The Bookshop on Autumn Lane

by Cynthia Tennent

  Kit was watching me closely. I kept staring from him to Aunt Gertrude’s picture. What a sad and lonely life she had.

  Kit put his hand on top of my own. “It was a long time ago.”

  I squeezed his hand. “So why do you believe the novel exists?”

  “I believe that the fire was a convenient excuse. I think she saved the carbons but deliberately kept them from Robin Hartchick. It’s very possible, when she returned to Echo Lake, she hid the copies, waiting for Hartchick to admit his cheating and give up his ways. I don’t think she planned on keeping them from him or the world forever. But as the months went by and the news of his partying in New York reached her, maybe she just decided to keep them to herself.”

  My coffee was growing cold. I sipped it quickly as I thought about Aunt Gertrude.

  The year I’d lived with her, I was so lost in my own grief over my mother’s death that I didn’t think much about Aunt Gertrude’s life. From what I could remember, her only real companions were books. She surrounded herself with books and papers as if they were her friends. Her parents—my great-grandparents—died in the early 1970s. My father’s dad, her brother, had kept in touch with her. But he died too. The only person left in her life was my own father . . . and my brother and me.

  Dad warned us to be nice to Aunt Gertrude when he dropped us off in Truhart. But I hated her. And I hated her store. And I hated the town she lived in.

  I scanned all the documents on the table and felt a little less angry with the poor old bird. Her wings had been clipped pretty badly.

  After I left Kit’s place, I returned to the bookshop. I walked around the store and ran my fingers over a pile of papers that were stacked against the wall.

  Maybe throwing everything out could wait until I figured out what to do about my new feelings for Kit. And my new knowledge of Aunt Gertrude.

  I didn’t know how I could help in the quest for the lost manuscript. But I had forgiven Kit for deceiving me. I knew what it was like to want something that badly. He had dreams like I did. They just happened to be at cross-purposes. Maybe we could work something out that would satisfy both of us. If all went well we could both find a way to achieve our goals.

  A few months from now, I could be in the jungles of Cambodia and he could be presenting his discovery to the literary world.

  The thought left me oddly flat.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, I was too busy to think about lost manuscripts and Kit. When Elizabeth and I returned from the county offices, the house of horrors was in chaos. Just as Elizabeth parked her Honda in front of the old grocery store, we were accosted by ladies in panic. The bats were falling from the ceiling. The black lights were aimed at the wrong display and the coffin collapsed with Bridgette in it. Other than being mad at Marva for getting her involved in the house of horrors, she was fine.

  The day became a frenzy of finishing details and calming the rabid panic that hovered in the air. At one point, Elizabeth and I made a run to the superstore in Gaylord to purchase more white makeup for the zombies. It turned out to be a nice break from the pandemonium. We played the radio loudly and she joked about the unpredictable mess her life had become.

  By the time the sun was ready to set all the volunteers, including me, were exhausted. But there were still priorities. Harrison High School was playing a team from Grayling in a game that would decide who made it to the regional championship. I was too tired to go and looking forward to seeing Kit later. But no one else had any intention of missing it.

  “We are as ready as we will ever be,” announced Marva in a booming voice.

  She was right. The old grocery store had been transformed to a respectably terrifying house of horrors.

  “Everyone gather round!” Marva shouted.

  She stood at the front of the store and waited for a circle to form around her. “The house opens at ten a.m. on the dot. Lori’s Restaurant is providing a free lunch for volunteers. Zombies, witches, clowns, vampires and—oh, yeah—crazies.”

  “That’s you, Marva,” interrupted Joe. The men in the room joined him and a few even added their wives’ names.

  Marva put her hands on her hips. “You married me. So that makes you just as insane.” It earned her a big kiss from Joe and whistles from the rest of us.

  “So, as I was saying, we are ready to go. Don’t be late. And don’t forget to remind all your friends and their kids to come! I have flyers from here to Lake Huron, so hopefully we’ll have a line of customers all the way to the county road.”

  As people shuffled out the door, Corinne pulled me aside. “Trudy, we never could have done all this without you. You’ve been working hard and we know it has taken quite a bit of time away from your own affairs.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “No. We feel bad.”

  Marva came up behind Corinne. “We heard about your little . . . er . . . problem with Reeba Sweeney. We haven’t exactly been understanding about your feelings and what you need. Just because we don’t want the store to go to Logan Fribley doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to sell. We’d love to use it for the community center, but maybe another nice business will want it.”

  Corinne laid a hand on my shoulder. “And you did so much for Jenny and the girls and their cheerleading. So, they got together and decided to surprise you.”

  “Surprise me?”

  Marva pushed her glasses up her nose. “Well, they had help from us. You didn’t exactly need to get the makeup in Gaylord.”

  They took my elbow and led me out the front door. The dimming light of the late afternoon cast shadows on a small crowd that stood in front of Books from the Hart. Jenny, Bibi, Madeline, and all the girls who had cheered at the football game so passionately just a few weeks ago jumped up and down when they saw me. Moby was with them. He ran toward me, tail wagging. I crouched down and gave him a big kiss on the snout. “Sorry I was gone so long, boy. I hope you had a good nap.”

  Jenny wore a big grin on her face and grabbed my hands in hers, pulling me up toward the front door. “Miss Trudy! Come see!”

  I smiled and let her lead me. Her excitement was contagious and I had no idea what she was up to.

  Jenny giggled when we reached the door. She opened it wide and Bibi flipped on the light. “Ta-da!”

  I froze.

  The room was almost completely clear.

  “We put books in the trash while you were helping out at the haunted house,” said Jenny with huge pride in her voice.

  “They’re gone.” I stood still, blinking rapidly and wondering if I was seeing clearly.

  “We wanted to do something for you for a change,” said Corinne.

  “And it was a shitload of work. Even with some help from our parents. My shoulders are going to be sore for a week after this,” Bibi said, rubbing her upper arm.

  All these weeks, I wanted nothing more than to see books gone and the room bare. Empty. And now all I could think about was Kit. It would take weeks for him to sort through the garbage.

  “Miss Trudy . . . Are you okay?”

  No. “Yes, it’s just such a surprise.” I don’t know where I found my smile, but I dug it up from somewhere. With my lips feeling as stiff as the mummy next door, I squeezed her hand and said, “You girls are wonderful. I just can’t—can’t thank you all enough.”

  Jenny leaped into my arms and hugged me.

  “Awww. . . look, Jenny. You girls made her so happy she’s speechless,” said Marva. “We really surprised you, didn’t we? Flo was the only one who wouldn’t have anything to do with this. She loves books, you know. You’ll probably hear all about it from her next time you see her.”

  “Now you girls, we have to dress and be in Grayling by seven o’clock. Leave Miss Trudy to enjoy her nice, clean store,” said Corinne with a wave my way.

  The girls took turns hugging me, with the exception of Bibi, who gave me a fist bump. When they left, I collapsed on the cold, hard bare floor. My numbness turned to hys
terical laughs. Just a month ago, I would have given anything to be this close to purging Books from Hell. Now I found myself wondering how long it would take to carry everything back out of the trash.

  The words from Aunt Gertrude’s will came back to me. She must be laughing her ass off. I finally understood what Aunt Gertrude meant in her will. I was damned!

  * * *

  For what seemed like hours, I lay in an exhausted heap on the floor of the store, staring at the bare bulb in the ceiling.

  “Aunt Gertrude, why are you still haunting me?” Moby appeared, blocking out the light with his furry head, and he licked my face. I pulled him close, happy to have a friend who understood conflicting loyalty. Especially as it related to a certain British man. With a grunt, he laid down and put his head on my thigh.

  When I was younger I had always felt an uncomfortable sense of claustrophobia when I was alone in the store. Like being in a car that had been packed so tightly with luggage that you had to curl your knees to your chest just to fit. Now, with the pressure gone, I understood that some things here were worth caring about after all. Stories that made loneliness meaningful. Characters that filled the void. And beautiful words that lovers held close to their hearts.

  I called out to the ghost of Aunt Gertrude. “If it’s here, send me a sign!”

  The wind rattled the front window and Moby whined. I finally roused myself from my stupor and poured dog food in Moby’s plastic bowl. He sniffed it and walked away. “Not hungry, boy?” He sent me a baleful look and dropped his head.

  I couldn’t look at bare shelves and a clean floor another minute. Maybe I would be able to think better with something in my stomach and a little company.

  Moby curled up by the back door. His ears were back, as if he was nervous about something. Other than a gusty breeze that was cooling off the evening, I couldn’t hear anything that would upset him. I grabbed my old jean jacket and crouched down in front of him. “I’ll be back soon, boy. Maybe I’ll bring you a little ground beef to perk you up.” He whined and watched me leave. I nearly changed my mind and turned around, but the stark room was too depressing.

  Outside, the wind had picked up. I almost tripped over Doc’s black cat that waited in the night shadows across the street. It screeched and took off in the direction of Doc’s garage. The no-parking sign rattled in the breeze. A scarecrow swayed on the post outside the house of horrors. I headed toward the glow at the end of the street, careful not to trip in the darkness. It was the time of year that made it hard to tell late afternoon from early evening. It was probably bright and sunny in Angkor Wat. Warm too. I wish I had taken the picture off Lulu’s visor. I needed a reminder of where I was going. Something to focus on.

  A strong breeze tore through my hair and whipped my coat away from me. A cornstalk came loose from the light post at the end of the street. It flew past me on a burst of wind. Above me, a tree limb creaked. I held my coat closer to me and made my way down the road.

  When I pushed open the door of the diner, the chime above my head was lost on a draft that tore the door from my hands, banging it against the frame. I fought to pull it shut. “Whew! That’s a strong—” I stopped.

  Cookee’s was empty except for a family in the corner. A waitress I didn’t recognize stood in front of the television, watching the weatherman give his nightly report. And a short, scrawny stranger stood at the stove flattening a meat patty. They were the only people in the diner. No Corinne. No Mac. Not even a trendy tourist.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “Who?” asked the waitress, her eyes still fixed on the TV.

  “Mac?”

  She glanced my way and dismissed me. I guess I didn’t seem like a big tipper. “Everyone has the night off for the football game and Mac just got hired at the Grande Lucerne.”

  “What?”

  She pushed away from the counter as a commercial came on. “Yeah. I guess they liked his food. I didn’t. Neither did Bert, here. But who can guess at the taste of people with money?”

  “So that’s it? No more Mac?”

  “Unless you want to pay forty bucks an entree on the other side of I-75. Yeah. No Mac. But Bert makes a mean slider.”

  I looked over at Bert at the grill. He was picking his nose. “No thank you. I’ll just have a bowl of oatmeal.”

  “Oatmeal? We only serve that at breakfast,” she said, staring at my coat.

  “Okay. How about a bowl of rice or brussels sprouts?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “Neither one of those are on the menu. That’s gonna be extra if we have to make it special.”

  I stepped forward. “Mac never charged me extra to make something off the menu.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Haven’t you, Bert?” She laughed and he joined in. Then he grabbed a bun from the top shelf with the hand he had just used on his nostril. Bert was going to make boogers, not burgers. I don’t know why I thought that was so funny. I put a hand over my mouth. I think I was getting light-headed.

  “Something amusing you?” The waitress scowled at me.

  “Never mind.” I probably had a can of beans somewhere under the shelf in Aunt Gertrude’s kitchen. A strong gust blew the door open and shut.

  I walked out the door, leaving it flying in the wind as the waitress screamed from behind me. All the humor inside me quickly drained away. Nothing was funny now.

  I made my way down the sidewalk, letting my hair fly every which way across my face. I didn’t bother buttoning my coat and the bitter cold cut through my thigh-length rayon sweater. The first drops of rain hit my cheeks like pelting ice. I picked up my pace. No cars were parked on Main Street tonight. The Laundromat had closed and another letter on the dry-cleaning sign was hanging in the wind. With the exception of a surly waitress and a crude cook, it felt like I was the only person left in Truhart.

  I was going to be gone soon too. The last glimpse I would have of Truhart would be out Lulu’s rearview mirror. The diner would go on with Bert behind the counter now, cooking his disgusting fare. The garage would continue to service boring cars. The ladies would be doing whatever came next in their quest to raise money for a community center. And after the football season, girls like Jenny were still going to be sent home from school for crying when they were left out of gym class.

  I walked past one empty building after another. The pizza place that had been for sale for over a year. The bakery that had been empty even when I lived here. The Chamber of Commerce defying the notion that there wasn’t any commerce in Truhart.

  I could have changed that, according to Reeba Sweeney. There could be a pawnshop. And if they were lucky, a cheap casino. Maybe an adult bookstore.

  I never liked Truhart when I was fourteen. But it wasn’t because of the town. It wasn’t Truhart’s fault that my mother died and my father didn’t want us. It wasn’t anyone’s fault I couldn’t read. Most people here were as down on their luck now as I had been back then.

  The picture on the other side of Lulu’s visor came to mind. Angkor Wat was an abandoned temple. It had once sat rotting slowly in the jungle with no one inhabiting it other than a bunch of wild monkeys. Absurdly, I was leaving one decaying town for another.

  I cut between buildings and turned down the back alley toward the store. There was no glow coming from a camp light now. Kit would have been challenged by tonight’s weather. Our bed of books would have been cold and blustery. The beautiful words he read me from Cyrano de Bergerac would have been lost on the wind.

  I stopped in my tracks. I had placed Cyrano de Bergerac on the table in the back room. I let myself in the back door, leaving it open to bang against the side of the building. Moby barked and hovered at my knees.

  “It’s just me.” He whined louder. But I wasn’t paying attention. With a sense of foreboding, I stared at the table. The girls had been thorough. Cyrano de Bergerac was gone.

  And along with all the other books, it was going to be drenched when the rain came.

  A giant c
rack of thunder erupted at the same time several flashes of light illuminated the back alley.

  Suddenly, I knew what to do.

  I grabbed the flashlight from the desk by the back wall and headed out into the wind. The screen door crashed facedown and I left it. I headed toward Doc’s. Lulu waited for me. The tarp I had secured days ago flapped in the wind.

  “Just for one night,” I said out loud, apologizing as I removed it. “Sorry, Lulu.” I quickly untied the rope, ignoring the way my hands turned numb in the cold wind. When I was finished, I started back to the store.

  The tarp flew apart and billowed in the wind as I walked down Main Street. I was forced to grasp it with both hands to keep from losing it. The first drops of rain were falling faster by the time I was back at the Dumpster. With the flashlight tucked inside my coat pocket, I went to work, managing to drape one corner of the container at a time. I felt for the grommets at each end of the tarp and threaded the rope through. The cleats on each corner of the container made it easier. I managed to secure the tarp and tie it off. When I finished, I stepped back and held up the flashlight. Another clap of thunder made me jump. Lightning followed in a surge of bursts that made the night seem like day. The tarp rose up in the wind like a parachute, but it stayed in place, protecting the contents of the Dumpster from the rain that fell harder now.

  Satisfied that the covering was going to stay, I made my way to the back door. It slapped against the doorframe, rattled by the wind. I fought the wind until the door clicked shut. While the rain fell in sheets outside, I stood in the middle of the bookstore and caught my breath.

  A strange feeling came over me as if something wasn’t right. Even empty of books, the store felt too vacant. My eyes traveled around the room. It was dry. All the crazy weather was outside.

  And Moby was gone.

  Chapter 18

  I stumbled along Main Street, searching for anything that might resemble a soggy collie. The rain pelted my face, making it painful to keep my eyes open. My clothes stuck to me like papier-mâché ice. My hair hung in clumps. The cuff of my pants dragged on the ground. And water cascaded down the inside of my collar, making a path down to my waterlogged boots.