by Alexie Aaron
Clara waited.
“To destroy you,” he finished. “I see you making more and more concessions on your life’s dreams until you have nothing left. Children, Clara, think about that. Think about a life tied to this store, to a man who may not be able to eventually perform. I’m damaged goods.”
“You’re just secondhand, Mr. Bookseller. A little love and some support and you’ll be telling your story until there are no words left to use. I’m going to go now. As much as I want to make love to you, I think it’s best if I give you some space.”
“Clara…”
Clara disengaged herself from his hands. “I want you, Nash Greene. But I want to be a joy and not a worry. I heard your fears, and hopefully, I gave you some answers to mull over. We’re adults with adult concerns. I rushed the sauce that is us and curdled it.”
Clara ran to the counter and picked up her backpack. She didn’t look back at him because she didn’t want him to see how broken she was.
Nash stood there and watched, not understanding why he didn’t run after her. He moved slowly and was just about to lock the door when the landlord appeared. He let him in.
“I haven’t written the check out yet,” Nash said, walking to the counter.
“I didn’t come for the check. I was walking down the street when a beautiful redhead ran by. Her face was wet from tears. The same redhead whose eyes worship you. You see, I notice more than the shop when I walk in here.”
Nash studied the man who called himself Kalaraja Gupta. His skin was so pale it seemed translucent.
“We had a hard conversation. She’s so young and has so many dreams and…”
“And what?”
“I can’t give her what she deserves.”
“Damn it. You’re a waste of the energy it took to bring you back,” Kalaraja said.
“That’s cruel.”
“All those doctors, not to mention the family who put their son’s heart in your care… I doubt the boy’s mother thought that you’d use it only to push blood through your body. I’m sure she mourns that her son’s heart will never love someone.”
“But I do love Clara…” Nash said, not believing the words that escaped his lips.
“Startled yourself, didn’t you?” Kalaraja said, his black eyes twinkling.
“Not really, I’ve known for a while now. I’m just afraid.”
“Of her hurting you?”
“Of me leaving her too soon.”
“Ah,” Kalaraja said.
“She wants children. Odds are, my children will have bad hearts.”
“Medical science has come a long way.”
“Or I’ll die when they’re young. I lived the life of not having a father. I don’t want to do that to a child.”
“But the children will have Clara. Are you afraid of living a full life?”
“Maybe. One moment, I’m sure I can do this, and then the next, I’m doubting my own words. I’ve sent Clara so many mixed signals, it’s a miracle she stayed to try to figure out what I really want.”
“Something else has unsettled you,” Kalaraja observed.
“There’s a bad book out there. I’m worried it came from here.”
“You didn’t write it.”
“I didn’t even sell it, but if it moved through here and I didn’t notice because I’m so lovesick that I’m not seeing things as sharply as I have…”
“Are you the god of books?” Kalaraja asked.
“No. But I’m the proprietor of what’s looking like an enchanted bookshop.”
Kalaraja smiled. “What do the books tell you?”
“I haven’t asked them about the black leather book.”
“What do they tell you about Clara?”
“They approve.”
“Nash, we’ve known each other since Rita left and you leased the shop from me.”
“You were very kind when I was having a problem meeting the rent when my heart gave out.”
“You paid me back,” Kalaraja pointed out.
“You’ve never asked for interest.”
“I’m not such a good businessman. I’d rather be a good person. This is how I can recognize other good people. My skin condition sets me outside of groups. Since I am unique, I can identify unique.”
“Was it you who sent Cam and Mary to help me out?”
“I may have suggested something to their mother, but you built the relationship with them. They trust and care for you.”
“Did you send Clara?” Nash asked, his voice dropping low.
“No. She came to buy a book. She stayed because of you. Clara’s given me the evil eye a few times when I’ve been short with you.”
“Clara is protective. Next time, I’ll introduce you.”
Kalaraja nodded. “My advice, if there is going to be a next time, you better go to this address and plead your case.”
“She basically said don’t come calling until I have my shit together.”
Kalaraja laughed. “You’ll never have your shit together.”
“Funny thing is, I don’t think that it really matters with Clara. She just wants me to stop flip-flopping on a possible future for us.”
“Go. I’ll lock up. I need to use the restroom.”
“Take care a book about SPF sunscreen doesn’t fall on you.”
“I will.”
Nash left. Kalaraja locked the door after him and lowered the lights. He walked to the stairs and began to climb. He could feel the power of the gloaming as he hit the tenth step. He unzipped his hoodie and dropped his hood. His white hair was long. He scooped it out of the neck of the jacket. He moved gracefully up and down each aisle, stopping when a book presented itself. He picked each book up and waited until it opened its pages. He scanned the material and moved on until he had read twelve books. He sighed.
“The book wasn’t here, but it’s coming. I expect you to protect Nash and Clara.”
A few large tomes bounced up and down.
“Good. I think I’m going to send this Father Saul some information. But how to keep Nash out of it?”
Psycho pushed itself off the shelf.
“Wendell Baumbach?”
The book flipped a few pages. Kalaraja picked the book up and read, “Mothers sometimes are overly possessive, but not all children allow themselves to be possessed.” Kalaraja shook his head at how silly he had been. “You mean Catherine Baumbach.”
The book closed.
He picked it up and put it back on the self. “Great idea, I’ll see if I can convince her to come clean on the extensive knowledge she has of evil books.”
Nash stood in front of the six-story building. It looked like there were four apartments per floor. He walked up the steps, accessed the directory, and pressed 4B.
“Yes?” Clara’s voice asked.
“Clara, it’s Nash. May I come up?”
“Wait for the buzzer and then open the door. The elevators are to the left. I’m on the fourth floor.”
“Got it.”
Nash moved to the door. It buzzed. He walked in and over to the elevator. While he waited for the car to come down from the sixth floor, he started to sweat. Her voice sounded so neutral. He didn’t know what to expect. He supposed she was upset with his attitude. What did she expect? They had crossed the friend threshold too recently. True, he made the first move, and she warned him that she wanted him. He was just trying to spare her from what living with him would be like. He was doing her a favor, wasn’t he?
The door opened, and a beautiful, older black woman stepped out. She was dressed in vibrant colors. He smiled shyly as she passed him. He walked in and hit four on the pad. The doors closed, and instead of the music he assumed was in every elevator, there were only the mechanical sounds. Too soon the doors opened, and he walked out. Nash got turned around and headed in the wrong way. He retraced his steps and walked to the back of the building. He tapped on the door before he lost
his nerve.
Clara opened the door and stepped aside. She had exchanged her work clothes for some cotton pajama shorts and a ratty but clean T-shirt. Her eyes were rimmed in pink, and her nose was a bit red from blowing it. Nash felt a pain in his heart. Unconsciously, he put his hand on his chest.
“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. “Come sit down.”
He followed her into a brightly lit kitchen where she had a counter full of food items on it.
“Sorry, I was just cleaning out the refrigerator.” She pulled out a chair and patted it. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just some water.”
Clara pulled out a Brita pitcher and poured a glass. “I’d serve you ice, but my cubes are past the sell-by date. They taste like baking soda and frozen peas.”
Nash drank the water and watched Clara systematically put the items back in the refrigerator.
“When I’m upset or mad, I clean,” Clara explained. She wiped the counter down when she had finished. She opened the cupboard and poured herself a measure of rye whisky. She pulled herself up onto the counter and perched there, looking over at him like a gargoyle. “Have you come to break up with me? You could have emailed me and saved me the embarrassment.”
“I don’t have your email.”
“Then you are ending this,” Clara said, her voice barely able to be heard.
“No!”
Clara’s eyes snapped up and looked at his face. “Why are you here then?”
“To apologize.”
Clara waited, her face not showing much.
“I was just trying to save you from being hurt.”
“By hurting me?”
“It wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry.”
“I know I run hot and cold at times, but, Mr. Bookseller, you are so confusing. Or maybe it’s because I’ve pushed this. I love you, Nash.”
Nash got up and rushed over to her. “I love you, too. I’m scared, but I’m so happy too.”
Clara was now trapped on the counter. She didn’t see a graceful exit ahead of her. She bent forward and put her forehead on his. “This is your last time to exit this love affair with us remaining friends. If you dump me after this, I will hunt you down and bury you in the back garden.”
Nash caught her tears with his thumbs and tilted her face and kissed her soundly. He would not stop kissing her until she started to make those cute noises she couldn’t control. It was like she was tasting his soul and loving it. He helped her slide off the counter, and she led him to her bedroom. He slid off her T-shirt, pushed down her shorts, and found her naked underneath. She was so beautiful. His hands explored as he continued kissing her.
“I love you, Clara. Give me time to figure this out.”
“Trust me. Guide me. I’ll take good care of you.”
“Love me, Clara. Everything else will fall into place, I promise you.”
Clara watched him rid himself of his clothes. He stopped and dug in his pocket and placed the remainder of Raul’s date-night stash on the nightstand before he slid beside her and kissed her gently.
“You taste like whisky,” he said. “I like whisky. You’re my intoxication. I can barely think straight when you’re near.”
“Are you well? Before, you grasped your heart,” Clara said, running her hand up and down his chest.
“It hurt because I saw that I had hurt you. This heart loves you, Clara, more than I’ll ever be able to express. Don’t be afraid to love me.”
Clara smiled a wicked little smile that Nash prayed he’d see every night for the rest of his life.
Chapter Ten
Nash returned to the store a little late. Clara insisted he take a cab so he wouldn’t tire himself running back to the store. There were a few customers waiting for him to open the door.
“I’m sorry. See me at the counter for an additional 25% off. Thanks for waiting.”
He carried a sack with a few hearty sandwiches Clara insisted he take with him. She had made them while he showered. He ate both while the customers browsed. He found an envelope with his name on it on top of the counter. He pulled it open and found a note from Kalaraja.
N, I’m going to speak with Catherine Baumbach. If anyone would know anything about evil books, she would. I’ll let you know what I find out. Kalaraja.
He tucked the note in his account book and looked out into the store. His phone vibrated. He picked it up and looked at his very first text message from Clara.
I take it you made it safely back to work. If not and you’re a police officer looking at the body of Nash Greene, A: He was the love of my life, B: If you’re single, I’m now available.
Nash typed back: Very funny. Arrived safe to find customers at my door. Sweet dreams. Have a great day tomorrow and don’t forget to come and see me. Love, Nash.
Dreams cannot compete with what you did to me earlier. I will see you tomorrow. Love, Clara.
The bells sounded again, and the Saturday night, pre-theater crowd arrived to pass some time in Nash’s shop. He noticed that Clara and Cam had put together one of the old revolving racks and filled it with books that related to the plays and musicals that were presently playing in the district. The couples stopped and took turns picking up what they would later think of as mementos of their night together. He found himself very busy at the register until a few minutes before his closing time.
He sold not only paperbacks but secondhand books by the authors of the plays. He also sold a few collections of antique playbills he had picked up somewhere. He made a note to be more observant of what was on offer as entertainment in his neighborhood and stock accordingly.
~
Wendell paced as he told his mother everything that went on at the police station. She waited until he was done before asking him a few questions.
“Why didn’t you come straight home after?”
“I had a committee meeting at the community center.”
“I didn’t see it on the calendar,” Catherine said.
“My mind has been in turmoil since the last meeting. Do you think someone is trying to bump all us Page Turners off?”
“Wendell, that’s absurd. I think a few of them may have happened upon some bad luck, that’s all.”
“Speaking of missing people, I tried to call Monica Voorhees again, and no answer.”
“Why don’t you go over there and leave a note with her doorman? And on your way back, stop at Jewel and bring back some treats we can have with a late evening tea.”
“I thought you were watching your sugar?”
“I’m old, humor me,” Catherine said. “I just got the new Pendergast novel, and I’m going to be up late reading it.”
“I’m really surprised with your education that you’re reading thrillers,” Wendell said scornfully.
“My dear son, I’ve read everything else. All the new stuff is really just a pale imitation of the old classics, just homogenized to appeal to a broader audience. I’m thinking of getting me one of those e-readers so I can look for something new. Not this dry stuff the Big Six publishers are pushing at us these days.”
“Now, Mother, you’re not being fair. They’re fighting to survive.”
“Well, they better get smarter and stop foisting another genre-specific formula book at us readers.”
“I’ll not have an e-reader in this house. They have ruined my life!”
“No, poor planning on the part of the brick-and-mortar stores did. What were they thinking when they didn’t embrace the e-books? I taught my kids in the seventies to Save the Trees! I’m sure this is one of the reasons the late bloomers have embraced e-books.”
“That’s why you go to the library or shop at stores like Nash’s.”
“Who has the time?”
“You know damn well that e-books took off when the erotic writers got on board. There is no shame. You can read a naughty book and delete it, and no one but your credit card company is
the wiser.”
“Wendell, I believe you’ve thought about this.”
“I’m not living in a vacuum, Mother,” Wendell said. He walked over and selected an elegant note card and took his time and penned a nice neat note to Monica. He put it in one of his mother’s expensive linen envelopes and sealed it.
“Don’t print her name in block letters; they will think you’re a stalker,” Catherine warned.
“Mother, I know what I’m doing.” Wendell picked up the envelope and put on his Sunday jacket and left the house.
Catherine went into the kitchen and warmed the teapot before she measured some Golden Yunnan tea and wet the leaves. She placed one of the cozies she had knitted on top to insulate the pot. She heard someone step onto the front porch. Catherine waited for the sound of Wendell’s key in the lock. Instead there was a light rapping.
“Coming. Honestly, Wendell, did you forget your key?” she said as she peered out the peephole. It wasn’t Wendell.
“Catherine, it’s Kalaraja Gupta.”
Catherine opened the door. “I didn’t recognize you. When did you start dressing like a hoodlum?”
“I find it simpler to wear a hoodie than a jacket, scarf, and a hat,” Kalaraja said, unzipping his outerwear.
“I wish growing old was as simple as choosing a hoodie instead of a cardigan.”
Kalaraja looked at the once vibrant woman and saw the slight slacking of the muscles on the left side of her face. Her smile had changed, but her eyes were still sharp.
“I’m not surprised you’re here,” she said.
Kalaraja was momentarily unnerved by her lack of surprise.
“Wendell spent most of the day at the police station. I think we have a lot to talk about. Wendell will be gone about an hour. Let’s make the best of it.” She shut and locked the door and led him through the living room into the brightly lit kitchen. She pointed to a pristine Formica table and chairs and said, “Sit. I’ve made tea.”
Kalaraja obeyed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you and your husband Horace may have crossed paths with a few interesting but dangerous books.”