Book Lover, The (16 page)

“He didn’t want you to see his pain. I understand that. It’s hard for a child when your parent is hurting, and there’s nothing you can do.”

“He did the same thing to his fiancée, Gloryanne, pushed her away. Those were awful days. After about four months, though, he finally called and asked me to come. I was a wreck, not knowing really what to expect. But he was all right. He was still Colin. He had a mentor and began to play wheelchair basketball and made friends with other paralyzed veterans and things started to change for the better. Except for Gloryanne.”

“Is she the red-haired woman I’ve seen with him?”

Ruth nodded. “They’ve known each other since high school, and have had this on-again off-again relationship. When he enlisted all those years ago, she refused to have anything to do with him for a long time. Then he’d come home on leave and they’d see each other and it would be good for awhile. They were so young, and she just didn’t want the Army life. After about five years, she married someone else, but it didn’t last long. The next thing I know, they’re back again. But she refused to get married until he was out of the service at the end of 2001. But then of course 9/11 happened, and he reenlisted. She was crushed.”

Ruth took a sip of her tea and thought for a moment. “I think she still loves him. I just don’t think she can commit to the kind of life she’d have with him now. Ironic, isn’t it, now that he’s finally out of the Army? But I don’t want Colin to be alone for the rest of his life.”

Just then Hannah appeared.

“Is everything okay? Would you like a refill?”

Ruth glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going, your signing is in ten minutes.”

As they walked back, she asked Lucy about her book efforts.

“Well, I got that great write up from
The Midwest Book Review.
”

“Yes, that was wonderful, you must be thrilled.”

“But there’s been no word from anyone. And I just read in
The New York Times
there are now officially more self-published books than real published books.”

“But Lucy, it hasn’t been long. This is going to take some time. Your book might be next on many of their ‘to-be-read’ piles. I mean, you saw the stacks of books at my house.”

“I feel like a lunatic,” Lucy said with a laugh. “One minute I’m like
I’m going to do this! I’m not giving up!
And the next it seems indulgent and silly, and I think I should really pack it in and get back to the real world. Tell me honestly, do you think I’m nuts for doing this?”

“No, I don’t. You’re on a roller coaster ride, but I honestly don’t think you have just another self-published book. Yours is a standout.”

Lucy gave her such a grateful look.

“Keep plugging away. And I’m going to give your book to one of my publisher’s sales reps. If he likes it, maybe he’ll pass it to an editor.”

“You know, Ruth, sometimes I can’t believe a chance encounter brought me to you. I don’t really have any friends anymore. After Ben died, it just…it was awkward for people, they didn’t know what to say, and we kind of withdrew. Then we moved. We didn’t make an effort to socialize in St. Augustine. I had Kate and Tia, a writing buddy, but I didn’t talk about personal things with them. Anyway, it’s nice to have a friend again. Someone I can really talk to.”

Ruth had to smile at that. When she thought about it, she didn’t really have a best friend. Oh, there was Hannah, but that was different. And of course Harry and Kris and Megan, but that was mostly about work. “Truth be told, books have really been my best friends all these years, so this is nice for me, too.”

Although their circumstances were so different, in a way they were kindred spirits. She looked at Lucy for a long moment.

“Why don’t you stay a while longer at the cabin?”

“Oh, Ruth, I couldn’t…”

“We can give this a real fighting chance.” Because more than anything she wanted to see Lucy succeed. She saw so much of herself in the brief glances filled with pain, or longing. The simple need to grasp onto something to survive. And Jenny was right about having someone nearby.

“You’d also be doing me a favor, by keeping an eye on Colin while you’re there. We all get nervous about him swimming, you know?”

Lucy hesitated, then smiled. “I’d do anything for you, Ruth. Thank you.”

As they crossed the bridge again Lucy stopped suddenly. “Oh my God, Ruth, I’m so self-consumed I almost forgot. What happened when you went to see your friend at the prison?”

Ruth stopped, too, and stared down at the water rushing by. She tried to make her voice sound normal, but even she could hear the tremble of emotion. “Actually, he told me that he’s getting out on parole soon.”

“Oh, Ruth, wow.”

“I’m supposed to go back again later this afternoon, so that he can explain why he’s there. I wasn’t ready for that last week.”

“Are you nervous?”

“I was,” she said, “but not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not going.”

“But I thought—”

“Jenny found out about my visit, and obviously a little bit more. She left school in the middle of teaching to tell me that there was absolutely no way I should have anything to do with this man. I had to admit to her I didn’t know what he’d done, which she thought was insane.”

“What did he do, Ruth?”

She took a deep breath, hating to even say it out loud. “He was convicted of kidnapping. And terroristic threats.”

They each said nothing for a long moment.

“Well…maybe there’s a chance he’s innocent. It does happen.”

“I know. And I can’t picture the Thomas I know doing something so awful. Taking someone, a child perhaps, holding them against their will. Terrorizing a person,” she told Lucy, shaking her head, because it was all so unbelievable. “But he pled guilty.”

Which meant he was guilty, she could hear Jenny saying again, along with the fact that she was being a complete and total fool.

                            
15

W
HEN LUCY WALKED INTO THE BOOK LOVER WITH RUTH, there were nearly twenty-five people sipping wine and munching appetizers in a space in the front of the store that had been cleared of bookshelves. Her legs turned to liquid. She was terrified, and thrilled.

Most were women, from twenties to probably seventies, but there were several men, as well. She recognized Ruth’s daughter Jenny from the pictures in her house. Colin sat quietly to the side, a book in his lap, reading.

A moment later, Ruth was leading her to the table where stacks of her book were lined up, and they turned to face the crowd. The room fell silent. Lucy wondered if anyone could hear her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Ruth reached for her hand, gave it a quick squeeze.

“Most of you know how many books come across that door, and how many I read in the course of a month. When I picked up
A Quiet Wanting,
I had no idea what it was about, or who Lucinda Barrett was. But within just a few pages I was riveted and could not put the book down. When I finished, I invited Lucy for a signing, and I was delighted when she accepted. I would like to introduce to you one of my favorite new authors, who I hope will soon become a favorite of yours. Lucinda Barrett.”

All eyes turned to her. Lucy felt her stomach pitch, as if she’d plummeted twenty floors in an elevator. A dozen things suddenly ran through her mind, and she was afraid somehow she’d blurt them out—that her life was in chaos, and she was a fraud, an imposter, with a book that was rejected over and over again. And yet here she was, trying to make it known.

Someone coughed, another person cleared her throat. She caught Ruth’s eye, and Ruth smiled and nodded with encouragement. Lucy took a step forward and began to speak.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I did everything I could, hoping to achieve that dream, until I was an adult. Most of you probably know how it is when you hit a certain age. You need to settle down, get a real job, and soon you’re so busy those childhood dreams begin to fade away until they’re simply gone. But…” she hesitated, wondering if this was too personal, but needing them to understand, “…a few years back, I rediscovered that dream to be a writer, and
A Quiet Wanting
was born. At the same time, I felt as if a part of me was reborn as well.” She swallowed, pushing down a sudden lump of emotion swelling in her throat. “I’m so honored to be here. And I cannot tell you how touched I am by Ruth’s support, and everyone else here at The Book Lover. I don’t think a writer could ask for a better start than this.”

She opened
A
Quiet Wanting and
began to read, slowly, as she’d rehearsed, praying a cough or tickle wouldn’t break the flow.

“She embraced her sadness like a secret lover she met once each evening on her solitary drive home…
”

When she finished the prologue, just three pages, she looked up and she saw something magical—the looks on their faces. And then they began to clap.

Ruth came forward. “Lucy will be right here to sign books, or answer any questions.”

The next hour was a blur as she signed books, chatted with people, and was amazed when a woman showed her passages highlighted in her copy, which she’d already read. Several others brought copies they’d gotten earlier in the week and one invited her to join their book club meeting next month. She hesitated, then realized she could say yes, thanks to Ruth’s generous offer. This bought her much-needed time, because she really wasn’t ready to face her mother yet, nor go back to Florida. In that moment, something seemed to lift within her.

She looked at the next woman in line, who exclaimed, “I felt as if you were looking over my shoulder and writing my life. I can’t wait for your next book.”

The last woman was an angry-looking brunette, who’d been waiting a while.

“Is this book self-published?” she blurted out.

Up until that moment, no one had mentioned that fact.

“Well…yes, it is,” Lucy admitted.

The woman blinked twice and Lucy thought she might leave in a huff. But she handed over a book to be signed. When it was over, Lucy felt as if the wind had literally blown out of her sails—exhausted and exhilarated. Ruth asked about the “mystery woman,” who apparently came in sporadically. This was the first time she’d ever bought a book.

“She’s a frustrated writer, with two unpublished novels.”

“I guess that explains it,” Ruth said. “Now, about you. That was beautifully done.”

“Really? I was afraid it was a bit too much.”

“No, your passion came through. It was inspiring. And we sold twenty-three copies of your book!”

“Really?”

“Sometimes we get well-known authors who don’t sell that many in a signing,” Harry piped up suddenly, as he came over to begin clearing the table.

“But Ruth and Kris have really been pushing your book.”

“Keep going, Lucy,” Ruth said quietly.

“I will. I feel so hopeful, I can’t tell you. I’m through second-guessing myself.”

“Now come over to the counter. I have a stack of books I want you to sign so we can put them on the shelves this week. Oh, and I put together a list of some booksellers not too far away you might want to contact while you’re here.”

“I owe you so much, Ruth,” Lucy said, and gave her a quick hug. She was glad she could keep an eye on Colin for Ruth, but she’d have to think of something more.

“Don’t be silly. Discovering a new writer, satisfying readers with undiscovered works, that’s what I live for,” Ruth said, then reached for the extra books.

Over Ruth’s shoulder, she saw Colin near the door in an intense conversation with the pretty redhead. Suddenly Gloryanne turned and left. Colin looked up and caught Lucy’s eye. A moment later he wheeled himself out the door, before she could even thank him for the flowers.

* * *

FINALLY, THE STORE WAS ALMOST EMPTY. Ruth looked at the clock, her stomach in knots, picturing Thomas sitting in that awful visiting room, his face lit with hope, waiting for her.

“That clock’s not gonna move any faster just because you want it to,” she heard Harry joke.

She turned and looked at him in surprise.

“You put in a long day, Ruth. Go home. I’ll close up.”

She hesitated, remembering her promise to Jenny. Yet knowing she could still make it in time if she left right now. “If you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Go, and put your feet up.”

But she didn’t go home, nor did she put her feet up. She jumped into her car, heading to the thruway, with air conditioning blasting. It was hot as July. Or was it her nerves, rushing to make it? She turned the radio to the local NPR station, and let the relaxing classical music fill the car, trying to make her mind stop racing. But she couldn’t.

She thought about the first time she’d met Thomas. After she’d approached the warden through Andrea’s husband, Carl, the prison authorities had authorized her to hold a book fair in the prison library, to kind of test the waters. Several guards had carried extra tables in and she’d brought as many books as she could for the inmates to choose from. The event lasted four hours as one prisoner after another came in accompanied by a guard, and was given ten minutes to make a purchase.

Thomas had been in the first eight or so, when her nerves were still on high alert, and from the moment she saw him she’d felt…something. He’d come in the open doorway in that orange jumpsuit, a big, barrel-chested man back then, and stood across the room, looking all around at the tables full of books. Then his brown eyes landed on her and she watched him actually blush, then give her a shy smile.

“I haven’t felt this excited since I was a kid at Christmas,” he said softly.

“When I was a little girl books were always my favorite presents,” she finally responded, surprised at his gentle manner. The other prisoners up until then had spoken little, their comments and questions terse.

“Well, I can tell you there’s nothing as amazing as a 26-inch bicycle, or an air rifle, for a little boy. But in here, losing yourself in a good book is about as good as it gets.”

She watched him pick up one book after another, his big hands holding them carefully as he turned pages and scanned, asking her opinion on each and every one. At the end of his ten minutes, he had a teetering pile of books and she sat and made out his bill.

“Thanks for doing this. I imagine it can’t be easy,” he said, his voice low, so that the guard at the door couldn’t hear him. “You know, a nice lady like you coming to a place like this.”

She nearly said it was all fine. But then she looked up at him again, and his eyes were searching hers. “Actually, I was pretty nervous at first. When I arrived I bit my lip so hard, I think it bled. But I’m really glad to be here.”

“Me, too.” He gave her another warm smile. “This means a lot to us.

I hope they let you come back.”

The feedback from the book fair was so overwhelming, the warden had called and proposed she come back every few months so that the prisoners could order books on a regular basis. Over those next five years, she’d grown so comfortable with Thomas that there were actually moments she had a hard time believing he was really a prisoner. Or that he could possibly have done something horrible.

But he did do something horrible, she knew that for certain. Jenny had even brought a copy of an article she’d downloaded from
The Albany Times
to prove it. Now, Ruth turned into the prison complex, guard towers on all perimeters, and before the first security checkpoint, she suddenly pulled over.

“Mom, these kind of men prey on women like you,” Jenny had practically yelled at her. “They know just what to say and do. And let’s face it, you’re always trying to help people, of course you’re going to fall for it. You’re too damn nice.”

She’d felt like such a fool getting lectured by her daughter. Barely able to get a word in edgewise as she tried to explain that Thomas was different.

“Promise me, Mom, please. Tell me you’re not going to meet this man again. I already asked Andrea’s husband to take him off as your book liaison.”

She didn’t bother to tell Jenny it didn’t matter. That he wouldn’t be there anymore. But she couldn’t possibly let her daughter know he was getting out. That he wanted to see her.

She sat there, just yards away from the building where the visiting room was housed. Unable to move. Was she being a fool? Could it be possible that this man she’d grown so fond of, who brought something back to life inside her after decades, who made her feel like a woman again, could he really be dangerous? Would he really hurt her in some way?

“You’ve got a house and a business, Mom. An entire life it’s taken years to build. He could destroy that. Is that what you really want?”

What could she really say to that? That she’d bet it all Thomas wasn’t like that? That she was a good judge of people, if nothing else? But of course she’d felt that way about her husband, Bill, in the beginning. Who proved her to be completely wrong.

And suddenly it was as clear as the razor wire glinting in the setting sun, as she tried to imagine Thomas somehow becoming a part of her life. How would she introduce him to people? How could he possibly fit in with the store, her family, the tiny village of Warwick where people never locked their doors?

Of course there was no way Thomas could fit into her life. How could she possibly have thought otherwise?