Book Lover, The (3 page)

                            
1

R
UTH STOOD BEHIND THE COUNTER GOING OVER THE day’s sales on the computer one more time, watching the woman from the corner of her eye. Ruth could have gone home; she knew the dismal numbers weren’t going to change. But when the doorbell had tinkled ten minutes before eight, just as she was about to call it a night, she had sat back on her stool. The customer, with dark brown hair pulled carelessly back in a clip, had headed straight for the New Fiction section.

Ruth’s calves, which had been complaining for hours, were screaming by then. The store was still technically open, though no one had come in since six-thirty. The new hours were mandated by the Warwick Village Downtown Revitalization Committee in order to compete with the malls outside of town. This could be more than just a single sale, Ruth told herself. This woman could end up becoming a regular customer, something Ruth couldn’t afford to turn away.

She slipped off her low heels, and rubbed her left calf with the big toe of her right foot as she glanced at the blue envelope she’d slipped into her purse earlier. She was tempted to rip it open and read it right now. But no, she would wait, savoring it like a teenage girl. She would read it tonight, alone. And tell no one.

The woman moved to the shelf of bestsellers and picked one up, opening the cover, reading part of the first page, then slapping it shut. She did the exact same thing over and over, spending less than thirty seconds on four books as Ruth watched. She’d let her browse another five minutes, before asking if there was anything she could help her with.

Ruth turned back to the computer. The figures on the screen began to swim before her. Closing her eyes, she sighed. Once Saturday had been her favorite day of the week in the store. Nothing, though, was the way it used to be.

Reaching under the counter for her purse and sweater, she spotted the cardboard box which had arrived around lunchtime, and which she’d stashed before anyone else noticed it. My God, she surely wasn’t herself today. How on earth had she forgotten the box? She smiled in spite of her exhaustion, now having two things to look forward to tonight.

She opened it on the counter, tossing a smaller box that also came in that day’s mail inside as well. Maybe some things hadn’t changed, she thought. A ripple of pleasure washed through her as she anticipated pulling out one treasure after another. Her daughter Jenny had been harping on her lately that she needed to get a life. But Ruth honestly couldn’t imagine anything more enjoyable than the evening now ahead of her. So what if she would spend another Saturday night alone? She was used to alone. And she wasn’t lonely, not really. Without her even thinking, a palm drifted across the top of the box, stroking it the way someone might caress a lover’s cheek. There would be plenty of people to share her evening with now, of that she was certain.

CRASH!

She jumped at the explosion of hardcovers hitting the floor in the back of the store. Her heart leaped to a gallop in her chest. Oh Lord, she’d forgotten Colin. He’d been so quiet, as usual, organizing a clearance rack. Books that had not sold, that had outlived their shelf life, like poor, unpopular relatives who’d overstayed their visit and had to be gotten rid of quickly.

“No harm done,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

She sighed, and her heart began slowing to a canter. How was it she forgot about the accident at times? Was she really that scatterbrained? Not as scatterbrained as her friend Hannah Meeker, who was supposed to come in hours ago, but hadn’t shown or called, as usual. Could it be Ruth’s age catching up with her? She was sixty-four, although in her mind she still labeled herself middle-aged. But who was she kidding besides herself? She was nearly ready for Medicare, with an aging brain that seemed to tire more quickly, that was overloaded most every day.

“What do you say I throw the goodies in your car?”

She turned to see Colin coming up the aisle. She hadn’t noticed before how handsome he looked, in pressed khakis and a button-down shirt the same light blue as his eyes. He had that knowing little smile. He’d been helping her in the store long enough to know how much the box meant to her. But it would be tricky for him. The carton wasn’t heavy, but it was cumbersome and her car was across the street in the municipal lot.

She had to let him.

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” She handed him the car keys. “Just leave it on the front seat with the keys.”

“You look tired, Mom.”

She took a long breath. Had Jenny and Alex been talking to him? They really seemed to be on a mission lately.

“I’m fine,” she said with more certainty than she felt.

She walked around the counter, toward the woman who was still opening and closing books.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No thanks.” She didn’t even look up and Ruth decided to just get ready to close. She knew this game well.

She walked to the back of the store, her fingers gliding across the rows of books, as they’d done each night for nearly three decades. She washed her hands, and as she dried them, she stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing wisps of hair, more silver than black, into her long braid. Quickly she tidied up the bathroom, abused by customers and staff alike. Like her, this bathroom was in need of a makeover. It was a combination storeroom, nap place and dump for everything she didn’t know what to do with in the store. Even if she had the time, though, she didn’t have the money to fix up the bathroom. Or herself. The low heels she wore tonight had been an impulse buy, a silly indulgence. They’d been ridiculously cheap.

She closed the bathroom door. Right now, what she really needed was simply to soak for an hour or two in a hot tub. Her insides felt as if they were vibrating from exhaustion. She grabbed her coat, and as she made her way back to the counter, wondering if she had the nerve to be rude enough to tell the woman she was closing, she heard the bell tinkle once again.

“I’m sorry, am I too late?”

It was Hannah, breathless and yes, late, both of which seemed to be her habitual state of being.

“I’m sorry, I lost track of the time. My hot water heater exploded and of course all the plumbers are too busy to come right over. Not to mention Eddie’s stuck at the store…”

Ruth felt a flush of warmth crawl up her neck, a stress-induced hot flash, and tossed her coat behind the counter.

As well as a lifelong crisis of confidence, her friend Hannah seemed to have a disaster every month or so. She’d been coming in for years, and Ruth knew her from their school days, although Hannah was a good five years younger.

Hannah hurried over to the Self-Help section now, just a few shelves because Ruth didn’t have the square footage to devote huge amounts of space to each and every genre.

“The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success.
You’ve read this?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, it’s very good,” Ruth said, slipping off the heels and sitting on the stool again. “He has amazing insight.”

She watched Hannah read the book jacket, then frown.

“I don’t know, Ruth,” she sighed as she carried the book to the counter. “I’m not really looking for money. I just want to find that
thing,
you know? That I’m meant to do.”

They’d been having this conversation for as long as Ruth could remember. At the moment, staring at Hannah’s pale face, the fading dirty blonde hair, the worried brown eyes fringed with gold lashes, she realized that nothing she said tonight was going to make a difference, really.

“It might not be
the
answer, but I think you’ll find a lot of really worthwhile advice here. And who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it will be the one.”

“Okay. I need something to read this weekend anyway. I’m off for two whole days and Eddie has a sale at the store, so…”

“Why don’t I just ring it up,” Ruth said, gently taking the book from Hannah.

Hannah dug in her purse and pulled out a fistful of bills. “Sorry, my tips for today.”

“It’s fine, I can always use singles.”

Ruth put the book in a bag, just as another book smacked shut and the woman headed for the door.

“Nice of her to paw all your books so she can go home and order—”

“Hannah, shush!”

“Sorry.—

It wasn’t like Ruth wasn’t thinking the same thing.

As they walked out together, Hannah stood on the sidewalk, saying as she did each and every time she came in for a book, “You’re so lucky, Ruth. Knowing what you really wanted. And making it happen.”

Ruth just smiled, then shrugged.

It was mild for a March evening, although the downtown streets appeared deserted. They crossed Main Street to the community parking lot, where Hannah said goodbye and kept on walking home. As Ruth pulled out, she looked across at her store, the big front window so cozy with books lined up in the glow of a small lamp, and a poster of an upcoming signing for a local poet. Then she noticed the sign above the window, that the L from The Book Lover must have fallen off, although where it had gone to, she couldn’t imagine. The letter was big enough that someone should certainly have noticed it on the sidewalk. Although she hadn’t. But she knew how that was, when you saw something every day of your life, after a while you stopped
really
seeing it.

With a frown she read it again; now it was “The Book over.” She shivered, then told herself not to believe in that karma crap. That was something Hannah would fall for. And that probably was why at nearly sixty, Hannah was still trying to find out what she wanted to be when she grew up.

* * *

LUCY OFTEN SAW HERSELF AS ONE OF HER CHARACTERS. Sometimes it was the easiest way to make light of a situation that might send her into a tailspin. Like now, standing in her driveway in her robe with the
St. Augustine Times
in her hands, staring at the bold black headline just above a smiling picture of herself:
DREAM OF BEING PUBLISHED COMES TRUE.

Lucinda collapsed from embarrassment on the red brick driveway, praying none of her neighbors were watching. That somehow, today, no one would actually read the newspaper.

If only she could will it to happen. When she went back inside, she found David dressed and in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a cup of coffee. She handed him the paper.

“Front of the Arts section. That’s great coverage.”

She said nothing, waiting.

He put the paper down a few moments later. “You realize this makes it sound like you got a real publisher?”

“Well, when the reporter asked who my publisher was, I just said ‘small potatoes press,’ implying no one would have heard of them. Which is technically true.”

“Yes, but you had to know that…”

David’s voice faded. Her dream hadn’t come true; she had published the book herself. But she didn’t want people pre-judging it, and now it had all come out wrong. It was her own fault, really.

“Lucy, did you hear what I said?”

She looked up. David was staring at her. “What?”

“Don’t you ever listen when I’m talking?”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I just reminded you that I’ll be home late. I have a deposition in Fort Lauderdale, then my poker game tonight.”

“I remembered,” she said, although she hadn’t. She was doing that a lot lately, zoning out in the middle of conversations.

As he walked to the bedroom, she saw him pause as he passed the dining room, where piles of her book—nearly $1,000 worth—sat all over the table and floor. Yesterday he’d made a comment about the sink filled with dishes from the day before.

“Do you think you could find ten minutes today to straighten up?”

“I’m surprised you noticed,” she said, trailing him into the bedroom, “since you’re never home.”

“Someone has to pay the bills.”

“Jesus, David, that’s a low blow. It wasn’t so long ago the tables were turned and I was the only one working.”

He stood there a moment and said nothing.

“What are we doing, David?”

He shrugged.

She took a deep breath, then walked to him and straightened his tie. “Listen, you’ve got a deposition, I’ve got a million booksellers to contact, plus the launch party is nearly here. We’re both stressed.”