Book Lover, The (36 page)

She looked into Megan’s young face, filled with excitement, and promise. Megan sat there not moving, waiting for an answer. As Ruth looked around, her mind racing, her eyes roaming from the scuffed pine floors to the old windows that rattled in the wind, she knew what her answer should be.

“I’d probably work for free if you couldn’t pay me,” Megan said, breaking the long silence.

Ruth stood up suddenly and turned to her. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I would never allow that.”

                            
40

A
WEEK AFTER SHE LEFT TO END HER MARRIAGE, Lucy flew back and headed straight to Warwick to see how Ruth was. But the moment Ruth opened the door and pulled her into a hug, a wave of panic hit her in the chest. She’d made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t here she needed to begin. It was with Colin. Because if she didn’t handle this right, in the long run Ruth might think badly of her. She couldn’t bear that.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Ruth said, leading her inside.

“You seem much better,” Lucy managed, her voice sounding shaky. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to relax.

Ruth looked rested, the worry lines softened around her eyes, and even a hint of color in her cheeks.

“I got bored and sat in the sun a few afternoons. It felt heavenly. And I think I’ve made up for a year’s worth of sleep.”

“You mean you’re not going stir crazy yet?”

“Of course I am,” she laughed. “I can’t wait for my sentence to be up.”

The smile disappeared as Ruth realized what she had said. Lucy looked at her with raised eyebrows, glad to be focusing on her. Despite a prickle of guilt, she realized she needed to keep steering the conversation that way.

“I’m going to see Thomas in a few days, although no one knows about him yet.”

“Really? I think that’s wonderful!”

“We’ll see.” It seemed she didn’t want to really talk about Thomas.

Lucy followed Ruth through the kitchen, where they grabbed a pitcher of iced tea and glasses, then down the back porch steps. They sat at an old wooden picnic table.

“So you’ve made peace with closing the store, it seems?”

Ruth put the pitcher down and looked across the yard for a moment. “I thought I had.”

“I’m sorry, Ruth.”

“Don’t be. I think sometimes we need to lose something, or almost lose it, to realize how much we take it for granted. As your husband obviously did. And Gloryanne with Colin.”

Her unease grew at the mention of Gloryanne, who along with Ruth obviously knew nothing about Colin’s feelings for her. That before she left, he’d made them clear. He was waiting for her to return, free. But before Lucy could respond, Ruth continued talking.

“I’m not ready to retire. And I don’t want to give up that part of my life just yet. I thought I had to, but maybe I just need to believe a little more. You’ve had a lot to do with that.”

“Me? I don’t understand.”

“I’ve watched you over these past months going after your dream—getting your book out there. Refusing to take no for an answer. Pounding the pavement going from store to store, fighting to get reviews on the internet and in newspapers. And by the way, the book clubs here are raving about you, telling their friends and fellow book clubs, so expect more to come.”

“Really? Ruth, that is so exciting. You know I’ve done some meetings over my web cam, and a few by speaker phone. I’m getting better. Not so defensive when they ask questions.”

“Well, there’s more,” Ruth said, her smile turning joyous. “As you know, we’ve got the anniversary coming up and Megan’s been putting together some statistics. It turns out,” she paused for a dramatic breath, “your novel is The Book Lover’s top selling paperback this year.”

“Are you serious, Ruth?”

“Of course I am. You’ve outsold our paperback New York Times bestsellers, in fact.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe it.”

“Well, when you go to the convention next week, make sure you tell every bookseller.”

“Oh, Ruth. How can I ever repay you?” Suddenly her little project at the cabin didn’t seem nearly enough.

Ruth held up her hand, shushing her. “I want to thank you. I was starting to tell you that when I thought of everything you’re doing to make your dream come true, it inspired me. I don’t want to give up the store, if it’s at all possible. I’ve got some irons in the fire, and let’s just say by the time the convention is over I hope to have things worked out.”

“That’s wonderful, Ruth, because honestly I can’t imagine the store without you. Or you without the store.”

“Me either. Anyway, enough about me, tell me about everything with your husband.”

Lucy hesitated, wishing she could just tell her the truth, all of it. She couldn’t stand keeping things from her, even for a few days. But until Colin knew, she had to wait because that could change everything. And then she looked at Ruth, who was pouring more tea. Why was she so afraid? Ruth was the kindest, most compassionate woman she’d ever met.

“Mom?”

They both turned to see Jenny coming out the back kitchen door with her daughters.

“We made you a cake, Grammy,” they said in unison, and she saw that Jenny was holding a glass plate with an angel food cake topped with strawberries.

“We picked the strawberries ourselves at the beginning of the summer,” the younger one, with dark pigtails, exclaimed, “and Mommy froze them.”

Jenny then introduced Emma and Olivia.

“Mrs. Barrett writes books,” she told her girls. “She’s one of our favorite authors.”

They gave her shy smiles and Lucy stood, realizing that this was a perfect excuse to leave. “Why don’t I let you enjoy your visit with your granddaughters.” Now she could make things right with Colin first.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Ruth said with a chuckle. “But you are and you’ve just returned, so I’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t we just catch up when you get back from the convention? Then I’ll hopefully have news for you, too.”

“That’s just perfect.”

Pulling away, Lucy couldn’t help remembering that long-ago morning after she’d slept at Ruth’s, a stranger then, and driven this same route toward Main Street, the trees just budding with green leaves. She’d been a quivering mess of uncertainty. Now in the lushness of summer’s end, the pots on Main Street bursting with geraniums and purple petunias, she was a different woman.

A few minutes later she pulled into the municipal parking lot, only to find it full. As she turned to search for a spot along the street, she glanced over at The Book Lover and froze. She’d come to see Colin, who she knew was working, only there was Gloryanne walking inside. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. She needed to tell Colin the truth, as soon as possible. But obviously this wasn’t the time, or place. She put her blinker on and drove away.

SHE SAT ON THE PORCH FOR HOURS, WAITING FOR COLIN to return. It was a perfect summer day, puffy white clouds scattered across a wide blue sky, all of it, including the circle of rolling green mountains, reflected in the mirrored surface of the lake. She thought about a hike to calm her nerves, but didn’t want to chance missing him. Finally she heard the crunch of tires and a moment later his Jeep slowed to a halt in the driveway next door. She got up and stood there a moment, her nerves vibrating. She walked over just as he lowered himself into his wheelchair.

He looked up at her. “Hey,” he said, without smiling.

“Hi.”

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I just got back a little while ago.”

“Packing up again?”

“Not yet. Look, Colin, I know I said I’d be back in a few days, and maybe I should have called to explain, but—”

He put up a hand, stopping her. “Good luck with all that, I’m glad things worked out. Have a safe trip back.”

“I’m leaving again to go to the convention. Where did you think I was going?”

“Back to your husband, of course. I understand he didn’t want a divorce after all.”

Ruth must have told him. That had never occurred to her, fool that she was.

He turned his chair and began pushing himself toward his cabin.

“Wait.” She grabbed the back of his chair, but was unable to stop it and ran in front of him and knelt down, blocking his way. They were at eye level. “Colin, I’m sorry I didn’t call or e-mail but—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Yes I do.”

“Look, Lucy,” he said, and his voice softened a bit, “this isn’t a game. I know things got …close between us. But maybe this is for the best. I can never give you—”

“Shut up,” she interrupted.

He gave her a startled look.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, but I need you to listen. Obviously your mother told you what happened. And I should have called you myself, but I didn’t because, well, honestly I just didn’t want to involve you. It was something I had to take care of myself, without distraction. And in the end, it was clear to me.” She took a deep breath. “I’m here because…I want to be with you.”

He looked out at the lake, saying nothing.

“I know it will never be like other relationships, but I want to…” She paused, then took his hand. What did she really say here? How much could she promise? “I want to see if this can work.”

“And your husband?”

“I love David. And I always will. We shared fifteen years, and a son. But I can tell you what I know now, and what I think I’ve known all along, that it’s been over for a long time.”

When she had fallen into bed with David, it felt as if they were drowning, clinging to each other with tears and a frenzied need to somehow connect. But minutes later, as she lay beside him catching her breath, her mind coming back into focus, she’d felt as if she’d betrayed Colin.

For days afterward, she was unable to forgive herself, and yet she wavered in her decision with David, out of guilt and obligation. It was when she popped in to visit her writing friend Tia at the assisted living complex, then spilled her guts after Tia asked what was wrong, that she finally realized that what happened wasn’t so extraordinary. Tia reminded her of war stories, when perfect strangers found themselves having sex in bomb shelters, desperate to reaffirm life somehow. Then they both recalled someone in a workshop joking about her memoir, where she wrote about divorce sex, that it was even more intense than make-up sex. Tia told her to forgive herself, and she had, finally. Somehow for her it was part of the letting go.

But she wasn’t going to tell all of that to Colin. It wasn’t necessary, and would probably hurt him. What was important was to convince him of her true feelings.

“I married David,” she said then, “for the kind of life I always wanted, the kind my mother always urged me to go for: security, a home, a stable future. And I did love him, but not the way I really should have.”

Maybe it was the time and distance apart, maybe it was being with Colin, but she’d finally admitted to herself what she’d always really known—that she’d never loved David in the way she’d once loved Jamie. Nor did she feel the same passion and physical need that she now felt for Colin. But it wasn’t just physical, there was some kind of bond between them that was inexplicable.

“Well, I guess I’m about as far in the opposite direction of security as you could get,” he said, giving her an almost fierce look.

“I don’t care. I’m ready to take that risk.” But her heart thundered in her chest, thinking of Gloryanne, who was so beautiful, wondering if she’d waited too long to tell him.

“You’re free?”

She looked into those light blue eyes and nodded.

He pulled her up and onto his lap, wrapping her in his arms. She buried her face in his neck, breathing him in as his own warm breath filled her ear, hushing the white lie that now hung between them.

                            
41

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING BOTH THRILLING and terrifying about what she was doing. But Ruth kept telling herself this: what did she really have to lose? When you think you’re dying, nothing else matters but living. Now that the fluid had all but disappeared, now that her strength was coming back, she had the rest of her life ahead of her. And with that realization—and Thomas’s return phone call finally—came a giddy rush of exhilaration. It seemed that anything was possible if only she dared to reach for it.

She sat rocking on the porch now. Bolts of golden light lit the far corner of the front yard and she realized the sun had shifted recently, lower in the sky by a few degrees. Each year as she turned the calendar page to September, it was as if someone sent Mother Nature a reminder, and a sudden nip of coolness began to descend in the evenings. The light and the sporadic chill meant autumn wasn’t far off.

Thomas had called her back after she’d all but given up on hearing from him again. Who could blame him? But he’d been apologetic, explaining that he’d been working as many hours as he could, and had started his class at the local community college. No one ever called him, so he never really noticed that his phone battery had died. What he didn’t say, what she knew, was that he’d given up on hearing from her.

She told him she thought he’d moved back to Albany after getting that last letter, but he’d explained that it was simply a farewell trip of sorts, closing out a bank account, tying up some loose ends from his past.

“It just seemed time to wipe the slate clean and start over here. I also felt like I needed to let you off the hook. I didn’t think I’d been fair after thinking about what I’d asked of you.”

“Well… I’m glad you came back.”

That night they’d talked for over an hour, and each day since. On the phone, as with their letters, they were able to reach beyond the barrier of what lay between them—his crime—and find that comfortable place again where they could talk openly. They discussed everything from the wonder of the night sky-which he said everyone should be required to go outside and see at least once a week—to the sometimes difficult adjustments to his new life in Pine Island. When they hung up that night, she’d gone out to the back of her yard, sat on the old bench, and gazed above for a long time at the velvety blackness glittering with millions of stars. She spotted the constellations she once knew so well from her walks to the barn in the dark—Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia, the glittering jewel of Venus, and then a gorgeous half moon ascending above her house. She was filled with awe. She imagined Thomas doing the same thing at that same moment, and felt like a teenage girl.

“At night sometimes I feel like walking for miles, just because I can, you know? But that probably wouldn’t be a smart thing to do,” he admitted during their last call. He had to be careful, he’d explained, avoid anything that might cause him suspicion, because of his parole. One stupid thing could undo him, which made him extremely nervous. A few weeks ago, a woman accused him of shortchanging her at the pump, and as she got louder and angrier, he’d felt as if his blood was draining from his body. He knew she was wrong, or lying, but he just gave her the money. He’d had a number of “driveaways,” cars that gassed up then drove off without paying. He didn’t even tell the owner, just put the money in himself.

“I’m afraid word might be getting out that I’m an easy target.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Ruth, I’m not about to take any chances. Besides, who ever said life was fair? I just think I need to find something else really soon.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to live like that.”

“It still beats where I spent the past ten years,” he said with a chuckle.

She asked him, finally, the thing that had been bothering her for a long time. “Thomas, where did you get the gun?”

She could hear the long sigh over the phone before he answered. “I told you my parents were very old school. My father always kept a gun in the store, just in case. It was so ancient it never even occurred to me where he might’ve gotten it all those years ago. But it had never been registered, which of course didn’t help my case.”

“I see.”

“Really, Ruth?”

Now she hesitated, thinking about her own parents and grandparents who, as farmers, also often lived by their own ways. “Yes, Thomas, I do.”

And then she changed the subject. Of course they talked about books each night. He didn’t have a TV, which he confessed he really didn’t miss, and he spent his hours off reading. There was no bookstore in Pine Island, so he went to the library every few days.

“I’m reading a lot of memoirs, and classics, too. You were right about Hemingway, I really like him. His style is so simple he makes it look easy. But I know that’s not the case. When I get a permanent place, I think I’m going to build myself a library, a room filled with books where I can just sit and read.” And then she heard him laughing. “Who would have thought I’d ever say something like that?”

Last night he asked if she felt well enough yet for a visit. After a long pause she said yes. He told her not to do a thing, he’d bring dinner. She’d taken a long bath, spent time on her hair, which she decided to leave down with the sides swept back in antique tortoise shell combs she’d treated herself to decades ago and couldn’t remember the last time she’d used. And she felt… something new. A flush of excitement.

From the corner of her eye she caught a movement and turned. He’d taken the bus and now he was coming up the street with a bag in his hand, wearing nice brown pants and a white button down shirt. He was whistling, and it struck her that he looked as if he were any man on this street returning home after a day at work. A moment later he glanced up and saw her on the porch. He stopped, then his face broke into a shy smile.

PERHAPS IT WAS TOO MUCH EXPECTATION. Perhaps it wasn’t possible for anything to live up to what they’d fantasized, each of them over the long lonely nights of the past five years. From the moment they walked into her house and sat at the dining room table, with her mother’s old crystal candlesticks lit, awkwardness descended upon them that seemed impossible to undo.

“I’m glad it’s not so hot out,” she said inanely, as he pulled cartons from the bag.

“I hope the food is good,” he said, opening the fried rice, as she uncovered the Kung Pao chicken.

“Their food is usually wonderful,” she said.

Then silence. They each filled their plates. He picked up his fork, waiting, while she unwrapped her chopsticks.

“Ruth,” he finally said, as they both looked at their plates of food. “How many times have you read Gatsby?”

“Oh, probably a dozen or so.”

“I’ve only read it twice. But I read it so slowly I think I’ve probably got it memorized.”

She nodded and couldn’t help thinking of when Gatsby, after waiting years to see Daisy again, finally met her for a cup of tea at Nick Carraway’s cottage.

As if he were reading her mind, Thomas said, “Do you remember the scene where Nick watches Gatsby looking at Daisy, and is surprised to see the expression of bewilderment on Gatsby’s face? He wonders how Daisy could ever live up to Gatsby’s expectation? I’m afraid…” His words ran out, and he sat there shaking his head.

A tender laugh escaped her. “Oh, Thomas, I’ve thought the same thing. I’m the creation of my letters, as are you. For five years we’ve talked mostly of books.”

“It’s more than books, Ruth,” he said very quietly, looking at her intensely.

“I know.”

“I’m not a very educated man,” he said with a worried look. “To be honest, Ruth, I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but before prison, I didn’t really read much.”

“Oh?”

“I never really stopped long enough to take the time. Truthfully, I was never much of a student, and I didn’t like what I
had
to read. But being in prison, there was nothing else to try to stay involved in the outside world, so I started picking up books.”

“And the first one you read was
Outlander
and you couldn’t believe that suddenly you felt as if you were living in 18th century Scotland.”

He smiled in astonishment.

“You told me that at our very first book meeting. I couldn’t forget because as you found out, it was one of my favorite books, too.”

He picked up his fork and took a bite of food, as she dug in with her chopsticks. He let out a long moan of pleasure. “I haven’t had good Chinese food in…well, you know. I missed out on so much when I was free. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but I had an easy life and I was never very ambitious. But now, I don’t want to miss anything.”

“I know what you mean. Now that I’m feeling better, I feel like I have this second chance at life.”

“I bet you can’t wait to get back to the store. You must really miss it.”

“I do. I’m going back tomorrow.”

“You don’t look happy, though.”

“The morning I left the hospital, I decided I was giving up the store.”

He put his fork down. “You can’t be serious. Listen, if it’s money—”

But she put a hand up, stopping him. “Let’s not go there right now, okay?”

He hesitated, then nodded. They ate in silence for a few moments.

“Were you ever married?” she asked, wondering why it had never occurred to her before.

He smiled slowly, then shook his head. “Engaged twice, actually. But in the end neither one felt right and we broke it off.”

“What did you do for fun?” she asked.

“Running your own business—just my mom and me after a while—there’s never much time off.” And then he looked at her and laughed. “But I guess you know about that. Really there were just Sundays, and Saturday nights. But most Saturday nights I was pretty worn out. On Sundays I’d go watch a ball game or play cards. Nothing particularly exciting. Or intellectual. You know how it is when you’re young, and you’ve got money in your pocket. The years begin to race by and before you know it, you’re not so young anymore.”

“What happened to your parents’ business?”

“After my mother died it was sold, along with the building. I got a little nest egg from it I’ve been hanging on to, just in case. No one’s particularly eager to hire an ex-con, that’s why I’m all the way out in Pine Island. The owner had a kid who got in trouble years ago, and my parole officer knew him, so he was okay with it. I’m not living there anymore, though. I found a rooming house not too far away and I’m paying a bit more than everyone else, so she was willing to have me for a while. We’re going month to month, so we’ll see. A simple, boring life, but I’m not complaining.”

“Are there things you can’t do?”

“I can’t leave the state. I have to report to my parole officer every few weeks. I can’t move without notifying him, or change jobs. It’s kind of like being a teenager again. And I need to live a squeaky clean life, which is scary, because I told you about some of the problems I’ve had at the garage. But I’m trying not to dwell on things that could go wrong.” He let out a long sigh. “You know, it took me a long time to forgive myself. For what I did to my mother, which in the end was worse than her being robbed in the first place. For ruining my own life. I wasn’t a bad person, Ruth, I hope you can believe that. I wish there was some way I could prove it to you.”

“I think sometimes, Thomas, good people make bad choices.”

“It’s funny, but that’s what my parole officer said to me.” There was a long pause, then he said,
“In truth the prison, unto which we doom ourselves, no prison is…”

“That’s Whitman,” she said, stunned.

“You mentioned once he was your favorite poet. I can’t say I understand everything I read of his, but there were a few that hit me. That line, in particular.”

“It’s so true. How many of us make our own prisons, then live our lives within those walls.”

She looked at him sitting across from her, the candlelight flickering across his face, his brown eyes filled with caring and expectation. Was she going to continue living in the prison of her own past? She reached across the table and he looked down at her hand, then slowly his own hand drifted across the tablecloth until their fingers touched. Then he took her hand, and held it, squeezing, smiling.

It was all there in his eyes, his affection, his kindness, the promise of a future. And with it the realization that had been swirling in her head for days now. It was time to really let go of the past.