The Bookshop on Autumn Lane

by Cynthia Tennent

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I slipped and shifted back to him. It was hard to stay on the high side.

  “Clothes don’t keep unless you take care of them. You care for your clothes the way a mother cares for her children.”

  I had never thought about it that way. “I only cared for them because I needed them to last.”

  “And your car. That crazy old bug that should never in a million years have made it this far across the country . . . you take care of that like it’s a baby bird. You practically hand-feed that thing every time you get near it.”

  He was being overly dramatic.

  “You know how to take care of objects, Trudy Brown. Why are you so scared of living things?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “Come here.” Kit pulled me back down into his warm lap and I didn’t object. I stared at the white windshield.

  “For a guy who spent the first few weeks lying to me, you sure have found your honesty now.” My comment was supposed to be sarcastic. But I was very pleased. Kit was honest to a fault now. He didn’t know it, but he was just as charming when he dropped the polite act and was himself. More so.

  I curled into him and the cab of the SUV felt downright cozy. After several minutes Kit asked, “How did she die?”

  I don’t know why he asked. Maybe it was always there for him to see. An old wound that I never let heal. I let his question settle in the cold air until I could say the word.

  “Cancer.”

  The white windshield reminded me of her hospital room. White walls. White sheets. Her pale face. “Mom was so busy moving us into our new house in Germany that she put off getting the lump checked out.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been really rough.” He stroked my hair.

  The ticking of the hazard lights blinked off and on. “When she was diagnosed she promised us she would be fine.”

  “Us?”

  “My dad, my brother, and me.”

  “You don’t talk about your brother much.”

  “Afghanistan. Land mine.”

  Kit’s hand stilled. I didn’t want his pity. I didn’t want to see the expression on his face. That look that says You poor, poor thing. They are almost all gone. And now it is just you.

  Then I took a deep breath and relaxed. It wasn’t just me. It was hard on everybody.

  “My dad lives in New Jersey. He remarried and has two kids. Girls. I have half-sisters.” I wasn’t completely orphaned.

  “Do you see them?”

  “I met them once. I was working in a theater in Connecticut and I went down for a weekend. Dad’s wife wanted me to come. Get to know my half-sisters. He met her in Korea. She’s from there. She’s really nice.” I kept talking in small sentences. Anything longer made breathing hard.

  “You visited just once?”

  “Well, they were a new family. I’m not really part of it. I felt . . . weird.”

  “And the only other relative you had was Aunt Gertrude?”

  “Well, now that I think of it, it wasn’t so easy on her. She was just really frustrated. I didn’t want to learn. And I didn’t stick around long enough to let her figure out the problem.”

  “Ah, yes. The running-away part when you were . . . what?”

  “Fifteen. She never actually said I was stupid. She just made me feel that way.”

  “That’s a power you gave her. You didn’t have to let her get to you.”

  “I was fifteen.”

  “And now you’re—what?”

  “I get what you’re saying.” At twenty-seven, maybe it was time to get over my anger. The lightness I felt clutching Cyrano de Bergerac yesterday morning wasn’t enough. It wasn’t just about the books. I had to stop blaming poor brokenhearted Aunt Gertrude for things that were beyond her control. I was tired of being mad at the rest of the world because they could do something I couldn’t. No matter how much I would ever work on reading, it would always be a challenge.

  I thought about Jenny and her haphazard cheerleading team. The moment they ran out in front of the crowd and began to cheer had terrified me. I didn’t want to see them made fun of. But the girls were so brave. What was it Jenny had said? “Don’t worry, Miss Trudy. We’re used to it.”

  Maybe I could be that strong. I turned to Kit. “You didn’t have to defend me to that jackhammer dude, either. His words didn’t hurt me at all.”

  “He bothered me, though,” he said. In the red glow of the blinking hazard lights I could see the tenderness in his expression. He kissed me with a gentleness that made my chest hurt. It was a kiss that held something strong. A gift that I could almost—but not quite—understand.

  Kit took off his glasses and studied my face. “Trudy Brown. Do you think you are ready to take responsibility for yourself?”

  “Can’t I just start with you and Moby?”

  “That. Would. Be. Lovely.” He kissed me in between each word. His lips moved to my neck. “You take care of me and Moby. We’ll help you with the rest.”

  I understood the feeling that felt like it was ready to burst out of my chest, now. It could be described with a single four-letter word. Not like the ones Kit had used earlier. But one that filled me with such happiness it made me want to scream it to the world. I turned into Kit’s lap and wrote the letters with my fingertip on the frosty window behind his head.

  Suddenly I was too busy to think. I clung to his jacket and let him trace lines across my shoulder with his lips. Our hands wandered inside each other’s clothes, staying warm, and memorizing the feel of each other in the dark.

  A light flooded the cab. I shielded my eyes from the brightness and groaned. “We should have turned off the hazard lights.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Kit, giving me a quick kiss.

  Doc’s voice greeted us from outside. “Hey, you two look like you could use another few minutes.”

  His flashlight ran along the side window and above Kit’s head I could see the outline of the word I wrote under H-E-L-P. It was L-O-V-E.

  Chapter 20

  I sat in a chair, watching dawn breaking over Echo Lake. It was a bright morning and the light from the rising sun made the ice and snow-coated trees shimmer. I had never seen anything quite like it.

  “You look like Venus with the radiance from the sun in your hair,” Kit said from the bed behind me.

  I tilted my head back and enjoyed the scenery on the bed as well. He was tousled and sexy, lying in the sheets. “Good morning.”

  “Up so early?”

  “It’s such a beautiful morning. I didn’t want to miss any of it.” I was getting used to early mornings. Last night, I had slept like a baby. The bed had been soft and the pillows felt like—no, they actually were—real down. And the warm man beside me felt like he belonged there forever.

  Kit rose from the bed and joined me.

  “Did last night really happen?” I asked when he lifted me into his lap.

  “I think so. I have a piece of paper that says we have an appointment with a judge.”

  I moaned.

  I peeked at the clock on the nightstand. The Furry Friends Rescue Shelter wouldn’t open for a couple of hours. It was going to be hard to wait that long.

  Last night Doc had pulled the truck out of the ditch for us. He couldn’t have been nicer when he found out about Moby and the rest of our horrible evening. “That’s about as fine a dog as any I’ve ever seen, Trudy. Don’t worry, no one would let any harm come to him.”

  I must have looked cold because Doc made me sit in the cab of his tow truck and forced me to eat some of his candy corn while he hooked up Kit’s truck and pulled it out of the ditch. I tried not to laugh at Kit as he walked around the truck and attempted to look knowledgeable about ditches and trucks and such. Kit nodded when Doc talked about traction and how to pull the truck out of the ditch. His glasses fogged up in the cold and when he took them off, I knew he couldn’t see a thing.

  When we finally c
rashed in his four-poster bed, we were too tired to do anything but fall into an exhausted sleep.

  Kit nuzzled my neck and bit my ear. But I was thinking of a dog who was the only thing missing from my perfect morning. “Do you think Moby will be happy to see me?”

  “Of course he will,” Kit answered, wrapping me in his arms.

  “Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

  “Why would he be mad?”

  “Because I ignored him when he was afraid of the storm. Because I let him down.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think dogs carry grudges.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I grew up with dogs. They think in very simple ways. Kibble. Petting. Sleeping. Defecating—or pooping, if you prefer. And rabbit.”

  “Rabbit?”

  “Or squirrel, as it is in the States. Whatever happens to be around to chase.”

  I put my hands on either side of his face and squeezed. “My dog is smarter than that.”

  “Your dog? I like the way you say that.” He pulled my hands away and kissed me.

  “Do you think they’ll believe he’s my dog?”

  “I’ll vouch for you. And so will Doc. I’m guessing he’s already called half the town.”

  I kicked my feet back and forth impatiently. “I can’t wait until ten, Kit.”

  “Perhaps I can help you pass the time?”

  Much later, after we took a shower, I stood in Kit’s closet looking for something to wear.

  “How can I help you, love?”

  I held up a tweed sports coat. “Oh my God! Your clothes even smell wonderful. For once, I don’t have a clue where to start.”

  He helped me with my decision. I borrowed a pair of running leggings, a button-up, and the sports coat with the sleeves rolled up.

  When I finished, Kit came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his middle. “You look bloody hot.”

  Damn. Still not as amazing as him.

  When we wandered to the kitchen, he made me coffee and started a pot of oatmeal. A real bed in a real house. Breakfast. I never imagined waking up to such a domestic scene.

  The only thing needed to complete the bliss was an old sleeping dog in the corner.

  I made my way to the dining room and sat down among all the papers and pictures of Robin Hartchick.

  When Kit carried our breakfast in, I was lost in the mystery. “So, other than the Dumpster where the cheerleaders may have tossed it, where do you think the lost manuscript could be?”

  He shook his head. “I think she found a way to hide it.”

  “How?”

  “She could have kept it in a secret place. The basement. The rafters. In a floorboard. She might have stored it among all those personal papers that were scattered in the apartment. She might even have typed it up and disguised it to look like something else. Was she tech-savvy? Microfiche and old floppy discs. She could have done a million things with it. But one thing is certain. She did not throw it out.”

  “How do you know for sure?”

  He tensed. “Do you think I’m crazy too?”

  I put my hands around his neck and removed his glasses. “Easy, Dr. Darlington. I believe in you. I’m taking care of you, remember?” I used my own version of a cockney accent that made him smile.

  His shoulders relaxed. “A woman who turned into a hoarder would not have thrown out a priceless manuscript written by her ex-lover.”

  Ex-lover. That picture of my aunt as a woman younger than I was now. It made my skin crawl to think of a man like Robin Hartchick using women, riding fame, and of my aunt knowing about his success later on. All his other loves. Never recovering from a pain that happened at such a young age. It was almost haunting.

  “Aunt Gertrude could have made millions after Robin Hartchick’s death. Your story doesn’t explain why she never claimed the lost manuscript.”

  “It doesn’t. But then again, maybe the money didn’t motivate her. My guess is that she loved it too much to let it go.”

  “He sounds like he was a jerk. Does the world really need more Robin Hartchick?”

  “He was a jerk. But his words were beautiful. They were inspired by your aunt. In some ways I’ve become more interested in her story than Robin’s.”

  “You think his story was about her?”

  “It’s a real possibility.” His shoulders sagged. “But I’m at the end of the search. You have a store to sell.” He looked at his watch. “And a dog to claim.”

  Chapter 21

  As soon as I asked about a collie, the young woman behind the counter at the Furry Friends Rescue Shelter smiled. “We’ve already had five calls this morning. With so many people vouching for you, this shouldn’t take too long. But because you never officially registered him, we have to treat this as a new adoption. I hope you understand.”

  “I do.” Heat crept up my neck. She was being very nice, considering my irresponsible behavior. “Can I see him?”

  “Sure. There will be paperwork and a fee for last night’s boarding. And adoption fees. But I can let you see him now if you want.”

  She led me down a long corridor. As excited as I was to see Moby, my heart broke for the dogs we passed on the way to Moby’s kennel. Some paced and barked repeatedly. Others hung back, too timid and frightened to greet us. Kit followed me and put a hand on my back when I stopped outside Moby’s pen. My heart jumped to my throat when I saw him.

  He was curled up in the far corner on the hard ground. The woman unlatched the kennel door and I entered. He opened his eyes at the sound of my approaching feet.

  I knelt in front of him. “Hi, boy.”

  He came awake slowly. His tail thumped on the concrete and he struggled to rise on his arthritic hind legs. I reached out to steady him. “I’m here, boy.”

  He practically fell into my arms. I buried my head in his neck and his body wiggled as he came out of his sleepy haze. I was feeling a million years older than I had just a few months ago, but in my arms Moby transformed into a younger dog, circling around me and barking in rasping, uncontrollable bursts of happiness. He almost knocked me over in his enthusiasm.

  From the door, the young woman laughed. “If the phone calls weren’t enough, I’d believe your story now. He hasn’t acted like this since we brought him in. Even when Miss Lively was here last night.”

  Moby sniffed and realized that there were others in the kennel. He trotted over to Kit and leaned against his leg for a quick bark before returning to me. I captured him in my arms again, not sure I could let him go.

  “Thank you so much for taking care of him.” In my mind I also thanked many other people. The ones who called on my behalf. Kit, who stood behind me, grinning at the reunion. My aunt, who wisely left her money to an organization like the Furry Friends Rescue.

  Fortunately, the adoption process was quick. Kit stayed with Moby while I took care of the paperwork. Heavyweights like J. D., Sheriff Howe, Marva O’Shea, and even Mayor Bloodworth made the references part easy. I never dreamed I’d have the support of so many Truhart residents. I filled out forms and paid the boarding fee, with Kit’s help. I was going to owe him big-time by the end of the day. Moby had been neutered long ago by some responsible owner, so all he needed was a visit to the vet to get rabies shots, a license, and a microchip, which was my decision. I promised to do all that first thing Monday morning.

  Moby walked out with a slip lead around his neck provided by the shelter. But we stopped at a pet-supply store in Gaylord on the way home. Moby came in with us and we wandered the aisles looking for the right collar and leash. Everywhere we walked, people commented on our beautiful dog. Kit acknowledged it in his British accent and more than a few comments about Lassie and herding sheep in Scotland followed. Kit took it in with good humor.

  We bought a leash, a bone, and a new bowl. I even purchased a collar and had a kind salesgirl make a dog tag for him for free. On it was printed the name Moby, my name, and my cell phone number. The one I was going to dig
out of my rucksack and charge as soon as I got back to the bookshop.

  When the tag was done, I held the collar up and prepared to place it around Moby’s neck. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  He sat at my feet and raised his chin. Waiting. As if he sensed the gravity of the moment. Warmth spread across my chest. I bent down on one knee and looked him squarely in the eye.

  Thinking back at my vow of not owning a living thing, I realized how silly I had been. I had completely missed the point. It wasn’t about ownership. It was about belonging together. It came with responsibility, but it was about love.

  I slipped the collar around Moby’s neck. His tail thumped again and I laughed.

  Someone behind me clapped. Another person joined in. Before I knew it, a small crowd stood around us, clapping and laughing at the way Moby was attacking me with his tongue. I was on my backside. Happy to let him run all over me in his excitement. Through a haze of fur, I saw Kit standing over us. His eyes were bright with moisture. There was more that remained to making things better. But I had time.

  For now, I had a dog.

  * * *

  It was early afternoon when Kit, Moby, and I made our way back to Truhart. The day was cloudy and brisk. The snow and ice had melted into large puddles that made the truck muddy, but the roads much better.

  We drove down the center of Truhart. A new orange street sign read the new temporary name of Main Street: Autumn Lane. Someone had been busy, repairing all the damage done to the Halloween decorations. The scarecrows and the spiderwebs were back in place. And a line of people stretched all the way around the block to get into the house of horrors. When we pulled into the alley I heard a chorus of moans and screams coming from inside the old grocery store. Hopefully, the community center committee was making lots of money for their dream.

  Kit stopped the truck in front of the Dumpster. The blue tarp waved in the wind.

  “What’s that?”

  I pushed Moby out of my lap and shrugged.

  Kit got out of the truck and I helped Moby down. Kit walked into the delayed headlight beams and inspected the tarp. All that remained from the night before was a fine layer of water in the corners that would come off with a good shake-out. He reached up and yanked on a rope. It was securely tied. All the years of working summer stock had taught me the value of wrapping tarps around props and stage equipment in order to protect them from the elements.