Book Lover, The

by McFadden, Maryann

  He shrugged. “I think I did once, but you probably forgot. Anyway, after my father died, I was just about done with law school and then I took over his practice. Being a lawyer was who I was, part of the fabric of my life, and I couldn’t envision anything else after a while.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m doing some clerical work at legal aid for St. John’s County for now, as part of my community service, but when that’s over, I’m done with the legal profession. And also…” he hesitated, “I’m a bartender at Harry’s.”

  “What!”

  David began to laugh. “I know, it sounds shocking, but it’s just for now. There’s no pressure, I like meeting people, and believe it or not, the money’s pretty good, so I’m getting by. And there’s something else. I realize now how lucky you are, to know exactly what you want, to be a writer. And to have the guts to go after it. I never really gave you the support there that you deserved.”

  “That’s not really true.”

  “It is, maybe not all the time, but still…” His words ran out and he sat there a long moment. “You know, all my life, I’ve done the responsible thing, the expected thing. Whatever would make someone else happy, and I see now how that was part of my undoing. But Lucy, what I did to you…” He shook his head, as if there were no words.

  “David, it’s over and done with. I don’t hate you anymore. Obviously.”

  “I should have gone for counseling with you, after Ben died. I know that now. Everything I held in all that time, it was just, I don’t know, like I didn’t even really know myself anymore. To be honest, it wasn’t until recently that I began to see how much anger I was holding in, too.”

  “I was angry for a long time afterward, too. It’s one of the early stages of grief.”

  “Yeah, but you dealt with it. I didn’t. And it’s not like I’m done. I’m going to keep going for a while, even though it’s not mandated any longer.”

  “You know what? I still had a lot of baggage, too. It wasn’t until I went north that I began to see it. I hurt you, David, in ways you don’t even know. I wasn’t there for you after Ben died. And even later on when we came here, I pretty much wasn’t present at all. I was always focused on something I was working toward, the book, then the shop, then back to the book, trying to keep myself so busy I didn’t stop most of the time to even think about my life, or our marriage.”

  “I know. And that was my excuse to myself when I was feeling guilty.”

  “I’m sorry for that. I know you were grieving.”

  He smiled. “Hindsight is an amazing thing, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, but couldn’t smile. “David, do you remember when we started making plans for our future and you said you didn’t want children?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you remember what I said?”

  “Not exactly. Just something to the effect that you didn’t either.”

  “That wasn’t completely true. I was young and in that moment, I didn’t want children.”

  He looked puzzled. “What are you saying?”

  “I was afraid to be completely honest with you. I knew that I wanted them, I just wasn’t ready then. I saw it all, the beautiful house in Mendham, a yard filled with swing sets and sandboxes, and you coming home for dinner every night. It was the kind of life I always wanted as a kid and…I figured when the time came, you’d hopefully change your mind.”

  He stared at her for a long moment.

  “I should have been honest with you, David, right from the beginning. That was unfair. And I put you through hell, with all the fertility treatments and then losing Ben. I’m sorry, deeply sorry.”

  He got up and walked across the patio, his hand raking through his hair over and over again.

  “For such a long time, David, I kept wondering which was the domino that set this all in motion and I think it was that. If I hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have gone through—”

  “Stop it,” he said, turning back to her. “Don’t do this.”

  “You even moved here because of me.”

  He came over and sat back down. “You know what I’m learning more than anything? That you can’t go back. You can’t undo mistakes, you just have to learn to live with them. What I did to you was horrible. What you just told me—that at twenty-three years old you maybe did or didn’t want kids—hell, that isn’t even in the same league. I don’t regret what we went through. Because I did want a child, once I got over my fears. I wanted it just as much as you. It was the continual loss that was unbearable. But I would never undo any of it, because that would erase Ben, and I could never do that. For however little time we had him, he was ours.”

  She bit her lip, but the tears spilled from her eyes. David’s, too, were full of tears.

  “Let’s just let it go, all of it,” he said. “There was a lot of good in our marriage. We’re here now, in the present, and I don’t want to make any more mistakes that I’ll regret. I’m not the same man I was when we stood on that beach and I told you I wanted a divorce.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That I don’t think we should rush into it. When you postponed it a few days ago, I started to hope that maybe you were having the same doubts, but I didn’t want to say anything until you were here. I needed to talk to you in person.”

  “Oh, David…”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re a family, Lucy, just the two of us.”

  She stood and walked across the patio, her mind reeling.

  “Call your attorney and tell him it was a mistake. It happens all the time, people at the last minute have a change of heart.”

  She couldn’t believe what he was saying. As she stood there, trying to absorb everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, she already knew what her decision had to be. She’d known it the moment she’d turned to him on the pillow beside her, both of them blindsided by the force of emotions.

  Because David was right, she didn’t want to make any more mistakes.

  39

  RUTH REMEMBERED THE CONVENTION on her fourth morning home. It was too late to get her money back, and there was no point in going even if she felt better. A moment later, she picked up her phone and dialed Lucy’s cell. She answered on the first ring.

  “Ruth! How are you? I sent you a few e-mails, but I didn’t want to call and bother you.”

  “I’m okay, just tired, making up for lost sleep and all. And I’m sorry I haven’t written back. I haven’t gone near the computer since I got home. But listen, I’m calling because I have a brilliant idea, if you’re interested.”

  She told Lucy about the convention, and how she could meet more booksellers in a day than she could in six months on her own.

  “Oh, Ruth, what an opportunity! I think I’d be terrified, though.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just give out books and tell them how well you’ve been doing. Maybe get a few of the booksellers you know to talk you up a bit. What do you say?”

  “Well, I’m still in St. Augustine. Things here turned out not quite the way I expected. David doesn’t want the divorce.”

  “Oh my, you must have been floored.”

  “To say the least.”

  “Well if you’re not coming back, you don’t have to—”

  “No, I do have to come back, but…” her voice drifted and Ruth heard talking in the background and then Lucy was whispering, “Listen, I’ll explain more when I see you because I’m in a bookstore in Fernandina Beach and the owner is heading my way. As for the convention, the thought of meeting that many booksellers is a little nerve wracking, but yes, I’d love to. Thank you.”

  Ruth promised to e-mail the details then hung up with a smile—Lucy’s husband still loved her! From everything Lucy had told her, he sounded like a good man who’d made some bad decisions. And now, most likely the divorce wouldn’t be finalized. Of course she had to come back—her car was here, as were all of her things at the cabin. She could stop at the convention in Phil
adelphia on her way back to Florida. Well, at least one of them was getting a happy ending, she thought as she reached over to pet Sam, disappointed to realize once again that Sam wasn’t there.

  BEING HOME SO MUCH, IT WAS HARD TO IGNORE the years of neglect staring her in the face. Everything needed a fresh coat of paint. The kitchen hadn’t been updated in—actually, aside from replacing broken appliances, it had never been updated. But the house had good bones, a term she’d heard on HGTV. It was a project, something to look forward to, but she would have to bide her time. Right now there was just one thing she wanted above everything else—to feel like herself again.

  As she sat on the porch at the end of the week, Sam barely acknowledging her existence as she curled up in the furthest corner, still miffed at her sudden banishment, Ruth rocked back and forth watching the comings and goings of her neighbors on a sunny August afternoon. Honeybees buzzed lazily across the lawns from flower to flower and the birds were beginning their late day feedings. It was peaceful, and Ruth wondered if this was what retirement was like, literally stopping to see the flowers, finally. She was feeling slightly better, able to make the stairs now in one try. Even cooking a few meals. Last night, after a long, quiet day, she’d finally called Thomas. He didn’t pick up, so she left him a message to call her. He still hadn’t, and she realized it was time to face facts—his letter was probably him letting go. He’d moved on, probably met someone younger and with a lot less baggage.

  A familiar green Volkswagen coming up her street caught her eye, then pulled in her driveway. Megan got out, carrying a brown shopping bag. It wasn’t until Ruth stood and met Megan at the porch steps that she could see the young woman had been crying.

  “I know I’m not supposed to call you or bother you about work, but Ruth, I had to find out if it’s true. Please tell me you’re not really closing the store.”

  “Oh, Megan.” She took Megan’s hand and led her into the house, where they sat on the living room couch. “Look, do you realize how hard this is for me? But I have to do it.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve held this in all week,” Megan said, pulling her hand away and putting the bag on the couch between them. Then she closed her eyes and made a little humming sound, as if she were in a trance. She realized Megan was trying to calm herself.

  Then Megan turned and dumped the contents of the bag on the couch between them. “I threw out that disgusting box that Sandy gave you and copied what I needed, but I kept a few originals.”

  “This is about Sandy’s grandfather? But I thought…”

  “I lied.” Megan lifted a yellowed, laminated page from the pile. “Just look at this.”

  Ruth took the yellowed newspaper page, taped and brittle-looking but now preserved in the layer of plastic, and scanned it with her eyes, stopping at the date: July 21, 1862. She looked up at Megan.

  “I did throw a lot of what was in that box out, but there were just a few things that got me curious and I started searching online. I also got into the archives of The Warwick Gazette. But Ruth, keep reading this page,” Megan said, practically clapping her hands.

  Below the 1862 date was an article about the Warwick Valley Railroad, which had just finished its maiden run. Another article speculated about the future of the dairy industry and other local trades that would now be able to transport their products to other towns in a more timely fashion. The new railroad was going to be a boon to the local economy.

  Ruth thought about her father’s farm, and how her own great-grandfather had begun the family dairy business, which had dwindled over the years of her own life until it disappeared. But here, right in this article, was where it had no doubt begun to boom.

  There was just another small piece on the bottom, about the mayoral race heating up, and she glanced further, looking at the advertisements luring readers to try the “Quality Calicos and Fine Laces at Quincy’s Dry Goods Store,” or another for Rightmyers Pharmacy, the predecessor of Akin’s on Main Street, advertising Doctor Tucker’s Amazing Digestive Tonic: “Derangements of the Stomach or Bowels Promptly Relieved.” She laughed out loud.

  Then she noticed the small column ad in the bottom right corner and her breath caught. “The Book Lover. Expanding Our Inventory—Now carrying wallpaper and window shades for the modern home.”

  She looked up at Megan. “Wallpaper and window shades?”

  “Well, think about it. How clever was that to come up with other products made of paper, and not just books?”

  “And this is…” She looked at the date again, still shaking her head, “1862? But I thought Betsy was only the second owner?”

  “I think that’s right, but if you keep looking,” Megan said, now leafing through a clipped bunch of photocopied pages, “you’ll find that the former owners had the store in their family for generations. These are copies I made from some of those moldy papers.”

  Ruth took the pages from her and looked at the top sheet filled with the fluid ink of a fountain pen. It was a review of The House of the Seven Gables by an Otto Klinger. She scanned the lines, amused at the vernacular of the period, and then in the last paragraph her eyes widened.

  “He’s saying that Nathaniel Hawthorne originally self-published his first novel?”

  “Yes, amazing, isn’t it?”

  “But…I had no idea. It says it was called Fanshawe…and…he burned the unsold copies?” She turned the page over, but there was nothing else, no date.

  “I verified all of it about Hawthorne. It’s all true. As for the store, I couldn’t find anything at the historical society on the store going back that far, but it turns out they had a fire years ago and lost a lot of stuff. So I went to the county deed office and found out the Klingers owned this building until Betsy bought it. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  Megan continued to rummage through the papers, finally handing her another. In front of her very own window stood three people, an older woman in a long dress with a lace collar, ribbon sash, and a bonnet tied under her chin. Beside her was a young man, and then a little girl who couldn’t have been more than ten. The caption read: Three Generations of Klingers Open The Book Lover. The young man was identified as Otto Klinger. But Ruth kept looking at the date, 1860.

  “Oh Lord, Megan…” she could barely breathe.

  Megan was giggling. “Our store is going to be one hundred and fifty years old, Ruth.”

  “I can’t…I simply can’t believe it.”

  “And to think, if you hadn’t come along…”

  “Things were so tight. When Betsy couldn’t find a buyer she nearly just closed shop.” And here she was, about to do the same thing. Ruth could only afford the business, so someone else had bought the building, which had changed hands three times since.

  “Ruth, I think we’re the oldest bookstore in the country, do you realize that?” Megan was bouncing in her seat.

  “No, that’s the Moravian Bookshop in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. They actually opened in 1745 but moved locations.”

  “So maybe we’re the oldest in the same location. But who cares, there are bookstores that don’t make ten years. This is pretty incredible.”

  “I still don’t get the connection to Sandy’s grandfather.”

  “Well, he did work there for a while. This is him in a photo in front of the store when they put in the first electric lights, with Alma Klinger, Otto’s granddaughter.”

  “But how did he end up with some of this in his attic? Did he marry her?”

  “No, I asked Sandy about that. She thinks maybe Alma Klinger was his girlfriend before he married her grandmother. Anyway, I’ve searched the area, but there don’t seem to be any Klingers left.”

  “Maybe we’ll never really know. I’m just glad Sandy didn’t throw it out.”

  “The Book Lover is a landmark, Ruth. It’s a piece of history. You can’t close!”

  She looked up at Megan and sighed.

  “Come on, Ruth, don’t tell me you don’t miss the excitement already? Who’s
coming in today? What new book is arriving? We’re part of that whole magical process. Helping people discover new reads, finding books they don’t even know they want yet and then falling in love. We’re not just a store, we’re a haven for people. Oh, and Larry Porter came in and told me about his proposal, because I guess he also heard the rumors.”

  “Oh, Megan…”

  “Look, I know you work like a dog, so let me help. Stop being such a control freak. I’m perfectly capable of doing payroll and bills, you don’t have to get Lucy to do that. I could do so much more. You know I went to the revitalization meeting for you the other day.”

  Oh, she’d forgotten about that, too.

  Now Megan explained to her that she’d been researching other towns just like Warwick, with struggling downtowns that were competing with malls, and that they were sharing ideas on Facebook and Twitter.

  “I told them at the meeting that what we really need,” Megan said, “is to find some businesses that will bring customers downtown. Things you can’t get from the box stores or the internet. Of course that ass Eddie Meeker had piped up ‘What can’t you get from box stores or the Internet? I told them ice cream, for starters. A Facebook friend in New Jersey told me they just got an old-fashioned ice cream parlor on their Main Street, and even though there’s a Dairy Queen out by their mall, people are walking into town now and lining up for this ice cream. Maybe we can get Bellevale Farms to open a stand here in town.”

  “Megan, I can’t tell you how impressed I am.” And she hadn’t uttered a single “feck” or “brilliant.”

  “I want to get an MBA.”

  Ruth looked at her. “I can truly see you running a big corporation one day. Or starting up the next Google—”

  “Are you kidding? I don’t want to run any big corporation. I want to run a bookstore.”

  “The world of books is changing, you know, more each year now than it has in probably the past five centuries,” Ruth cautioned. “Sometimes it scares me. A hundred years from now, will a book as we know it, with a cover and bound paper pages, even exist?”