by A. K. Klemm
Once home, she drew the blinds and pulled her contraband from her purse. “’These days I look at twenty-year-olds and think they are pathetically young, scarcely weaned from their mothers’ tits…’” Me too, Uhtred, me too, she breathed. She allowed herself to sink into the couch, and despite her exhaustion, she devoted her evening entirely to Uhtred and King Alfred.
She woke to pangs of hunger. She’d fallen asleep about a hundred and fifty pages in, and her blouse was sticking to her from her uncomfortable slumber. She set the book on the coffee table and went to take a shower. It was a speedy one. Once out, she beelined to the kitchen in her robe and made a sandwich and a glass of tea. She wiggled into place on the couch and sat with her legs tucked under her like she had when she was a girl. Nice to know the legs still bent that way. She laid the book open in her lap while she chomped down on her sandwich.
She didn’t close the book until it was over.
Wednesday
Nancy groaned from her position on the sofa. The ache in her back was unbearable. What was she thinking, not going to bed as she should?
Uhtred, that’s what she was thinking. The sun was peeking up through the bay window and the cat pounced at a butterfly in the yard.
What time… oh no. It was already nine o’clock. Nancy hurried to the kitchen, where the coffee sat barely warm in the pot. She scurried to her bedroom and realized she hadn’t placed an outfit on the chair for herself the night before.
“Uhtred!” At first it was a disgruntled yell at her morning, but as it came out of her mouth, she felt energized, and she raised her arm high above her head as if to conquer the day. “For Uhtred!”
She was dressed and at the mayor’s office by 9:33. She licked her tongue over her teeth and had shamefully begun searching for a piece of gum when the mayor said, “Nancy?”
“Hmmm?” She looked up at him.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said.
“No need.”
Nancy went to her office and took a look at the calendar. The festival would begin Friday at 4:30 p.m. sharp. The beginning of summer was a big deal in Lily Hollow, and Friday evening would begin with the school district bake sale and pie-eating contest. Tourists would begin to arrive for the weekend, the children would get out of their last day of school, and from Friday on, they—tourists and children alike—would be running in the streets.
The festival was a time to raise money for the following school year and highlight all of Lily Hollow’s lesser-known prime features—like the Fletcher School of Dance and Jolie’s Jewelry—small businesses that had been functioning for years out of community buildings or event booths.
The Fletcher dancers were to put on a performance in front of the courthouse where the mayor’s office was. There was a wide circle drive out front, and although Easter was the prime time to see the lilies along the drive in bloom, the Asiatic and tiger lilies were still looking brilliant. The girls were to dress as flowers and welcome the sun on Saturday morning. The first rehearsal had reminded Nancy of Alice in Wonderland. After the performance, the girls would pass out live long-stemmed flowers to the crowd with sign-up sheets for the six-week summer dance program.
Usually, Fletcher filled his class with little Lily Hollawans who wanted a taste of dance but couldn’t sign up for a full year in the fall, but every now and then one of the vacationing families would enroll. There were about fifteen to twenty homes, both in town and out on the farmlands, owned by elsewhere people who merely summered here.
She called Fletcher to see if all the tutus had come in. They had been special-ordered from a tailor in Briar. “Pete will deliver the long stems that day, we’ve already made arrangements with MacGregor’s Nursery. No worries, the flowers are donated, just like last year.” She paused, listened to Fletcher a minute, said goodbye, and then hung up. She leaned her head into her hands. After a minute she eyed the to-do list and picked up the phone.
It rang only once.
“Sam’s Deli.”
“Hi, Sam, it’s Nancy.”
“Hi, Nancy.”
“I’m just calling—”
“It’s all ready, Nancy. I mean not ready because my food is served fresh. But the order is placed, the meat is on its way, and the booth will be set. I even had my awning repaired.”
“Well, then. Have a blessed day.”
These business owners were sharp. They didn’t need her checking up on them. The paper creased as she ran her fingernail down the list, looking for the least likely “with it” person.
Charisse, one of Sue’s granddaughters, from Book Club. Nancy couldn’t call now, though, the girl would be at school. She was a senior at Lily Hollow High and was diligently aspiring to be a singer/songwriter. Over the years, however, Nancy had noticed that the artsy types were the most likely to do something silly like not know which weekend a performance was or misplace a guitar pick and then melt down over their sound. The ones who made it either had the talent for both music and organization or enough money to hire someone to be one of those things for them.
Richard, her late husband, had liked to fiddle with the guitar…
“Nancy?”
The mayor was standing over her. There was indeed drool on the side of her lace sleeve, and the pearl snap on the cuff had twisted itself undone in Nancy’s brief slumber.
“That’s it, Nancy, I’m sending you home. Your commitment to your job is charming, but I refuse to keep a woman at a desk who is clearly too ill to stay awake, and”—he coughed into the crook of his elbow and wiped his nose unglamorously—“I don’t want to catch anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nancy gathered her things and left the office. She tried to look as dejected as possible as she bumbled to the door, but as soon as she made it to the front lawn, she took off her pumps and ran.
It felt good to run. The pavement was smooth, as the street sweepers had already fulfilled her work order from the day before. And though she ripped a hole in her stockings, she felt wonderful.
And winded. God, she was so winded.
She stopped at the front door and leaned in at the stoop. The door was cool in the shadow of the porch, and she allowed herself a longer rest than was probably appropriate. Ann drove by in her Cadillac and peered sharply at her across the lawn.
Where are you going in your car, you lazy turd? Nancy gave her a half-hearted wave and continued to try to catch her breath. The cat brushed against her leg.
“Meow.”
“No, I don’t like cats, I prefer dogs, but I don’t want a dog, either.”
“Meooow.”
“No.”
“Mew.”
“I’ll call the pound before I let you in.” She pushed the door open and walked to the back of the house, where she opened the back door and placed fresh food and water in the cat’s bowls.
“Mewoowow,” it said as it came around the corner of the house.
“Beggar,” Nancy retorted. Last words were important. She slammed the door before the cat could get one in.
She went to her bedroom and peeled off her clothes, down to her slip. She left the slip on, liking the feel of the silk against her wrinkled skin. She crawled into her bed with a sandwich and iced tea. Richard would have never allowed such behavior, a sandwich in bed. He was a playful man, but not about eating. Food must be consumed in the kitchen, at the table. His one concession was the tea table in the bedroom—for only the beverage, not the full occasion.
Nearly twenty years of marriage, and he’d never gotten used to her grazing wherever and whenever, always paranoid she was inviting mice and other creatures. But a good book begs for a snack, and though she’d not been such an avid reader until lately, she couldn’t remember ever letting a month go by without picking up some novel or biography. She’d followed the careers of Joan Didion and the Dunnes avidly. Richard would be startled by this week’s mood, indeed. He was a gentle soul who
tinkered with music, sang in the shower, and went to work every day at a factory one hour east of Lily Hollow. He had appreciated her for her order and precision and loved her for her appropriate amount of flair.
“I like a woman brave enough to wear a hot pink suit,” he’d said more than once. Nevertheless, they were still suits, often modeled after Jackie Onassis, naturally. In a moment of grief, she’d tried to wear something loose and flowery—those long dresses that might as well be a night gown or gunny sack—but she felt like she was all hanging out. The few extra pounds around her waist line weren’t properly tucked in. Those cotton things stuck to her panty hose and created static. Without her hose, she was hyper aware of her varicose veins.
Uhtred wouldn’t like a woman in a suit. Uhtred would want a woman in—well, what did Uhtred like? He seemed to just like them all, a James Bond of the Vikings.
Nancy picked up Lords of the North.
“‘I wanted darkness. There was a half-moon that summer night and it kept sliding from behind the clouds to make me nervous. I wanted darkness.’” Nancy crammed the last bit of her sandwich in her mouth, washed it down with the last of her tea, and settled in.
It was right around the time Uhtred was shouting, “’Every last one of the bastards has to die, so go out and kill them!’” that the phone rang.
It was her daughter-in-law, Kat.
“Mom, you weren’t at Bingo night last night.”
“Oh goodness.” She’d forgotten all about Bingo. Oh well, there would be Thursday. That’s what two nights a week of Bingo was for, right?
She didn’t believe her own thoughts—she never missed Tuesday night Bingo. Sometimes she left early Thursday night to help prepare for another event later in the evening, but she never missed a minute of Tuesday.
“Dick was worried,” Kat continued.
“I’m fine. Truly.”
“He went by your office, and the mayor said he sent you home.”
Does no one mind their own business? “Kat, dear, really. I’m fine.”
“All right.” She didn’t sound convinced. But how do you tell your daughter-in-law that you’re possibly in love with a fictional pagan from the late 800s? Or worse, that you’re not in love with him at all, you simply want to be him?
Thursday
Nancy found herself tapping on the door of the Bookshop Hotel first thing Thursday morning. She’d finished the third book early the night before and forced herself into bed specifically for this purpose.
Matthew answered the door, still groggy-eyed. She pushed cash into his hand as soon as the door creaked open an inch and she shoved her way unceremoniously in.
“Good morning. I need the rest. All of them.”
Matthew smiled at her and closed the door. “You know we’re not open yet.” He ran his hand through his uncombed hair.
“Precisely.”
“Now, Nancy . . .” He shook his head at her but was grinning. He walked to the cash register and settled her tab, did some mental math, and brought her change. He went to the fiction shelves, pulled what she needed, and took the books to the kitchen with him.
Holding them hostage.
“Sit,” he ordered, and poured her coffee. She complied.
“What’s next?” she asked as she poked through the books.
“The battle for London,” he said, poking a finger at Sword Song. “So?”
“I love them.”
“I see that.”
“The girls would never read stuff like this.”
“Ivy does.” He nodded toward the poster for the competing book club.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Ivy and Nancy had been playfully warring since the birth of both clubs. Ivy mostly led the misfit students of Lily Hollow as they read pulp and noir fiction between tackling the high school students’ assignments. Nancy honestly didn’t know if the gypsy girl had ever been in school, but she was quirky and had a thirst for knowledge. Nancy noticed that the girl enjoyed mentoring the weirder ones in the younger crowd, and despite her appearance, was an all-around good influence on them.
“She’s read these?”
“Last year when the kids were assigned a research paper on King Alfred the Great. No one was interested. There was a lot of grumbling. Ivy dug up The Last Kingdom and suddenly they couldn’t wait to write their papers. I’m surprised you don’t remember. There were weird pagan sketches all over the store for a week.”
Nancy vaguely recalled the bizarre art, but also knew it didn’t seem that out of the ordinary for the youngest bookstore employee to draw obscure, gothic-looking pictures in black Sharpie.
Who would have thought clad-in-black, dread-wearing Ivy would know how to lead a crowd better than Nancy? The first month she knew her, the girl had been reading Cat’s Cradle and walking around town cheering “Boko-maru!” Nancy understood the impulse now—although not entirely, because she hadn’t read Vonnegut’s work—because the compulsion to yell “Earsling!” at Ann the other day had been hard to ignore.
Sam entered the shop’s cafe from the back kitchen entrance. “Sammiches,” he mumbled, placing the tray of food into the fridge. He was about to disappear out the back entrance again when Nancy caught his eye and he opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he shook his head and left.
“Let me buy a few of those.” Nancy pointed to the deli sandwiches Sam made special for the Bookshop Hotel cafe’s menu. Matthew filled her a brown bag, made a cappuccino to go, and took Nancy’s money.
“Stocking up?”
“And calling in,” she whispered.
Matthew made a zipping motion over his smiling lips, and Nancy gathered her things for the walk home.
First off, she called the mayor.
“I can’t come in today,” she said.
“Dear Lord, I pray you get well,” he said.
She wasn’t certain whether to be happy that he was praying for her or upset that he was so worried when she wasn’t ill at all.
“Thank you, sir. I assure you, I’m fine.” At least she hadn’t really lied to anyone.
Next, she took off her suit jacket. Still wearing her blouse and skirt, she unloaded the loot onto the coffee table. The fish bubbled at her. She placed the sandwiches in a little row in the order she would be consuming them later and opened Sword Song. By this time in her reading journey, she was skipping right past the Place-Names pages in the front and diving right into floating along the River Temes on a nameless boat.
Cornwell did not fail her. It was a thrilling adventure—several thrilling adventures—from start to finish. By the time Uhtred was sailing home, Nancy was panting with adrenaline.
She ate the next sandwich in line off the coffee table and got up for a drink refill. Before she made it to the kitchen, she got an idea, and after about ten minutes of extreme effort, had implemented it. The coffee table was now pushed all the way against the sofa. The goldfish blew more bubbles at her face, which was only a few inches from his, as she slid everything to the side.
Now the living room was an open area. Pleased with herself, she went back to the kitchen, gulped some iced tea, and poked her head out toward the patio.
The cat eyed her lazily from its spot in the sun.
Nancy shuffled garden supplies around until she found what she was looking for. It was a long-handled shovel for a child, Fiona’s from years back when she would come to help her grandmama garden. It was light-weight and only about two feet in length at the most.
“Mawh,” the cat said.
“Hush, you.”
Nancy went back to the living room and swung the shovel above her head like a sword. “Aha!” she cheered.
She’d been at it for about an hour, dancing around the living room playing pirate, when the front door opened behind her.
“Nancy . . .” Sue called. Then she stared. “What in heaven’s name?”
Nancy stood with the shovel extended outward, her still-stockinged feet pla
nted in what she presumed was an aggressive fighting stance. Her blouse was drenched in sweat.
She turned and saw her best friend and dropped the shovel to her side.
“I’m practicing.” She pursed her lips.
“For what? The Gardener’s Death Brigade?” Sue began to laugh and Nancy did too. “I heard you were home sick. I brought summer chicken noodle.”
“Oh, I love your summer chicken noodle when I’m sick,” Nancy said. It had lemon zest and summer vegetables. “But I’m not sick,” she confessed.
“You might be in the head. What’s gotten into you?”
“Uhtred. Of Bebbanburg.”
“Oh my lands, you met a man.”
“No. Yes. No. I met a character.” She handed Sue one of the books off the coffee table, and Sue started laughing heartily.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were on a reading bender?” She kept laughing. “I remember these. Ben raved about them.” Ben was Sue’s grandson from her oldest daughter. He was barely younger than her daughter Chloe, who was a product of Sue’s second marriage. He was an English professor at a college.
“They’re amazing,” Nancy said.
“Why are you hiding them?”
“I just . . .”
“Wanted to enjoy them alone?”
“I guess.”
Nancy, so sure of herself and known for precise and determined clipped statements, was always more relaxed around Sue, and lately Matthew at the bookstore. Sue knew her better than anyone and let her know it was okay to be uncertain now and then. Matthew was just an easy-going fellow and didn’t presume to expect anything from anyone. The rest of the town constantly looked to Nancy to be organized and sure of herself and have everything well thought out at every moment. Saying “I guess” out loud was a relief.
At first, she thought she’d be judged for picking the books up. Then, she simply didn’t want to share them—didn’t want anyone to trample on her love for them the way they had with The Scarlet Pimpernel. She told Sue as much as she slumped into the couch, laying her legs across the too-close coffee table.