The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend (37 page)

He smiled. ‘Maybe a few of them. I helped out when it was about to open.' He added, in the name of honesty: ‘Mostly with the cleaning. And the driving, of course. Sara doesn't have a driver's licence.'

‘So do you think she's right? That there's a book for me?'

‘If Sara says so then it must be true.'

She smiled back at him. ‘Thanks … Dad.'

Michelle appeared behind them. ‘George,' she said automatically.

But Sophy simply grinned at him, almost conspiratorially, and waited until she was sure Michelle was out of earshot. Then she leaned in closer and said: ‘Mom thinks people in this town secretly looked down on her.'

George gave this some thought. ‘That might be true,' he said. ‘But people aren't always right.'

‘I know that,' Sophy said. ‘We moved around a lot when I was growing up.' She hesitated. ‘What I mean is … is it disloyal of me to feel that people here are actually
nice
?'

He smiled. ‘I figure you've got the right to your own opinion, same as everyone else. But perhaps –'

‘Better not tell Mom?' she finished.

‘Might be best.'

‘She thinks he'll come after her, you know.'

‘Who?'

‘Her boyfriend. Ronald Lukeman.'

‘Do you like him?'

She shrugged. ‘He's OK, I guess. He's the manager at a Taco John's.'

George didn't know what to say about that, so he just nodded, which seemed to do the trick, because Sophy continued in a whisper:

‘I'm not so sure he will come. But perhaps that's disloyal too.'

 

 

 

 

Broken Wheel, Iowa

May 4, 2011

Sara Lindqvist

Kornvägen 7, 1 tr

136 38 Haninge

Sweden

Dear Sara,

There are very few men in this world whom I'd like to look straight in the eye and tell: you should think more about yourself. Be selfish. Most men seem to know that without ever being told. But I would like to say it to Tom.

I'm sure I've mentioned my nephew. He has just been here, and I felt unreasonably cross with him. People with a strong sense of duty can be surprisingly irritating, don't you think? In my less charitable moments, I wonder if it's not a strange form of self-assertion: if I'm not here to save everyone, the world as we know it would come to an end. To be honest, though, I think it's more about habit. He's been taking care of people for so long that he probably just doesn't know how to quit.

I'm not saying that loyalty is a bad thing in a man. But you've got to know where to draw the line. Tom was loyal to his father, he's stayed on with Mike and his freight company through thick and thin, he's been here for me, and it wouldn't surprise me if he feels that this whole town is his responsibility. Sure, loyalty pays off sometimes. He has a nice job at Mike's, which he enjoys. He's still doing the odd repair job, but only for friends. It's just that there will always be someone you can't save.

Tom couldn't save the farm, and he couldn't save his father – my brother, Robert. Robert never made it into journalism. He went on with the farming, same as most people round here. Well, Tom tried, by God how he tried. He worked full-time at the farm, and part-time for Mike. He turned down a scholarship for Iowa State University's Agricultural Studies program. I don't think he cared about the farm, but he cared about his father, so he stayed. In the end they had to sell, of course. Most folks round here did. Tom managed to arrange a deal so that his father could stay in the house for the final few years of his life. They kept the farmhouse and the small yard and the drive. Everyone knew it wouldn't be for long. When his father died he went to hand over the keys to the new owners. They didn't need the farmhouse, they said. They would just level it all.

There was a lot of talk about the new house Tom built instead. This is a small town, everyone talks. Ironic, isn't it – so few people, so many opinions? Some thought that he was trying to be better than everyone else, what with the panoramic windows and all the open-planning. Others (Andy) thought it was his way of saying ‘fuck you' to the world: You can keep those keys, see if I care. That kind of thing. Me, I always believed he just didn't want to risk getting too attached to a house ever again, not after what it did to Robert. So he made it practical, impersonal, telling himself that's what he wanted and setting up his defenses against having to care.

Do you know what the worst thing is about loyal people? Everyone is forever telling them to start focusing on themselves, but no one wants them to stop helping
them
. Not when it really comes down to it. Me, I find comfort in knowing that if anything were to happen to me, Tom would be there for my John.

So you see, Sara, I'm really no better than anyone else.

Best,

Amy

IF GEORGE HAD
been uncomfortable at the lawyer's office, it was nothing compared to how he felt now, sitting in Tom's living room witnessing how Jen was taking Tom on.

So far it was an equal battle. Jen had a certain dogged focus, not unlike a bulldog refusing to let go regardless of its chances. Tom met everything she said with a stoic, almost good-humoured perseverance which naturally annoyed the hell out of Jen.

‘You
have
to marry her,' Jen said.

‘I don't love Sara, she doesn't love me.'

‘Well, and whose fault is that? If you had just damned well done something she would have been head over heels in love with you by now!'

Tom smiled blandly.

‘Don't you care about this town?'

‘As towns go, I've seen worse,' he countered.

‘Well then?'

‘Well what?'

‘Tom, if you don't marry her, she'll have to leave. And she got me a book!'

This argument did not seem to impress Tom. As far as George could see, Tom hadn't been in the slightest bit worried when they'd turned up, him and Jen and Andy, with Jen so clearly on a mission. And if anything, after half an hour of Jen's most concerted persuasion, he was looking even more determinedly uninterested. Tom was sitting on the armchair; they were squeezed in on the sofa, so close together that Jen almost hit George several times when gesturing too heatedly.

George couldn't help but feel that Andy wasn't really pulling his weight. He had barely said a word, and when he spoke now it was if he was treating it all like a joke. ‘Come on, Tom,' he said. ‘What's two years of your life for the good of the town, eh? It's not like you have someone better to marry, am I right?'

‘Why should he have someone better?' Jen said. ‘Our Sara is perfectly … well, she's perfectly nice!'

‘Very nice,' Tom said pleasantly.

‘For God's sake, Tom. It's not like we're asking you to love her.'

Which George thought was rather crude.

‘Of course not,' said Andy. ‘If straight people only married people they loved, heterosexuality as we know it would cease to exist.'

George was starting to feel slightly annoyed at all of them: Jen and her scheme, Andy who just laughed at the whole thing, and Tom, well, he sort of understood why Tom was being antsy, but he couldn't accept that Tom would rather win a childish argument against Jen than help Sara. No one seemed to be thinking of her in all of this.

‘So what will it take?' Jen asked. ‘Money? Is that what you're saying? I'm sure we can scrape something together.'

At least that got Tom's attention. ‘Jesus, Jen,' he said, appalled. ‘Just leave it, will you?'

Tom suddenly looked very tired. George could sympathise. But it didn't help anything.

George rose abruptly, bringing the conversation to a halt. He hadn't meant to make any sort of speech, he'd just wanted to get away before he heard anything he'd really mind. But when he stood up he saw them there, all unconcerned, still not getting the point, not even Jen. For her, the whole affair seemed to have become a matter of prestige; for Andy, a joke like everything else; and for Tom, well, probably nothing.

‘It's
Sara
,' he said. ‘Our Sara. I didn't really know Amy, but she was nice to me when … when Sophy was gone, and I know how much this town needed her. And I know Sara, and I know we need
her
.' He wasn't doing a good job of it, he could feel it. He'd never been good with words, but he had to make them see. ‘She'll leave, and she'll be all alone back there, in Sweden. Her folks don't seem to care. And then we'll be all alone here, too. That I do know.'

It was silly, he knew, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything that had happened had been down to Sara. Even Sophy suddenly coming back to him – things like that had become possible since Sara had arrived.

Jen seemed about to say something, but he ignored her. ‘All right then,' he said. ‘I'll marry her myself.'

Everyone stared at him.

‘That's very kind of you,' said Jen.

‘Yes, why not?' Andy said, nodding encouragingly.

‘George …' said Tom. ‘I just …' But he didn't seem to know what to say.

‘Well,
someone
has to,' George said.

‘Yes, but …' Jen seemed to be searching desperately for reasons against it, but eventually she said: ‘Yes, well, precisely. Why not?'

George was uncomfortable with the whole thing, he readily admitted that. He was very sure that Sara would prefer to marry Tom. Who wouldn't? But at least she'd get to stay, and he could keep driving her.

‘Look, George, I'll –' Tom said, but George interrupted him.

‘She'll get to stay. She won't want to marry me, of course, but she can stay.'

‘The lawyer!' Jen blurted out.

‘What about him?' said Andy.

‘We've already told him about Tom.'

‘Quite a love triangle, this,' said Andy.

‘We're back to square one,' Jen said, looking utterly defeated. George looked at Tom, who didn't say anything. George turned to leave. At least he'd tried.

‘Fine,' Tom said. ‘I'll do it then, George. I'll marry her.'

‘Good,' said George.

And then he left.

‘HI'.

Sophy was standing in the doorway, looking hesitantly at Sara. She had found her with her nose literally in a book. Sara looked up and slowly lowered it to the counter. She was busy unpacking a box of new books which had just arrived, and had obviously been putting them to her nose, breathing them in.

‘Have you ever smelled a book?' Sara said, coming out from behind the counter.

Sophy shook her head. Sara held out a paperback. The latest Marian Keyes. The cover was all glittery pastel colours, warm blue and pink shades, with big, ornate letters. ‘Open it,' she said.

Sophy opened the book carefully, as though she was afraid of damaging it.

‘No, no,' Sara said, causing Sophy to look up in alarm. ‘Open it properly.' She showed her. ‘You need to be able to shove your nose into it.'

Sophy lifted the book to her face, still cautiously and carefully, and slowly breathed in through her nose. She smiled.

‘Can you smell it? The scent of new books. Unread adventures. Friends you haven't met yet, hours of magical escapism awaiting you.'

Of course, Sara was aware that Sophy probably wouldn't have put it like that, but she was sure that she could feel it too. She pulled another book down from a shelf, a nice hardback full of photographs of oaks, with thick, glossy pages. The thick pages smelled completely different, of plastic and quality colour printing.

‘And this one.'

A normal book this time, though still hardback, but with thinner paper and a slightly yellowed colour. They smelled it.

Sara smiled. Hardback and paperback books smelled different, but there were also differences between English and Swedish paperback editions. Classics, for example, had a smell all their own. Course books had their own unique aroma, and university set texts were different again from those used in schools. Interestingly, adult education books smelled just like school books: that familiar scent of classrooms, restlessness and stuffiness.

New books always had the strongest aroma. She assumed it just was the printing smells lingering behind, and that they somehow, logically, disappeared once a book had been opened, read and leafed through. That was what she thought on a purely intellectual level anyway, but she didn't quite believe it. She still believed that what she could smell were all the new adventures and reading experiences awaiting her.

Sophy seemed much more confident now. She put the book down and walked slowly along the row of shelves. Sara went back to unpacking. Maybe it was idiotic to be ordering new books when she had less than two weeks left, but it was the only way she could make it through her remaining time. Just going on as normal and pretending that nothing had changed. Eventually, she would be sitting on the plane home, and that would be that.

‘What would you like to read about?' Sara asked.

Sophy shrugged. ‘Don't know,' she said. She continued around the shop. She didn't seem to be reading the titles themselves, just looking at the books. Every now and then, she reached out and touched the spines as she walked, just like the way people in boats dip their fingers into the water swirling past.

She stayed almost half an hour. Before she left, she said: ‘Dragons. I like dragons. I'm sure I'll find a book about them some day. Or with one dragon. It doesn't matter.'

Dragons, eh, Sara thought. ‘Wait,' she said. ‘How long are you going to be in town?'

Sophy shrugged. ‘Don't know.'

‘Where do you live normally?'

‘Bloomfield.'

Sara passed a pad of paper over the counter and asked for the girl's address. She wrote it down without asking why Sara wanted it, and Sara said nothing. She was determined to find the perfect book for Sophy, preferably before she had to leave.