Book Lover, The (19 page)

Lynn nodded, gave her a hug, and left. Ruth went and sat on the little table in the children’s corner, sick at heart. Lynn was in her early fifties. She had been hoping to be the first woman president of her bank. Soon she wouldn’t be working at all.

Life. It always seemed to throw curve balls when you least expected it.

* * *

AT THREE O’CLOCK HANNAH WALKED INTO THE STORE, her gray-blonde hair slipping from her ponytail, and with a decided limp.

“I don’t how much longer I can work there,” she sighed. “Guess I’m gettin’ old.”

Ruth came around the counter and gave Hannah a sudden hug. “I know what you mean.”

Hannah looked at her curiously. They’d been friends for years, but they also had a history few in town would probably remember.

“So, do you have a new book for me?” Hannah asked.

“No, actually I have an idea,” she said, then took Hannah’s arm and led her toward the back of the store.

“Did Hazel empty out this corner last night while the store was closed?” Hannah asked with a laugh.

“No, Harry did earlier today because I’ve had something brewing in my mind for a while and I wanted to see if it’s possible. In fact, it all started that morning I came to your house.”

“To see the dress?” Hannah looked at her skeptically.

“Yes, but it wasn’t the dress. It was the muffins.”

“Oh, right, my Better Than Sex Muffins,” Hannah said with a little laugh. Then she looked at the empty corner again. “I don’t understand, Ruth, what are you saying?”

“Well, I need to diversify, to get more people into the store and I thought maybe you could open a little café in this corner and have your own business here, selling muffins and coffees and teas.”

Hannah looked at her and blinked.

“No one I know bakes like you, Hannah. And you said it makes you happy, so maybe that’s the thing you should be doing.”

“Oh, Ruth!” Hannah’s hand flew to her mouth as she began to laugh, her eyes filling with tears at the same time. “It’s…it’s so…”

“Brilliant?”

“Yes! Oh yes.”

As they stood there, as the idea began to really sink in, Ruth felt such pleasure at the look on Hannah’s face as she began tossing out ideas. There was still a lot to discuss, and Ruth hoped that Hannah wouldn’t get excited and change her mind in a few days, as she’d done so many times before about things she was going to try.

“It’ll be fun trying to come up with a clever name,” Hannah said.

“Why not just Hannah’s Café?”

“I don’t want to use my name.”

A book fell behind them and they both turned.

“Wow, that’s weird,” Hannah said picking it up. “Oh my God, Ruth, this is
Starting a Small Business for Dummies.
Is Hazel calling me a dummy?” she giggled.

“Maybe we should call it Hazel’s Café.”

“I love it! I love it all! I can’t wait to tell Eddie.”

That was the real worry, Eddie. Hopefully he would be happy for Hannah, and not put roadblocks in her way.

“Ruth, I think you found it.” Hannah turned and gave her a hug.

And then she heard someone clearing his throat and turned, her heart nearly stopping. Here was her own curveball, standing not ten feet away, thrown right at her heart. Thomas stood there smiling.

“I was wondering if you could recommend a good book for someone starting over.”

                            
18

T
HE DAYS AFTER THE BOOK SIGNING DISAPPEARED IN A BLUR. Each day Lucy hit the road with a trunk filled with books. Each time she pulled up to a store, she sat in the car, rehearsed her words, then walked inside with a book and a stack of bookmarks with Ruth’s quote in bold italics, and printouts of her two wonderful reviews. Like on the long trip north, she felt like nothing more than a traveling salesperson.

She kept reminding herself that sales was a numbers game, and as Kate once laughingly said after a few glasses of wine: “Throw enough shit on the wall, and something’s bound to stick.” Maybe if she hit fifty stores, ten might read or carry her book. At the end of the week, her trunk was emptying and her hopes were up, despite the ups and downs of these visits.

At a store in Lafayette, which seemed to carry mostly used books, she went into her spiel once again, telling the friendly young man at the register about her signing at The Book Lover, and that
A Quiet Wanting
was now a book club pick. He was so nice at first that her enthusiasm took over and she even confessed her secret dream to get picked up by a publisher. His eyes widened and then he actually laughed and said her chances were better of getting struck by lightning. She left without giving him a book.

Walking into these bookstores, having no idea if she’d be welcome or just another pain in the ass, was one of the toughest things she’d ever done, and that included telling someone they owed more than they earned in a year in back taxes when she was still an accountant.

Her faith was rekindled at a lovely store in Sparta. The manager liked that she was originally from New Jersey, and was impressed with her passion and drive. She e-mailed Lucy just two days later that she had already read and loved the book, and agreed to carry three copies on consignment. And yet Lucy wondered how many of the books she’d left at stores up and down the east coast now would end up in the trash. Or on ebay.

On another round of bookstore visits one morning, her cell rang and when she saw it was her attorney, she pulled over quickly. Carter was calling to go over some financial information. David, apparently, still had some income, as payments for past services rendered were coming in. He was also due a third of an accident settlement he’d argued successfully.

“David’s agreed to give you half of everything, although it’s not going to be much, given the debts and fines,” Carter explained. “I want you to ask for alimony. Even if David never practices law again, he’ll have to get some kind of job.”

Lucy sat there thinking. He was paying off all the debts. Thanks to him, her mother had her own place, and a decent car. Did she really want anything more from him?

“No, I don’t want alimony. Just what he stole from me.”

“What about the furniture and other possessions once the house is sold?”

She thought about the battered old cabin. How much did a person really need, she was beginning to wonder. Because there was something about stripping your life down to the barest essentials that somehow felt gratifying. That if you had to, you could survive. Thoreau would be proud of her.

“I’ll take a few personal things. Let David keep the rest, or sell it and pay me half.”

“All right. David’s attorney called me this morning to tell me he’ll be out in a few weeks, although he still has a period of house arrest. He’d like to stay at your house until the divorce is final, then put it on the market. He’ll continue to pay the mortgage. You don’t have to agree to this, though. I think it’s really pushing things.”

At some point, she’d have to go back. She had to get the rest of her clothes and her old writing files, as well as mementos of Ben, which obviously David wouldn’t want. And, as the petitioner, she was mandated to appear in court for the divorce hearing, when things were ready to be finalized. David wasn’t required to attend, but was permitted to.

“He can stay,” she told Carter, “under one condition. That he not come to the divorce hearing when the time comes.”

“Fair enough.”

When she hung up, the irony hit her—here she sat a few blocks from yet another bookstore, about to pitch her book again: the story of a woman who discovers that her husband has been lying to her for years; that the very foundation of their marriage was a sham. When she’d spent all those months confined to her bed, waiting for Ben to be born, it had taken her weeks to decide how Hope would handle her betrayal by her husband. Ultimately, she decided that Hope loved him, didn’t want to lose him. But what about her? Did she still love David? Would she still want to be married to him if he hadn’t insisted on this divorce? The numbness at what he’d done was wearing off. Even the intense bursts of anger were less frequent, now replaced by a simmering resentment. He had lied to her and stolen from her. And he had committed the most egregious crime an attorney could—stealing from his own clients. It was hard to imagine they could go back to a normal relationship after all this, even if he wanted to. Still, people did. Books were filled with such stories. But this wasn’t a book, where she could make a character do as she wanted him to. This was her life. Her marriage. And soon it would be over.

* * *

WHEN SHE GOT BACK TO THE CABIN THAT AFTERNOON, Colin was sitting near his bird feeders in his wheelchair. She watched, recognizing the bright yellow flash of a goldfinch as it flitted from one to the other. Birds were obviously a passion for him.

She walked over, just as he began writing in a book on his lap. He seemed as unpredictable a person as a writer could dream of for a character. She’d expect someone with his handicap, cut down in the prime of life, to be resentful. Cranky perhaps. But he seemed none of that, except for the brief moment when they were leaving The Raptor Center that first time. Apparently his friend Danny had gotten drunk that day and called Colin’s cell, he’d finally explained to her after Danny left his house that day.

“Anyway, I was just frustrated, and I had no business taking it out on you.”

“It’s no big deal,” she’d said.

“It was rude.”

“It must be hard. I can’t even imagine.”

“In the beginning, your life is in the crapper, and you make everyone’s lives hell. I did it, too.”

“Well, I can identify with the crapper part. But I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”

“I wasn’t thinking of anyone else. I was just thinking of the rest of my life, without the use of my legs. I thought I wasn’t a man anymore, which isn’t easy for a soldier to swallow.”

“You seem pretty good now.”

“Swimming saved me. But Danny found out that day that his ex-wife’s getting remarried and he was in a pretty bad way. They’ve only been divorced about six months.”

“He seems to be doing better.”

Colin had nodded then. “I’m hoping racing can give him some focus, you know? That he can start feeling good about himself again. He puts on a good act with the ladies, as you noticed, but he’s still pretty raw inside.”

“You’re a good man to help him like that.”

He shrugged. “Just doing what someone else did for me.”

Now he looked up as she came closer, then glanced past her and put a finger to his lips. Slowly she turned and saw a gorgeous bird about the size of a robin, black and white with a crimson patch on its breast. They watched for several minutes as the bird fed, then finally flew off. She turned back to Colin, who was writing again.

“That was a rose-breasted grosbeak.” He looked up then. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’ve never seen one before.”

“Look at this.”

He handed her the book. It was the field guide, and on a page with a picture of that same bird, she saw rows of dates. “I don’t understand.”

“Every year the grosbeak comes back to these feeders within the same three days.”

“The same bird?”

“No, they don’t live that long. But generations of them. These feeders are on their migratory path back north. My dad started recording it back in the sixties, and then…after a while I took over.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Nature’s an amazing thing. When we don’t screw it up.”

“I agree.”

“So are you still up for another visit to The Raptor Center tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“All right, see you then.”

He wheeled himself back to his cabin, with seemingly effortless ease. She pictured him again at The Raptor Center. The huge wild birds, beautiful and haunting in their cages, awaiting freedom. Colin had said it was a cliché, a cripple helping to heal wounded birds. She didn’t think so. It was poignant, even sad. They might be healed and fly to freedom again, but barring some sort of miracle, she imagined he would be confined to his chair for life. Once again she felt the pieces of an incredible story swimming in her head. She’d actually written a few pages already. But she needed more research, on the birds, and on paraplegic soldiers like Colin and Danny.

Of course she could just tell him about all this, even do a formal interview or two, which might help answer some of the questions she had. But that would change the dynamic of their friendship. And they were definitely becoming real friends.

For now, Lucy decided that was more important.