The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend (27 page)

Best,

Amy

THE TOWN COUNCIL
divided itself into teams as it took charge of the planning of the market and dance. Jen was responsible for the marketing, Caroline for the market itself, and Andy for the party. The rest of Broken Wheel's inhabitants lay low, trying to sneak past whenever they saw any of those three in the street, and hoping it would all blow over. It was an utterly naive hope. Within the space of a week, the majority of them had been recruited.

George had nothing against helping out, even if he still hadn't quite managed to get anyone to tell him exactly what he was meant to be doing. He tried to put himself forward at the meetings, which now seemed to be taking place haphazardly, anywhere and at any time. He had just come across Jen and Andy sitting at the counter in Grace's, busy drawing up the general plans for the market. Caroline wasn't there.

‘When should we have it?' Jen asked. ‘We need time to organise everything and do some advertising.'

George wondered whether they would clear it all with Caroline later, or whether she had actually already decided when it should be and simply not told the others.

‘In a month?' Andy suggested.

George cleared his throat. ‘Won't Sara have gone home then?'

‘Home!' said Jen. The thought didn't seem to have even crossed her mind.

‘I think she's going at the end of October,' he said cautiously. He would rather not think about her leaving, and he definitely didn't want to be involved in any decision-making, but they couldn't have the market after Sara had gone home. It wasn't right. If it hadn't been for her, they wouldn't even be having one.

Jen and Andy looked at him. They'd need to have it soon. They put the question of the actual date to one side and spent the rest of the time talking about other things, before parting ways to continue the planning on their own.

On his way home George walked past Claire's apartment.

She lived in the same housing complex as he did. Small, impersonal apartments in an ugly single-storey building, with a shared streaky lawn outside, and communal, often overflowing bins. People had started dumping broken furniture, tyres, shoes, liquor bottles and other things they didn't need there. At that moment, there was a mattress, its yellow lining spread on the ground around it, and two mismatched shoes. George was so used to the rubbish that he barely paid any attention to it, but he couldn't help notice Claire.

She was leaning against the sink unit in her apartment, staring blankly ahead through the kitchen window. She was looking almost straight at him and yet it didn't seem like she had seen him at all. After a few seconds, she lowered her eyes and looked down at the sink with such a tired, resigned expression that he didn't feel like he could simply walk by.

He went up to her outer door, hesitated for a moment and then knocked.

She looked slightly better when she opened the door. She managed a weary smile, at least. As though she had put on the mask she usually wore, George thought, and this made him stop short. He was suddenly so nervous about what he was doing there. He couldn't imagine that someone like Claire might need help from someone like him, but now it was too late. She had already let him in to the hallway. She was forced to kick two pairs of shoes from the middle of the floor.

‘Excuse the mess,' she said, pulling a face. ‘God, I've turned into someone who apologises for mess.'

He didn't say anything, simply followed her into the kitchen where she brewed the coffee that they would drink standing up, George leaning against the fridge and her against the sink unit, possibly so she didn't have to look at the dishes. He hadn't been able to avoid noticing the dirty plates and glasses, and the particularly sad pots and pans covered in dried-on food.

She looked down at the floor between them. ‘Aren't people's expectations funny? I've always gone against them. With Lacey, first of all.' He looked away, embarrassed, but she continued. ‘Back then, when people still cared about teenage pregnancies. Then refusing to get married, and having a messy house, and then finally refusing to regret any of it. Honestly, I don't know what bothers people most. You'd think they would've worked out that they should just leave me in peace by now.'

He didn't quite know who ‘they' were and wondered whether he was included.

She glanced up at the mountain of washing-up beside her. ‘But when did I get so tired of it all? I just can't bring myself to start the dishes. And then I've got to go to work, if Lacey comes back with the car sometime soon, and it all just feels so hard. Isn't it funny? What the hell is life if it's not chores and working and making dinner, and then starting all over again?'

He had no answer to that. He took a sip of coffee instead.

‘And now we're having a market,' she said. ‘Things are definitely more lively since the tourist arrived.'

‘Sara?' he said.

‘I wonder what makes someone travel to a completely different continent. Would you do it?'

George shook his head. If he was honest, he couldn't even see himself crossing the state line.

‘And for what? Broken Wheel!' She shook her head. ‘Hardly the best place for a tourist. There's nothing to see. The only thing we've got plenty of is meaninglessness.'

‘It's a nice town.'

She laughed. ‘Broken Wheel. No jobs. No future. Guided tours every day at two.'

He smiled faintly. ‘I don't really know if people are better off anywhere else.'

Claire seemed to be thinking that over. ‘Oh, sure. The people aren't any better or worse, but I still can't understand why anyone would travel thousands of miles to come here.'

George didn't know either. ‘She's here now, anyway,' he said, but it didn't seem to cheer Claire up.

‘Isn't it ironic?' she said. ‘She's had the bookstore for no time at all and it already looks more like a home than my apartment. I've lived here fifteen years. Fifteen years of ugly pale yellow wallpaper.'

He smiled. ‘Mine's the same.'

‘God, what I wouldn't give for a bit of colour. This isn't a home.'

‘You're wrong,' he said. He was surprised by his protest but then lost his thread. Eventually, he said: ‘Just look at that jacket and the shoes and the plates.'

Lacey's crazy jacket was lying on one of the armchairs in the living room. It was bright yellow and had some kind of feathers around the collar. There were a few plates on the living-room table. In the hallway, there were four different pairs of shoes in a loose pile. A family. That was more important than the colour on the walls.

‘It's definitely messy enough to be a home,' she said with a shaky laugh. ‘But tell me, when exactly am I supposed to get things done? And now Caroline has decided that I'm having a stand of home-made cakes.'

He looked away, troubled. ‘I can't bake,' he said. ‘Otherwise I could've helped you. I've got time, at least.'

‘Jesus, George,' she said. ‘I can't bake either. I'm going to have to buy those damned cakes.'

The bookshop had far fewer visitors when everyone was running around trying to organise things for the big day. The only person still stopping by was Tom. Sara imagined he was looking at her differently now, as though he had somehow accepted that she was there. He talked about people she had never heard of like they were old friends of the both of them, like she was part of the town.

He slumped down into one of the armchairs and for a moment they just sat there, together with the books, without feeling the need to speak.

She looked at him. ‘You know,' she said, ‘one day, I'm going to find a book for you.'

For once, he didn't even protest and she leaned back happily.

‘I think I'm going to move to Hope,' he said.

She struggled to keep her voice neutral. ‘Hope,' she said. It didn't sound at all natural. She cleared her throat. ‘How … why's that?'

He shrugged. ‘I've got a job there. Seems pointless staying here.'

Pointless. She swallowed. ‘Would you really be able to move? Leave all this behind?'

She thought that he would answer dismissively, but he looked at her, smiled and shook his head.

‘I don't know,' he admitted.

Jen walked past the bookstore and saw the two of them sitting there. She stopped Andy, who also happened to be passing by, and gestured towards the shop window with obvious satisfaction.

‘Look,' she said. ‘My plan's going well.' She continued, almost to herself. ‘A bookstore, something to do … practically a dream come true for her, you've got to admit that, at least. And … her friendship with Tom, too. I wonder whether she will actually go home in October?'

It really did look idyllic, with the sun glittering on the window and Sara and Tom completely unaware that they were being watched. Andy was considerably more pessimistic.

‘What'll they do when her visa runs out?' he asked. ‘Have you thought of that? What's going to happen to her dream then?'

‘
SARA'S VISA IS
going to run out' was the first thing Jen said when the town council met. There was so much to take care of at that moment that they hadn't even bothered to meet in the cinema hall itself. Their meetings all took place standing, in the foyer. ‘We've got to do something.'

‘Oh?' There was a certain tone in Caroline's voice. She had grown tired of the plotting to do with Sara. Say what you liked about the girl, she was discreet at the very least. Caroline had been searching for signs that people knew about her … reading … all week, but as far as she could tell, Sara hadn't said a word.

‘We've got to fix it so she can stay,' said Jen. ‘We're
Americans
, for God's sake. If we can't invite our friend to live in our own country, what was the whole War of Independence about?'

‘Does she want to stay?' Caroline asked. ‘Has she even said a word about it?'

‘Oh, there's said and said. But it's highly likely she'll want to stay, so we've got to be ready to help her.'

Caroline thought of how Tom and Sara had stood next to one another at the improvised opening party, relaxed and in silence, looking out over the mass of people. There were very few people who could stand together without talking. It worried her. And he had visited the bookstore. Perhaps there was more to Jen's crazy plan than she wanted to admit.

‘Shouldn't we ask her?' she said.

‘Maybe it's best we check it's
possible
for her to stay before we give her any ideas,' said Andy.

‘Possible?! Of course it's possible. This is a free country, isn't it?'

Caroline didn't bother to reply, but she knew what she had to do.

After the meeting, she waited in the entrance for fifteen minutes, just to be sure that neither Jen nor Andy would come back. Then she headed for the bookstore, certain of her duty, but surprisingly undecided about how she would carry it out.

She sat down in one of the armchairs and motioned for Sara to take the seat next to her.

Amy should have been here to have this conversation, she thought wearily. Amy would have been able to wrap up the questions, take a kind and reassuring tone, and somehow get Sara to talk about her problems and her dreams.

As though talking could make a difference. She sat up straight and steeled herself for the conversation.

Just be diplomatic, Caroline. Put it nicely. She made a face.

‘When does your visa run out, Sara?' she asked.

Sara stood up and turned away from the window, as though she could suddenly no longer bear to look at the street.

‘At the end of November,' she said. ‘But my plane ticket is for the thirtieth of October. From New York.'

Sara still had her back to Caroline, so she couldn't read her expression.

‘And you're going to go home then?' she asked.

‘I … yes. I guess I
could
try and change my ticket, just stay for a week or two more, but I don't think it's allowed …' Her voice trailed off, rather pathetically, Caroline thought.

Caroline nodded to herself and stood up.

‘That's all I wanted to know,' she said.

She would have to take control of this, too. But at least she knew exactly who to call.

 

 

 

 

Broken Wheel, Iowa

March 28, 2011

Sara Lindqvist

Kornvägen 7, 1 tr

136 38 Haninge

Sweden

Dear Sara,

My husband never laughed. He wasn't a particularly happy man, but he wasn't always that way. His mother left his father when he was only thirteen, and when I look back at everything I think that must have left some kind of poison in him. One which worked so slowly that it was hard to tell exactly when it began. I do know that he laughed before that happened, and I know that he didn't laugh at all afterward. No happy laughter, anyway.

I think he took his mother's departure harder than his father did. At first, he was sad, but later he was angry. I think that's why he never found it easy making friends as an adult, which was a shame because I don't actually think he was a bad person. I've never been able to watch
The Bridges of Madison County
(it's set in Iowa, you know) without asking myself whether she didn't do the right thing, staying. But I've seen up close what happens to the families left behind. I've seen what happens with the women who stay, too. There are times when I beg Meryl Streep to turn that door handle and run out into the rain. Just run, I think.

Amy

PEOPLE ALWAYS SAID
that autumn was a dying season, but Sara didn't agree.