by Drea Damara
Sarah rubbed her hand across the back of her neck and pursed her lips. “Um, yeah. You remember that?”
“Yeah. You used to yell at me if I’d run around and play back there.” Ricky laughed.
She put her hands on her hips. “Well…they’re old, Ricky, like you said. A lot of them are worth a lot of money. Plus, I didn’t want you knocking some shelf over on top of yourself and getting squashed.”
Ricky turned and started up the three stairs to the upper level. “Well, I promise I won’t run anymore. Come on. Tell me what I’m supposed to do with these,” he called over his shoulder, starting toward the first set of shelves.
Her heartbeat quickened, watching him near the antique book collection. She jolted up the three stairs and hurried past him to the second shelf. She leaned on it with her palm to create a barrier. Ricky peered over the rows of book bindings that surrounded him.
“Does anyone ever buy these or borrow these or whatever? How’s that work?” Ricky asked, pulling a book out from its place on the shelf.
“Sometimes but it depends.” She watched him nervously. There was an old wooden podium next to the end of the first shelf with a padded stool in front of it. Sarah nodded toward it. “If someone wants to look at something for research, they have to do it there. None of the books back here ever go up front, unless I personally sell them to someone. No food or drinks back here. Ever.”
“So how do I know which ones are for sale?” Ricky slapped the book shut and shoved it back into its place on the shelf.
“Careful!” Sarah jumped at the sound and held out a hand.
“Geesh, sorry.”
“Just go easy with them,” she said, trying to soften her tone.
“Got it,” he said, sounding scolded. He walked underneath her arm to the next row of shelves. “So how do I know which ones are for sale?”
Ricky stopped between the second and third rows. As he perused the books, Sarah zipped past him and stretched her arm out again. He was getting closer to the weeping books’ case. She leaned against the shelf in front of Ricky, placing her other hand on her hip in the hopes that it would form an additional obstruction.
“Well, I don’t want you selling anything from back here for now.”
Ricky rolled his eyes. “I know there’s a lot of them, but I’m not an idiot. I can learn if you tell me what to do. What am I supposed to do if a customer wants to buy one and you’re not here?”
“Just tell them nothing is for sale back here unless I’m here. Sometimes I don’t even know if I want to sell one of these. It depends on what the current value of the book is, how much the person is willing to pay, and other things. And Ricky,” she said, softening her tone, “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
Ricky kicked his foot. His sneaker made a noise as it skidded across the floor. “Dad does.”
“I doubt that. But if you’re convinced of it, then prove him wrong. I did when I was your age.”
“What? Did he bust your chops too?”
If he only knew. With that she rolled her eyes. “He tried.”
Just then, Ricky ducked under her arm and walked to the final row of shelves behind her. She spun around and reached out to grab a handful of his shirtsleeve, but she pulled her arm back when he looked over his shoulder. She acted like she was adjusting her bracelet as he flashed her a mischievous grin.
“Are these those goofy books you used to tell me about when I was a kid?”
“Uh…”
“You know, the stories you used to tell me—crazy tales about mythical lands and weird animals. How you and Dad used to pretend when you were kids that you were in medieval worlds.” Ricky laughed. “What a dork Dad was.”
“Hmm, I don’t remember. Maybe. Why don’t we go back up front now?”
Was it her imagination or was it colder back here than last night? There wasn’t even an AC vent back here. Ricky stepped closer to the glass, and she watched his lips move as a lump formed in her throat.
“Farwin. Yeah, that was the one I liked. The Lands of Farwin Wood. Remember?”
She felt paralyzed as she noticed several large drops dribble from the book. Ricky didn’t see it because he turned around, a big grin on his face.
“What were those dog animals it had that I liked?”
A fat bead of water ran down the front cover of The Lands of Farwin Wood. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, but she swore the case’s glass rattled ever so slightly. She clasped a hand on Ricky’s shoulder and turned her body back toward the front of the store, in the hope that he would instinctively follow as she nudged him.
“Stroom…stroom-something,” Ricky said in thought as he began to walk with her. “Come on. You remember, don’t you?”
The look on his face gave her heart a pang. She had so many fond memories of his childhood visits. It was touching that he remembered something about the bond they had formed. She didn’t want him to think she’d forgotten.
She didn’t want to utter a word about that damned book, but for the sake of Ricky’s feelings, she said, “You mean, stroomphblutels?”
“That’s it! Man, I wanted to get a stroomphblutel so bad after that.” He laughed and glanced back at the weeping books. “Why do you keep them in that case all locked up? They look damp.”
“It’s…a moisture system so the leather doesn’t crack,” she lied, gesturing impatiently for him to follow. “They’re very delicate.”
“Oh.”
“Those are never for sale, never to be touched. Understood?”
One of his eyebrows arched. “Okay. It’s locked. How the hell could anyone touch them?”
Sarah stopped and clasped a hand on the railing post to the lower level. She looked back over her shoulder, her expression stern. “It’s always locked, and it stays that way. Got it?”
“Got it,” he snottily retorted and stomped past her to the lower level.
There went the touching moment they’d just had. She’d never used such an authoritative tone with a kid before. Be the boss. It was no fun being the boss.
In that moment, she knew what she hated most about the curse. She would probably be an entirely different person if it didn’t exist—carefree with a sense of unrestrained humor. She’d make more jokes aloud to Henry. She’d get to be a normal aunt to Ricky. She remembered something else Mary had said. Ricky was a teenager. The concept was so foreign to her because just as she wasn’t a normal adult, she hadn’t gotten a chance to be a normal teenager. She was out of her element.
THE NEXT day, Aunt Sarah assigned Ricky to cash register duty. His butt was asleep and sweaty by noon. Luckily, she let him take off for a long lunch. She was probably as sick of him as he was of working in her store.
He found a Jimmy Burgers down the street on the main drag and took his sweet time eating his lunch in the air-conditioning. He half-heartedly followed a rugby match on the television. Finally, he crumpled up the wrappers from his burgers and headed back to the bookstore. He took his time lingering past the shops on the main street before he reached the entrance to Blinney Lane.
By late Thursday morning, he didn’t think he could fake any more smiles for the customers who entered the shop. He’d only been there three days!
He kicked his feet up on the counter and leaned back in the stool while he played solitaire on Sarah’s desktop. The door chimed and a big, burly looking delivery guy strode in, pushing a stack of boxes on a hand truck. He looked the man up and down. Holy linebacker, Batman!
“Ricky, get your feet off the counter,” Sarah called from across the room.
“So, you’re Ricky,” the man said, reaching over the boxes with his hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Henry—local distributor.”
“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Ricky dropped his feet from the counter and forced a smile. Whoa, the guy had a grip. He peered down at his own physique after Henry turned his attention to Sarah and noted how puny he looked in comparison.
“Miss Allister, how are we doing today?
” Henry watched his aunt approach from across the room.
“Hi, Henry. We’re fine,” Sarah said softly.
Ricky couldn’t help but notice how much friendlier she talked to Henry. He watched the two of them as they stood on the other side of the counter. Neither one of them said anything for a moment. Henry made his aunt look even more petite with his broad shoulders. He smiled down at her, but she seemed to be looking at her shoes on purpose.
Who was she and what had this guy done to Aunt Sarah? It was funny to see her act flustered when for the last three days she’d exhibited plenty of confidence whenever she scolded him about something. It was probably the most entertaining thing that would happen all day, so he decided to get comfortable. Balling up his fist, he rested his chin on it and smiled up at the couple that appeared oblivious to him. It was like watching reality TV.
“I-I was just reorganizing some things since Ricky here has been such a help taking over the cashier duties.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad you’ve got a helper,” Henry said, giving him a smile, but then turned his attention right back to Sarah.
She didn’t seem to notice. She was busy studying the clipboard Henry held out for her. Henry kept eyeballing her face, but when she didn’t look at him, he turned back to Ricky.
“How you liking your summer employment so far?”
“It’s great,” Ricky said, unable to hide his smirk. “You don’t get to stroll around downtown with a hand truck, but who needs all that when you’ve got a world of knowledge at your fingertips.” Okay, now that was sarcastic.
“Ricky,” Sarah warned and glanced up from the clipboard. When her eyes met Henry’s, she averted them back to him and then to what appeared to be nothing on the counter. Ha! She was easy to read.
Henry chuckled. “Well, you could probably come out on my route with me one day if you want,” he stammered and looked at Sarah. “I mean if it’s all right with you. You know, if he gets too cooped up in here.”
“Um…” was all his aunt could manage.
He curled his lip up on one side when they weren’t looking. He didn’t even know this guy! He didn’t want to be stuck in a truck with him. “Well, I’d hate to leave my aunt here to do all the work when I’m supposed to be helping her out.”
“Wow. Responsible. You can’t always find that in kids these days. I think you got lucky here, Sarah.”
She laughed and fidgeted with the clipboard. “Well, it was nice of you to offer though, Henry. Thank you.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Ricky added sincerely. More awkward silence between the two adults. Okay, now it was just getting frustrating. She needed someone to save her. “I bet I don’t end up as ripped as you though by the end of the summer after working here.” Ricky nodded at Henry to break the silence. He swore his aunt’s cheeks went red.
Henry laughed and glanced down at himself. “I think a lot of that is just residual from my youth. I was always a bigger guy.”
“Uh…Henry used to play football,” Sarah said to Ricky. “He played for USC and then some arena ball, I think.”
“That’s right.” The look on Henry’s face that his aunt knew something about him was akin to a starving bird being fed a crumb.
“No shit?” Ricky exclaimed.
“Ricky,” Sarah said warningly again.
“You play?” Henry asked. “You look like you’re in good shape.”
“Yeah. Receiver. I’m a striker too on the soccer team or…well, I was. Just graduated.”
“Well, hey, I still play sometimes. I help coach a local football team’s summer practice, if you want to come down sometime. I’m sure the guys would love to have you.”
“Oh, Henry, you don’t—” Sarah started.
“Yeah? You don’t mind?” Ricky perked up at the thought of smelling turf again. Seeing sunshine, throwing a ball, anything that wasn’t related to this damned store.
“No. Not at all, but that’s up to you of course,” Henry added, looking back at Sarah.
Ricky could tell she was perplexed, as she looked back and forth to each of them. He gave her a pleading look.
Finally, she said, “Oh, I guess it’s all right.”
“Sweet! Thanks, Aunt Sarah.” He leaned forward and patted her on the shoulder, which got him a smile.
Henry deposited the boxes by the side of the counter and then wheeled his hand truck back over to Sarah. Ricky sat back in his chair with a pleasant smile on his face, knowing he’d successfully secured at least one day of freedom a week.
“I can pick him up on Saturday morning, if that works for you?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. It’s over at Baker Field if you ever want to come and watch.”
“I’d love to, but I’ll have to be here, so…” He watched his aunt shrug. Ouch. The guy had given her an opening and she’d shot him down.
“Oh. Right,” Henry said with a frown. “Well, I’ll bring him back for you, so no worries. I’ll see you Saturday, Ricky?”
“Yeah. Great, man. Thanks!”
He watched his aunt open the door for Henry. He hadn’t seen her do that for any of her customers.
Her voice sounded mousey as she said, “Thanks, Henry.”
He’d started to wonder if she thought the guy was creepy, but then he saw her smile. It lit up her whole face as she stood in the doorway, watching the man go. He craned his neck to look out the window. Henry swallowed, and he could hear his deep voice lower an octave as he simply uttered his aunt’s name. Man, that guy had it bad.
STANDING IN the doorway, Sarah watched Henry guide his hand truck down to the end of Blinney Lane where his delivery truck sat idling. Lost in the view, she jumped when she heard the snide sound of Ricky’s voice call from behind her: “Romeo’s gone, Juliet!”
She let the door slam shut and didn’t even bother to make eye contact with him as she started toward the back of the store. “Like you’ve ever even read that.”
“I saw the movie!”
That night, she showed Ricky how to lock up the store, but it wasn’t until she noticed his crossed arms and far-off look that she realized she was repeating herself. He made a comment about her repetitiveness being belittling like he was incompetent.
By the time they went upstairs for the night, there was no more idle chitchat between them. She collapsed on the couch and turned on the news. Did Ricky’s feet ache as much as hers? Not likely. He sat on his butt most of the time. All right, that wasn’t fair. He had to sit on his butt to run the register. He hadn’t screwed that up so far. It was his attitude in general that troubled her.
The sound of Ricky’s shower stopped, and a few moments later, she heard his bathroom door creak. She’d checked the Calvin Klein shampoo bottle that morning. There was some missing. It must’ve been working because nothing bad had happened to him so far.
Sarah heard his feet pound across the floor into the living room. “Aunt Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Did you see my toothpaste?”
“No, bud. Haven’t been in there since you got here.” She grimaced at the lie.
“Damn it,” Ricky muttered.
“Check in the medicine cabinet. I’ve got some in there from Mary’s. It’s in a plain white tube.”
She heard Ricky’s feet stomp back into his room. There was a rattling noise and then his muffled voice called out, “Ugh! This stuff looks like ear wax!”
“Yeah. That’s it!”
Ricky appeared at his doorway again, toothbrush in his mouth. There was a sour look on his face as foam built up around his lips. “Man, this shtuff tashtes gross.”
Sarah turned back to the TV and smiled. Maybe it was working already. Ricky’s usual choice of words would have been something worse than “gross.”
“Well, it works,” she said when she heard him disappear back into his room.
The less vulgar he was, the less likely he was to instigate the curse. It had been three days, and Ricky had remai
ned unharmed. She was happy with that outcome. There were a lot of days ahead to worry about, but the only thing out of the ordinary so far had been the excessive dripping of one of the weeping books the other day. That might have been as much her fault as it was Ricky’s fault for simply being present.
Once an Allister had been inside of a book’s world, the book seemed to be more aware of the person’s presence. If she had known that when she was younger, she might not have made so many trips into The Lands of Farwin Wood.
Oedher Village, Farwin Wood—
18 Years Earlier
SARAH…” SHE heard her voice called as if it were far off in a dream.
Sarah slowly opened her eyes. A chirping bird passed by the bright blue sky above her where she lay in the grass. She could smell the sweetness of daphne flowers around her and knew she was in Farwin Wood.
Something nudged her shoulder. She turned her head and saw Richard, leaning down by her side. He was clad in the brown leather pants and cream-colored tunic he’d put on before they drank the sleeping tea in their basement.
“Wondered how long it was going to take you,” he complained.
“I’m here,” she said, her voice groggy as she sat up and looked around the glen where they had awoken.
A light breeze rustled the vibrant green leaves of the trees that towered over them and blew a strand of her hair into her face. She swiped it out of the way and felt the soft linen sleeve of the emerald green gown she’d changed into before they’d fallen asleep next to the old book. She was really here again.
She loved Farwin Wood. Growing up, she and Richard had gone there too many times to count. Their parents would close the bookstore on Saturday evenings, and they would all escape into the magical book that her great-grandfather had written.
Durley Allister wrote several books during his reign over the store. The journals said that after working late one night, he fell asleep on one of his manuscripts. When he woke up, he found himself in the very story he had penned—a violent battle during the Revolutionary War. He’d had to do all he could to escape death for weeks in his fictional war-torn New England. He had an accidental run-in with a British soldier and as they fought, they tumbled into a creek bed. His journals said the last thing he remembered was his head being held under the water. He blacked out and woke up in his bed with his worried wife at his side. She informed him that he had been in a cold, sweaty state for several weeks and that she had been sure death would be the final outcome.