’t want to bother you again.”

He looked at her quizzically, then laughed. “What are you planning to do, take a cab? I don’t think you’ll find one around here.”

She shrugged. “I…I didn’t really think it through. I was kind of caught up working. I just got my first official review, and it was a really good one.”

“Congratulations. You seem better than the other day.”

After David’s e-mail, she’d barely spoken on the ride back. “I’m sorry, I—”

He held his hand up. “There’s no need to explain.”

“Okay.”

“So why don’t you go get your things and we’ll head out.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded and smiled. “You really have a hard time letting people do things for you, don’t you?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

* * *

WHEN SHE GOT TO THE GARAGE AND FOUND HER car wouldn’t be ready for another few hours, Lucy agreed to go with Colin to “a place she might find interesting.” Then he’d drop her off at the garage on the way back to the lake. He didn’t talk much this time, and she looked out her window, intrigued by the mystery of their destination, moved once again by the stunning scenery as they drove south through Sussex County.

“The Appalachian Trail runs through those mountains,” he said, pointing to the ridge to the west that paralleled the road. “My Dad and I used to hike there when I was a little kid. It’s a gorgeous trail.”

“I’ve been away from New Jersey for a long time. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here. Northern New Jersey looks more like Vermont than what most people expect.”

“Yeah, most people think of Newark Airport or the turnpike. And that’s okay with me. Keeps it pristine.”

Twenty minutes later they passed into Warren County.

“We’re not far from the Delaware River,” Colin said, breaking another long silence, as they drove through the tiny village of Blairstown. “Have you ever been to the Delaware Water Gap National Park?”

“No, I’ve driven through the Gap on Route 80, but I’ve never been in the park.”

“It’s spectacular, some of the most beautiful land in the country.”

They headed west toward the river, the road rising steeply, the woods even more dense, until they veered off onto a gravel road. Up ahead she saw several buildings, and then Colin slowed the Jeep and pulled into a parking lot near a sign that said: THE RAPTOR CENTER.

“What is this place?”

He parked beside a low shingled building to the left of the lot. “It’s a rehab for birds. They come here injured or orphaned and we do everything we can to rehabilitate them and send them back out into the wild.”

“I don’t recall, which ones are raptors?”

“Raptors are birds of prey. But we also take starlings and finches, anything wild.”

Before she could ask why, he was lifting his wheelchair from behind, over his shoulders, and somehow managed in a quick, fluid motion to deposit it on the ground outside his door, where it unfolded. She turned, not wanting to look too curious, but watching from the corner of her eye as he pushed himself up with his hands, then swung his lower body out the car door and into the chair.

“I’ll be about ten minutes,” he said, nodding toward the long building to the left, with a sign that read Educational Center. “Feel free to walk around.”

She headed in the opposite direction down a gravel path into the woods. The canopy of trees shaded everything and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Up ahead a path branched off to the left. She took that route and soon came upon a series of cages. Approaching the first one, she realized that of course they were aviaries.

She stopped in front of the first one, with a little placard beside it: Great Horned Owl. The wooden frame stretched about fifteen or twenty feet high, about fifteen feet wide, and was completely covered with wire fencing. Her eyes scanned several large branches stretched across the inside of the aviary, mimicking a tree and somehow attached to the structure. After nearly a minute she spotted a great horned owl on top of the higher branch, with its eyes closed. Owls, she remembered, are nocturnal creatures. Its brown feathers looked soft as down; its horns and sleeping face gave it an endearing look. She couldn’t help but smile.

In the next aviary she almost gave up looking until she made out the peregrine falcon hidden in the branches of an artificial Christmas tree standing in the middle of the cage. Another falcon sat watching her. She continued past one aviary after another, losing track of time. There were ravens and a snowy owl, white and unearthly in its beauty, as well as red tail and Cooper’s hawks, more birds than she’d ever remember.

Just before the path branched off again, her eyes roamed a much larger cage and her breath caught as she looked all the way up. Near the top sat a bald eagle, which she recognized instantly, sitting on a smaller limb of the main branch. It was magnificent. A fierce intelligence seemed to emanate from its startling yellow eyes, which were staring at her. She stood there, watching, but it never moved. She’d never seen an eagle in person before and was awed by its size. She wondered if it was awaiting release into the wild.

Looking ahead, she saw a man raking the gravel path about twenty yards away and began heading toward him to ask about the eagle, when she heard her name. Turning, she was surprised to see Colin pushing himself toward her.

“I just saw the eagle, it was—”

“Time to go,” he interrupted, and turned without waiting for her response.

“Of course,” she said, startled by his abrupt manner.

She hurried to catch up, but he was pushing himself faster than she could walk. By the time she reached the car, he was behind the wheel, his chair folded and stowed in the backseat.

“Are you all right?” she asked, noticing the gray pallor of his face.

He nodded.

“This place is absolutely incredible,” she said, hoping to break the sudden tension as they pulled away. “I’d love to come back some time.”

“Of course as a writer this screams cliché, doesn’t it? The crippled man trying to fix crippled birds?”

She looked at him, unsure if he was joking. It was the first time he’d mentioned his handicap. By the fierce set of his mouth she could see that he wasn’t. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

She spent the ride back looking out the window, thinking about the beauty of the northern woods, the lake, and even The Raptor Center. What a beautiful setting this whole area could be for another book. She hadn’t written in a long time. Her efforts these days were simply marketing
A
Quiet Wanting,
and that took a lot of energy. She really missed writing, though, creating characters, playing with words, wondering what she could make happen next. Maybe she could begin something new during her remaining few days at the cabin. That would certainly keep her mind busy, and off the things she didn’t want to dwell on.