Book Lover, The (27 page)

“But it’s cheap, and some hunters still manage to get their hands on it. So when they shoot and can’t find their kill, it makes its way into the food chain. Your eagle no doubt feasted on a felled deer or duck. They don’t just fish, eagles are scavengers, too.”

“How awful. Don’t they—”

But just then the infirmary door opened and they turned. Out came Randy, walking very slowly, his arms covered in heavy leather gloves that went past his elbows. Kit was perched on one outstretched arm. A leather leash, attached to one of the bird’s feet, tethered him to the glove in case he tried to take off, which was highly unlikely. Kit hadn’t flown for weeks now, and they doubted he ever would. The fact that he’d been named meant the odds were he was going to be a display bird.

She was stunned again at the size of the bird next to the man, realizing once more what a dangerous job this was. Kit was huge and his fierce yellow eyes darted everywhere as his head bobbed from side to side, making it easy to see how nervous it was. He hadn’t been outside the Quiet Zone since he was first brought in.

She thought about how human contact was such a stress on a bird, and imagined Kit must be terrified, being carried by a man, having no idea where he was going, or what was about to happen next. Perhaps he was even still in pain. Despite what they knew, there was so much they never would.

Slowly Randy carried the bird into the opened cage, then gently set Kit on a low branch, untethered him and carefully backed into the antechamber. Kit sat there, his head still bobbing as he turned from side to side, his bright yellow eyes surveying his new surroundings. Lucy stood beside Colin and Susan, waiting, praying. Kit’s lead levels, so high that it almost killed him, were back to normal, thanks to the chelation therapy, which essentially washed his blood of the toxic metal. He looked strong again, but until today, he’d had no chance to try out his healed wing. Lucy’s heart was in her throat, hoping he’d be able to fly. For some reason, as she stood beside Colin, she didn’t want to see Kit become a display bird.

As they waited in silence, she couldn’t help thinking of Colin and his wounded vets, and even David and herself. In life, everyone got hurt, suffered loss, but in the end, hopefully they could heal and find new purpose. Perhaps that’s what was really drawing her there.

Just then Kit lifted his shoulders, as if shrugging. He did it again, and again. Then he stretched his wings ever so slightly, no doubt testing their strength after his long recuperation. She imagined not moving her legs or arms for weeks, the loss of muscle that would result. Beside her she knew Colin had similar thoughts. After a few moments, Kit spread his wings to a nearly seven foot span and it was easy to see the difference between the two, the right wing slightly bent. His talons released their grip on the branch and they waited for him to lift in the air, but he wobbled, seeming to lose his balance, then latched on tightly again with those strong feet.

Kit closed his wings and didn’t open them again.

                            
28

I
T WAS BRUTALLY HOT TODAY, BUT RUTH PROPPED THE DOOR OPEN, hoping to lure in anyone who might be passing by. Of course that made it ridiculous to put the air conditioning on. Not that other stores didn’t, but she wasn’t about to throw money out the door like that.

A bead of perspiration trickled down her back as she thought about the busy day ahead of her: a huge shipment of books to be unpacked, a pile of paperwork only she could take care of, and Hannah coming to talk about more plans for the café. She reminded herself that after work she absolutely had to stop at the grocery store. Oh, and start getting ready for the meeting with her accountant next week. She wasn’t looking forward to that. But she was looking forward to seeing Hannah, who was like a new woman now, determined, focused, and happier than Ruth could ever recall. She kept thanking Ruth for helping her to find that “thing” she was meant to do.

Since Kris was out to lunch and the store quiet, Ruth opened the folder for the Catholic grade school fund raiser. She was putting together a presentation on fifteen books for children and young adults and needed to write a one paragraph “teaser” synopsis of each book that ended with a cliffhanger—so they’d simply
have
to buy it to find out what happens. Although the public high school had been ordering from her for years, this was her first time dealing with St. Mary’s. Of course she’d had to cut her already dismal profit to the bone to agree to their request. But hopefully she’d get some of their kids and parents to start coming into the store, too. Every reader was precious to her. Besides, she knew the school was operating on the same kind of budget as hers—a wing and a prayer. Literally.

She looked at the first book on her list,
The Diary of a Young Girl.
She’d been stunned to learn neither of her granddaughters had even heard of this classic. Trying to think up a great opening line, she stared out the window, letting her mind go, hoping it would suddenly float into focus. A jagged flash of lightning cut the sky and she hoped the coming storm would usher in cooler air. She closed the folder and put it back on the pile of paperwork, realizing she just didn’t have the mental energy for a big project right now. Maybe she could start working on the essay contest for the convention. That deadline was fast approaching.

She couldn’t wait to go to the convention and get away. When was the last time she’d been out of Warwick? Ruth loved those weekend getaways every year, a chance to come away with a shopping bag full of galleys of upcoming books, and also to share ideas about running things more efficiently. And, of course, the old standby: getting more business and bringing in more revenue.

Over cocktails at night, most of them commiserated about the inability to ever get ahead, although that was usually followed by lively discussions about everyone’s latest or favorite new read. God how she loved that part, dissecting characters and plots, and even someone’s style of writing. That’s why they did it, they’d all agree by the end of the evening, cheeks flushed with alcohol, eyes bright with excitement over their shared ideas. Booksellers didn’t go into the business for the money.

The title of this year’s essay seemed a bit redundant:
Why I’m a Bookseller.
Without a doubt each and every one of them could answer:
Because I love books.
It was going to be a challenge, finding another way of saying it. Or another reason. She sat back on the stool, knowing she didn’t have the creative focus for this project either. She’d just have to get up extra early tomorrow and tackle it while her brain was fresh.

She walked around the counter to go dig out the old oscillating fan, buried somewhere in the storage room, when she heard a noise and turned, expecting to see Hannah.

“Eddie,” she said, the surprise evident in her voice as Hannah’s husband strolled in.

“Hey, Ruth. Hannah’s a bit under the weather and probably won’t be over. I thought I’d stop by and check things out.”

Ruth couldn’t imagine anything keeping Hannah from their meeting. She’d been foraging garage sales and thrift shops for the contents of her café. She told Ruth she was painting a few old mirrors with flowers and panes to make them look like windows, to brighten up the back corner. She was supposed to bring one in today to show her, as well as another new recipe for her to sample.

Ruth led Eddie to the back of the store. “I hope it isn’t anything serious.”

“Nah, just a headache.”

She stopped and turned to him. Eddie was a short man, powerfully built, and back in high school, a million years ago, when he and Hannah first began dating, she’d thought him good-looking. Now he was losing his hair, his muscles had softened, and he wore his pants dangerously low under a hefty paunch.

“This whole back corner of the store is where she’ll be setting up her café,” Ruth said, waving her arm to show the area she meant. “We’ll be clearing out those bookshelves soon, and she’ll have about three hundred square feet to work with, which I think—”

“Are you serious?” Eddie interrupted with a laugh.

Ruth looked at him, not sure what he was getting at.

“She’ll be able to fit what? Maybe two or three tables there?” he asked with great sarcasm.

“She’s hoping for five, actually. Which I think is very doable. She’s getting bistro tables at garage sales and consignment shops.”

“And she thinks she’s going to serve a few tables coffee and muffins and make what she’s making at Elaine’s?” He turned to her, his hands on his hips now. “She gave her notice, you know, just like that. On a whim. You know my wife and her whims.”

“This isn’t a whim, Eddie. I think it’s perfect for her. But it’ll take a while, like any business. And she’s got great ideas, like gift baskets and—”

“Come on, Ruth,” he said, with a sly smile. “Isn’t this more about you? Getting some revenue? Don’t you think $500 a month is a little ridiculous for this?”

She could feel her mouth fall open. “What are you getting at?”

He was shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe her question. “It’s no secret your rent went up. And that you’re hanging on here by your fingernails. We both know my wife is a sucker for—”

“Maybe you don’t know your wife as well as you think you do,” she interrupted, her chest tightening with anger. “Maybe you’ve been a little too… distracted. With your own business affairs?”

Eddie’s look sharpened. “The only thing I’m distracted with, Ruth, is trying to eke out a living to support us.”

“I hope that’s true, because you know how it is in a small town, how word gets around. I wouldn’t want Hannah to get hurt.”

Slowly he smiled. “Speaking from experience, Ruth? Because I’d say that’s about thirty years too late.”

God, how she wanted to smack him.

“So back to the point, I don’t want my wife getting hurt either. There’s no way she’s going to be paying $500 a month for a corner of your shop.”

Ruth’s breath was coming in short bursts now. She could almost see Hannah’s shattered look when her ideas went sliding down the tubes.

“But Eddie,” she said, forcing a sweet tone into her voice. “Didn’t Hannah tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m not charging her any rent at all. Not until she begins making a profit.”

He blinked.

“I want her to succeed. I’ve never seen her so excited. Or happy. Why would I want to put something in the way of that, like rent?” Her heart was galloping now, her anger turning to satisfaction as she watched his face change. “And if people come in for her muffins and coffee, then hopefully they’ll buy a book, too. It’ll be a win-win for us both. Think Starbucks. There’s big money in lattes and muffins.” Ha! Starbucks, that was feckin’ brilliant.

“We’ll see,” Eddie said.

Ruth watched him leave, her momentary satisfaction deflating like a punctured balloon. She leaned against a bookshelf to steady herself, her knees suddenly wobbly.

God, how she hated confrontations like this. Where you could feel that sickening grip of anger squeezing, threatening to unbalance you. When you’d say or do something you’d regret later on. The kind of confrontation she’d had with Bill one too many times, and that usually cost her in the long run. As it would now.

No matter how much of an ass Eddie was, she knew that righteousness was a dangerous thing. It had just cost her $500 a month.

* * *

HANNAH NEVER DID SHOW UP. The moment Kris came back from lunch, Ruth left, needing to get away from the store, from the maddening scene with Eddie, and reminders of the anger that was once so much a part of her life. She decided to walk for a while. She could certainly use the exercise, although it was so hot.

She walked slowly, looking in the store windows, thinking of how many had changed over the years. So much of her life was spent on these streets, from the time she got her first job at fifteen at Aiken’s Pharmacy, which still looked the way it did way back when she spent her after school hours tidying the greeting cards, arranging prescriptions alphabetically, and ringing up her first sale of Trojans, having no idea what a condom even was and wondering why Mr. Taylor had blushed so profusely when she couldn’t find them and had to ask out loud. They’d been tucked out of sight, in a little drawer under the counter.

She passed Tynan’s Butcher Shop, where her father had supplied beef a million years ago. Now it was a women’s boutique, although locals still referred to the building as Tynan’s when giving directions, which was obviously confusing to newcomers.

Mama’s Pizza, the big hangout when she was still in school, had been gone for years, relocated to a strip mall on the outskirts of town decades ago. A few years ago, Sandy became the latest tenant when she opened Scrub-a-Dub Doggie. She seemed to be doing well. Ruth stood a moment at the bridge, looking down at the Waywayanda Creek, enjoying the cool damp shade of the huge sycamore that had stood on its banks for as long as she could remember. As a kid, she’d thrown pennies into the rushing water, making wishes. How silly.

She could almost picture herself all those years ago, a big, gawky girl who got up at dawn to milk cows with her father. She’d loved watching the sunrise, the smell of the barn, the early quiet. It was a simple life, and she’d been unaware of how her parents had struggled. They always had food and books, and so she never realized how much they’d lived without. Until she became an adolescent and the competition for nice clothes, boys, and popularity began.

Then her tossed pennies began to wish for different things. Someone to love her. A husband, one day children. A simple dream, as old as time. Back then it was all so different for girls. The late fifties and early sixties were still a man’s world. A time when women’s roles were so traditional—when most women got married, had children, and stayed home to take care of the family. Like her mother, and her grandmother before her. It all seemed so quaint now. So hard to fathom that back in those days she’d needed a man to sign for a credit card, or she couldn’t get one. That without a husband, she couldn’t get a loan. Ruth hadn’t questioned any of it at the time. It was simply the way the world worked.

Then suddenly it all began to change. But she was having one baby after another, barely keeping up with what was going on in the outside world—civil rights, women’s lib, birth control, free love, the British invasion, Viet Nam, all of it a kind of blur between bottles and diapers, cleaning and cooking, ear infections, measles, and sleepless nights. What a turbulent time for the world, and her. Because marriage had turned out to be nothing like she expected.

She leaned on the bridge now and closed her eyes.

Oh stop it, Ruth. Why are you doing this now?

She knew it wasn’t just the scene with Eddie, the flash of sudden anger at him that evoked those other scenes. Memories she’d managed to keep tucked away for years were popping up everywhere she turned lately, throwing her neat, orderly world—her safe world-off balance.

She knew it was because of Thomas.