The Knight of Pages

by Alexie Aaron

  “What happens to me if I encounter the book?”

  “I’m praying Wendell doesn’t have it or that he likes you too much to hurt you with it,” Nash said.

  Clara looked at Nash and said, “You’re going to have to school me on the book they’re reading. I haven’t read The Secret Garden since I was a young girl.”

  “You don’t have to be an expert,” Nash said.

  “But I do have to impress Wendell. ‘Might I,’ quavered Mary, ‘might I have a bit of earth?’ is only going to go so far.”

  Nash pulled her to him and kissed her fully on the mouth. He forced himself to pull back and said, “Where have you been, Clara? Where have you been when I needed you the most?”

  “You need me now, and that’s enough,” Clara said, stroking his face.

  Kalaraja looked away and felt for the briefest moment that they had a chance.

  ~

  Elma sat and ate her breakfast while listening to the news on the television. She had a day of work to get through before she went to book club. She loved book club, even though she’d never admit it to Wendell. There, she was the queen bee. Elma had worried that Marianne Irving was taking a bit of her spotlight and was not at all disappointed to know Marianne wouldn’t be coming back for the foreseeable future. Not having Kabir and Marc there to ponder the wonderment that was Elma’s understanding of the books was disappointing.

  Elma took care of her dishes and unearthed her briefcase under the stack of mail she’d picked up. She looked at the mail and remembered the package she found on the porch. “Where did I put that… Oh yes, silly me,” she said and walked over to the closet. She had a little trouble opening the door. The hall runner was wadded up. Elma gave it a good kick, and the door was able to open wide. There, on the bottom of the closet, was the bag and her coats. “Dear me!” She picked up the bag and set it behind the door in the hall. She rehung her coats, and by the time she had done that, her watch alarm went off. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late.

  Elma shut the closet and frowned seeing the overnight bag there. “How did you fall off the self?” she asked it.

  The bag remained silent.

  Elma walked around it, picked up her briefcase, and left the house.

  The bag bounced slightly as the package, which resided under the runner, tried to move. Unfortunately, the overnight bag, once set properly on its wheels, was very hard to knock over. The package would have to lay there until Elma returned home and moved the suitcase.

  ~

  The landline rang. Wendell picked it up. “Hello, Baumbach residence.”

  “May I speak to Wendell?” a familiar female voice asked.

  “This is Wendell.”

  “Hi, this is Clara. I don’t know if you remember me?”

  “Is this the Clara I invited to dinner but she turned me down?” Wendell said. “Are you that Clara?”

  Clara forced herself to giggle. “That’s me. Wendell, I wonder if I could sit in on your book club meeting. I want to see if it would be my kind of group.”

  “I thought you kept early hours.”

  “I have tomorrow off. If the book club is a good fit, I may change my days off permanently so I can attend.”

  “What does Nash say about you doing this?”

  “Nash?”

  “Yes, your serious relationship?”

  “I’m not sure he cares. He’s not the guy I thought he was.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “No, just no paradise,” Clara lied.

  “We’re finishing The Secret Garden…”

  “Take me into the garden, my boy… And tell me all about it.”

  “Book club is more than quotes, Clara,” Wendell warned.

  “Teach me, Wendell, I want to learn.”

  “Clara…” Wendell started.

  “Oh my goodness, that sounded so fresh. I want to be able to discuss a book properly. Discuss it without censure.”

  “I see. Nash is a bit brutal.”

  “I’m not doing this to impress Nash. I thought he could teach me, but he wasn’t interested.”

  “Come and sit in the back. I’ll look after you.”

  “What should I wear? I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Lots of people come from work. Otherwise, something nice and comfortable without being sweats.”

  “How are jeans and a sweater?”

  “Clara, that would be fine.”

  “Good,” Clara said. “I’ll see you there.”

  Wendell hung up the phone.

  “Who was it?” Catherine asked from the parlor.

  “Clara Tyler.”

  “Nash’s girlfriend?”

  “Evidently, not any longer. She wants to try book club.”

  “Be careful, Wendell, I think it’s a ruse.”

  “What?”

  “Wendell, it’s obvious. She rethought her options after your invite, and I think, Clara Tyler wants to try you.”

  “Oh, Mother, you’re speaking nonsense.”

  “Wendell, wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend?”

  “I have friends.”

  “I mean someone to share secrets with?” Catherine asked.

  Wendel shrugged but thought: Wouldn’t it be nice to do secret things with someone?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Clara arrived at the community center with five minutes to spare. She followed a small group into the room. She hung back by the door, scanning the assemblage.

  Wendell was surrounded by people. He looked over at the door and smiled when he saw her. Clara was wearing a sweater that hugged her breasts like a lover. Her jeans were a size too big and hung low on her waist, giving Wendell a glimpse of Clara’s soft tanned stomach.

  “Excuse me,” Wendell said. “I have a prospective recruit.”

  “I thought you agreed to wait until a new book to bring in new people?” Elma complained.

  “Clara is a special case,” Wendell said.

  Elma and Rex watched as Wendell walked over to a pretty redhead. She kissed Wendell on the cheek.

  “She must be special,” Rex said, his voice dripping with inuendo.

  “If she’s romantically attached to Wendell, she must be unbalanced. I’d steer clear,” Elma advised.

  “I’ve put a chair in the back, off to one side. This is not to single you out but so you can observe the other members.”

  “Thank you,” Clara said. “I’m so nervous.”

  “Why?” Wendell asked.

  “Books. I love…. books,” Clara said, purposefully stuttering.

  She’s so young, Wendell thought. He took her hand in his. It was shaking. “You are nervous. Look at me, Clara,” he ordered.

  Clara lifted her eyes to his.

  “I won’t let them eat you. You’re going to be fine. Just don’t mention you’re friends with Nash.”

  “Okay,” Clara said, holding Wendell’s stare before dropping her eyes demurely.

  He escorted her to her seat and then closed the doors.

  “Seats, people!” he called out. “Time to discuss Colin’s tantrum.”

  Clara sat down and tried not to show the shame she was feeling. She wasn’t the type of woman to use a man. She didn’t feel repulsed when he touched her hand. He was being gallant. In her opinion, Wendell Baumbach was a nice kind man and she was a horrible person for leading him on.

  Nash slammed the register drawer closed. Kalaraja looked over and waited until the customer left before asking, “Problem?”

  “I should have never asked her to do this.”

  “Better you than me. Clara loves you. She’ll do anything for you, Nash.”

  “That’s the problem. I put her in danger. I couldn’t live with myself if something happens to her.”

  “Is this genuine concern or concern mixed with a healthy dose of jealousy?”

  Nash glared at Kalaraja.


  “He’s not a monster,” Kalaraja reasoned.

  “We don’t know that. Even if he isn’t…”

  “You’re worried Clara will fall for the guy. Give her some credit. We’re just checking the boxes. Where does Wendell go when he’s not with Catherine or the book club? Does he have a bolt-hole? A place where he practices alchemy?”

  “Clara is kind and sees things in us that we don’t see. What if she looks beyond the mommy’s boy and sees a sensitive man who can give her children?”

  Kalaraja thought a moment. “You don’t want children?”

  “I won’t pass this heart condition on. I told Clara that.”

  “You’re a brave man. I wouldn’t have brought up the subject of children until I was months into a relationship.”

  “She brought it up. It must be important to her.”

  “What did she say?”

  Nash told him.

  “I can see Clara fostering or adopting children.”

  “Tell me, when she walked out wearing my clothes, what did you see?”

  “I didn’t…”

  “Don’t give me that. You saw what I saw.”

  “I saw a pregnant Clara standing in her place, holding the hand of a child.”

  “That’s what I saw. Whose children? Mine or Wendell’s?”

  “Nash, I think that’s up to you.”

  “I’ve only seen four visions in my life,” Nash said. “One was this building when I was still in New York. Two was Rod Santiago’s mother holding her son’s hand as they brought him into the OR. Three, my mother standing in the apartment over the shop, and now, a very pregnant Clara standing bold as brass wearing my vest and holding the hand of a little boy.”

  “They were smiling. Clara was so beautiful I couldn’t form words.”

  “I wasn’t there!” Nash said, picking up a book and tossing it across the store.

  The book landed safely in the Penguin paperback bin, but the books upstairs were upset.

  “That’s why you asked her to be with Wendell,” Kalaraja said. “I admit to suggesting it, but I never thought we’d ask her.”

  “I convinced her. What kind of a man asks a woman still warm from his bed to go and be with someone else?”

  Kalaraja didn’t speak.

  “A cruel man,” Nash said. He walked into the workroom and slammed the door.

  The sound upstairs was verging on thunderous. Kalaraja climbed the stairs. “Listen up! He needs your support, not your condemnation. My gut instinct is, Wendell is a good man, but his father was a monster. We have to know. If we are going to save the innocents, we have to know.”

  The books shifted around but eventually quieted down. Kalaraja sat on the top step and closed his eyes. He remembered the vision. He looked at the boy but could not see any of Nash in the child. The boy had Clara’s coloring, her stubborn chin, and quick dark eyes. “The vision told us that she survives this. But will Nash?”

  A book slid along the floor towards him. He reached and picked it up, Alice Hoffman’s Practical Magic. He closed his eyes and let the book fall open. He opened his eyes, looked down, and read, “He has stumbled into love, and now he’s stuck there. He’s fairly used to not getting what he wants, and he’s dealt with it, yet he can’t help but wonder if that’s only because he didn’t want anything too badly.”

  ~

  At the break, Wendell noticed that Marta and Trina Baker had approached Clara. He imagined them talking about the mouthwatering cookies one of the Bakers had brought. He watched the women while he prepared for the last half of the discussion. Rex was circling like a shark, but Clara ignored the handsome man. Once, she looked over and caught Wendell’s eyes. She smiled.

  “Where did you find her?” Elma asked, brushing cookie crumbs off her suit and onto the floor.

  “Nash Greene’s bookshop.”

  “Wendell, not another Secondhand Susie. Marianne’s bad enough with her tattered books.”

  Wendell looked at Elma. “Marianne Irving’s economical purchase of books is none of your concern. Shame on you. It’s the words, not the condition of the book they are printed in.”

  “Oh, I forgot you’re naught but a secondhand bookdealer yourself,” Elma snapped and turned heel and walked over to her chair and sat down.

  Wendell clapped his hands and waited until everyone was settled before speaking. “When we first talked of taking on this book, many of you scoffed at it being a children’s book. Have any of you changed your opinion?” he asked.

  Hands flew up.

  Clara watched as Wendell deftly handled the discussion. She knew she was watching something very special. Here was a man who didn’t scoff at what many would see as a lame answer. Instead, he spoke about it with insight and an imaginative mind when others would groan. Was his mother like this as a teacher? Or was this marvelous man created to nurture and bring about an understanding of authors’ work? It didn’t matter what school you went to, your social status, or whether you liked the book or not, your comment was heard. Clara knew that in the future she would hear Wendell’s voice each time she read The Secret Garden or saw a beautiful garden or kept a secret.

  “…he looked as many of them had never seen him,” Clara thought. It wasn’t Master Colin she was seeing. It was Wendell Baumbach.

  Clara stayed and helped Wendell carry the cushions to his car. They spoke about the book, and Wendell listened to Clara and her to him.

  He closed the trunk after their final trip. “Clara, would you like to have a meal with me tonight?”

  Clara smiled. “I would love to.”

  “There is a place I go that I suspect you’re really going to like, but you must never tell my mother I took you there.”

  Clara put her hand on her heart and raised her fingers in the remembered scout’s position. “I promise.”

  “We can walk there from here. Stick close to me. There are a few dodgy streets we have to cross.”

  Clara linked her arm in his. “Let’s go.”

  “What did you think about the group?”

  “I thought you were amazing.”

  “Clara, stop sucking up,” Wendell scolded.

  Clara shook her head. “First, I’m telling your mother you said suck, and second, I meant every word. I could listen to you all day.”

  Wendell felt the sincerity of her words. “Thank you, Clara.”

  They walked quickly through the dark alleys, and when they came to Clark Street, he turned and pointed out their destination.

  Clara didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

  “I come here all the time. It’s so freeing. The cuisine may not be up to your standards, but it’s not about the food, is it? It’s the entertainment.”

  “Dave and Buster’s?” Clara said, hoping that there wasn’t a strip joint she wasn’t seeing.

  “Yes. I’ve wanted to bring you here since Mother suggested I dare ask you out.”

  “I love arcade games!” Clara said, excited.

  “Me too!” Wendell said.

  They walked quickly to the entrance, and Wendell was greeted by many of the staff and a few whistled when they saw Wendell’s date.

  “Don’t mind them, they’re barbarians,” he said, sitting down. “May I recommend the Fire-Grilled Steak Salad?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Wendell gave the waiter their order. “Clara, would you like a mixed drink or beer?”

  “What are you having?”

  “Want to split a pitcher?” he tempted.

  “Sure.”

  Wendell whispered something in the waiter’s ear. Wendell drew a wristband out of his pocket, and by the time he put it on, the waiter had returned with one for Clara. Wendell told her how to use them, took a large swallow of beer, and got up. “They’ll let me know when our meal is ready. Come on!”

  Clara, at first, followed Wendell around. She noticed that quite a few of the games had a WBOMB listed as
top scorer. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I’m here a lot.”

  “So cool, WBOMB, so cool.”

  She got involved in a game, and Wendell went to his favorite. He glanced over at Clara from time to time and saw she was having a great time. She put her whole body into the game. When she was at the pinball games, she attracted quite a crowd.

  Clara caught him watching her and smiled and waved. Wendell wished his heart did a flipflop when she did this, but it didn’t. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy the company of this woman or women in general; Wendell just wasn’t interested in sharing his life with anyone other than his mother. He knew how it looked. He knew that his mother was concerned for him. But there had never been a more interesting person than the woman who raised him.

  He felt he needed to tell Clara this. Even though he enjoyed that he had attracted Nash’s girl away from him, he knew that, ultimately, he and Clara would never be more than friends. He just needed to do it in such a way as not to hurt her.

  Clara met him back at the table. They drank, ate, and talked about the various games Clara attempted.

  “Clara,” Wendel said, taking her hand.

  Clara almost peed herself in fear.

  “You’re a wonderful person, but I see you as a friend.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m good with that,” Clara pronounced. “Can we still do stuff like this?”

  Wendell was surprised. “Yes, I thought you’d be mad.”

  “No. I caught the friend vibe halfway through the meeting.”

  “It’s not that you’re not beautiful…”

  “I get it, I’m not the one. I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t swept off my feet with the way you discuss books, and I’m having so much fun with you tonight, but I’m a realist. Fate didn’t put us together to be lovers.”

  “What about you and Nash?”

  “Hoo boy, Nash. I don’t know exactly what to do about him? I didn’t like how rude he was to you.”

  “He can be a pill.”

  “If I continue with Nash, is that going to stop us from being friends?” Clara asked.