The Book Charmer

by Karen Hawkins

  She collected her purse and satchel and started toward the walk. It had been a great day, and she felt a huge sense of accomplishment about the work she and the committee had done. They could save the town, she was sure of it. This is what I was trained to do, salvage a dying company. She smiled to herself and had just put her foot on the sidewalk to walk to the house when she noticed Trav in his driveway, working on his motorcycle.

  Grace slowed to a stop. She owed him a word of thanks for his help with Mama G’s late-night spaghetti run. It’s the least I can do.

  Still, she hesitated. He really did remind her of herself, private and never totally comfortable around others. Sarah had said that before his time overseas, he used to be different, and more outgoing, but Grace couldn’t imagine it. She only knew him as he was now.

  She crossed to the fence, tiptoeing over the grass so that her heels didn’t sink into the turf. Once she reached the fence, she said, “Hi.”

  He looked up, his gaze locking with hers.

  And once again, it was as if an electric arc ripped between them, linking them together. A flush spread through Grace, and she realized her heart was now thundering wildly.

  Oh God. This was a mistake.

  He set down his wrench and came to the fence.

  It was a small fence, Grace realized, noticing how he towered over it. She fought the urge to turn and run for her own front door and instead gave him a polite smile. “I wanted to thank you for taking care of Mama G when she wandered into your kitchen in the middle of the night.”

  He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped his hands, his gaze never leaving hers. “How is she doing?”

  “The same. She has good days and bad. But more good days.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Something flickered behind his eyes and he tucked the rag back into his pocket. “Enjoy the good days.”

  She found herself looking at his hands. They were large and calloused. The hands of a man who knew how to work and had done so all his life. She thought of the hands of the bankers and analysts she’d worked with—soft and pale, with perfect nails, not a scar in sight. There were scars all over Trav’s hands. Some of them had to have been painful, and yet on he worked.

  She looked from his hands to hers. At one time, hers had been like those of the bankers she knew—soft and white and perfectly groomed. Now two of her nails were broken, while ink stained her palm where a marker had leaked while she’d been using the whiteboard at the committee meeting. She closed her fingers and wondered at the differences. She wasn’t embarrassed by her efforts, but proud. She was doing something bigger than what she’d worked on in Charlotte. Her job in Dove Pond, while it didn’t involve huge amounts of revenue and expenditures, was far more important than anything she’d done before. She was creating something organic and all hers, and it felt—not good. Better than good. She didn’t know how to explain it.

  “Grace?”

  She raised her gaze to his and realized she’d allowed the silence to go on for far too long. “I just wanted to say thank you.” Her voice was rushed, breathless, her words inane. Why didn’t I figure out what I wanted to say before I came over here?

  “Mama G reminds me of my dad. There were times he was normal, and then . . .” Trav shook his head. “It’s tough.”

  There was sympathy in his voice, and she had to swallow before she could answer. “It’s not easy. I still don’t know how she got out of the house.”

  A faint smile touched his hard mouth. “They’re like children, in a way, always doing what you tell them not to.”

  “I have enough children to take care of with Daisy.” Grace looked around. “Where is she? I’m surprised she’s not watching you. That has to bother you.”

  He shrugged and then winced, absently rubbing his shoulder. “She’s no trouble.”

  Grace realized the scars on his shoulder and neck must have pulled as he shrugged, and she wondered what sort of horrific accident must have caused them.

  She wanted to ask about that, and about why he lived alone, and about how he’d learned to fix his own truck and motorcycle, and why his house felt so small and cozy when it was large and empty, and—God, there were so many questions she wanted to ask.

  But she didn’t know where to begin or how, so instead she just said, “I guess I’d better go inside. Thank you again.”

  His dark gaze never left hers. “Any time.”

  Face hot, she turned and took a step toward her house but couldn’t move. Her high heel had sunk into the grass and was now trapped. She yanked her foot and with a snap, the heel broke. No! No, no, no!

  Trav hadn’t moved from the fence, and there was nothing she could do but pull her foot from her broken shoe, bend down and pick it up, and then—too embarrassed to look his way—hobble inside as quickly as she could.

  It was the longest walk she’d ever made and she could feel his gaze with every step. When Grace finally reached the house, she slipped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. Gee, what was that? If that was a headline, it would be “World’s Most Awkward Woman Embarrasses Herself Without Help from Anyone.”

  “Grace?” Linda came out of the kitchen. “I thought I’d heard you. How was work?”

  “Better than I’d hoped.” Grace dropped her broken shoe to one side of the door and then pulled off the other one and tossed it beside its mate. She walked barefoot into the living room. “How was Mama G today?”

  “Today was a good day. I gave her a half cup of Ava’s tea and she’s been an angel since.”

  “That’s great. Where’s Daisy?” Grace couldn’t wait to tell her about the deal she’d struck with the committee.

  “Upstairs in her bed reading a book.”

  Grace’s surprise must have shown, because Linda said, “I know. Will wonders never cease?” She leaned forward and added in a pointed voice, “She’s reading Little Women.”

  Grace, now halfway to the kitchen, stopped. “The one Sarah sent over?”

  “I thought you were supposed to read it, but maybe it was Daisy. You never know about a Sarah book. Sometimes you’re just the delivery person.” Linda looked at her watch. “Since you’re here, I may as well go. Mark is making a quiche.”

  “Of course. Thank you for your help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Linda grinned as she gathered her things. “Fortunately, you don’t need to worry about that.” She headed for the door. “See you Monday.”

  Grace stared at the closed door for a long time. She’d left Little Women beside the front door on the table where she kept her satchel so she’d remember to take the book back to the library. But despite it being in plain sight, she kept forgetting it. It was as if it hid itself whenever she was ready to leave. What a ridiculous thought. I just missed it, that’s all.

  Muttering to herself, Grace went into the kitchen.

  Mama G looked up from her tea. “You’re home.”

  “I am.” Grace eyed Mama G, evaluating her expression, and was relieved to see her looking like her old self. “And I only brought a very little bit of work with me.”

  “You and your spreadsheets.”

  Grace had to smile. “Excel is my friend.”

  “It always has been.”

  Grace looked around the kitchen. It was too soon to start dinner, but a snack would be nice. “Do you know what I want? Some hot chocolate.” She pulled out a small pan, got the milk from the fridge, and took the powder out of the cabinet over the sink.

  Mama G got up. “Here. Let me.”

  “Stay there. I can do it.”

  “Hmph. Go sit down.” Mama G smiled. “I used to make you and Hannah hot chocolate after school every day. Do you remember?”

  “Of course I remember.” Grace let Mama G have the pan, but she stayed nearby just in case. “You always make the best hot chocolate.”

  “It’s a gift.” Mama G put the pan on the stove, poured in some milk, and turned on the burner. She pulled a spoon from a drawer and s
hot Grace a questioning look. “You look happy.”

  “It’s been a good day.” Except for the part where I humiliated myself in front of our neighbor. Except for that, her day had been outstanding. “There are a lot of nice people in this town.”

  “Oh? Have you changed your mind about staying in Dove Pond?”

  “There’s not enough opportunity for me here. The clerk position doesn’t pay well enough for us to stay.”

  “Oh, Grace. You can’t measure everything in dollars.”

  “I’m not. But I don’t see myself being a clerk for the rest of my life. It’s not enough. One day, we’re going to want to buy our own house.”

  Mama G made her usual “I’m not commenting” hmm. After a moment, she said, “How are you and Sarah Dove getting along?”

  “Good. I like her even though we have very little in common.” Grace shrugged. “She says books tell her things.”

  Mama G nodded wisely. “The Doves have always been different.”

  “Do you believe she actually hears books talking?”

  “Why not?” Mama G set down her spoon and pulled the sugar canister from the back of the counter. “Your spreadsheets do the same thing for you; you just don’t call it ‘talking.’ ”

  That was an interesting way to look at it. But still . . . “I don’t think that’s how she means it.”

  Mama G added cocoa to the milk and stirred. “Sarah’s mother used to say that all her daughters had special abilities.”

  “You make it sound like they’re magicians or something.”

  “They’re skilled. Just like you.”

  “And you.” Grace leaned against the counter, watching the expressions play over Mama G’s face. She loved this woman so, so much. Even now, she could remember that first moment when she stood on the porch of Mama G’s home and knew it was where she belonged. “Do you remember how you used to read to Hannah and me when we first moved in?”

  “Oh yes. So many books. Once you learned to read well enough, you couldn’t get enough.” She began to recall the books Grace had read.

  “There were a lot,” she admitted.

  “Books are a treasure.” Mama G stirred the milk a little more. “This is just about ready.”

  Grace pulled two mugs from the cabinet and filled them. She set the pot on a back burner and, following Mama G, went to sit at the table.

  Mama G cupped her mug carefully and then took a sip. She didn’t swallow but turned red and then spit it back out in her cup. Muttering, she stood and took Grace’s cup and went back to the counter.

  Bewildered, Grace asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot the sugar.”

  Grace noticed that the canister was where Mama G had left it, and that it was unopened.

  Mama G pulled the pot from the back burner, slapped it onto the front one, and turned on the heat.

  But then she didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at the pan, her shoulders down.

  “Mama G . . .” Grace stood and went to the stove and turned off the burner. “All we have to do is add sugar. It’s no big deal. Here. You sit down and I’ll—”

  “No!” Mama G lifted tear-filled eyes to Grace’s. “That’s not how this is supposed to happen. I’m supposed to make the hot chocolate, not you. It’s what I do. What I’ve always done.”

  Grace slid her arm around Mama G’s thin shoulders, surprised at how fragile they felt even through both a shirt and sweater. “Forget the hot chocolate. It’s not important. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. But I hate this. I hate forgetting and not knowing. Sometimes I feel as if I’m someone else and I can’t even think—” Mama G’s lips quivered.

  Grace rested her cheek against the older woman’s soft hair. She smelled of flowers and cooking, of comfort and safety. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  Mama G slipped her arms around Grace, resting against her. “I used to say that to you when you were little.”

  “I hope you’ll listen better than I did.”

  Mama G gave a watery giggle. “Probably not.”

  Grace kissed Mama G’s forehead. “Go sit down and I’ll bring the hot chocolate. It’s my turn.”

  Mama G nodded and turned away, pulling a tissue from her sweater pocket and wiping her eyes. “I’m making this harder on us both.”

  “Nonsense. You’re scared. To be honest, I’m scared, too. But we’re together and that isn’t going to change.” Grace got the sugar and added it to both cups, and then carried them to the table. “I promise.”

  “Oh, you promise, do you?”

  “You used to promise me all the time.” Grace handed Mama G her hot chocolate. “Just hearing you say it made me feel better.”

  “Of course it did.”

  “I say it to Hannah all the time, too.” Grace winced. “I mean, I said it to Hannah. It’s been months and I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “We were lucky we had her with us as long as we did. She never let herself grow attached to anyone. No roots, that girl. None. So when the wind blew, off she’d tumble.”

  Grace was so glad Mama G was lucid today. Grace had needed this talk, and the truly good moments were getting far too rare. “I’ll never understand how Hannah could leave us, especially Daisy.”

  “Daisy has your anger. That worries me.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it.”

  “You have to talk to her. A lot. Even when she doesn’t want to hear it.” Mama G reached over and put her hand over Grace’s. “The same way I did you.”

  “I feel like I’m just bothering her.”

  “That’s what mothers do. They bother you until you listen. And they do it because they care. Keep at it, Grace, and don’t stop, no matter what she says.”

  Grace nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think being here in Dove Pond is good for Daisy. It’s been good for me.”

  “I have the best memories of this place.” Mama G sighed and looked around the kitchen and her expression softened. “Philomedra and I would play in the backyard while our mothers made Sunday dinner. Sometimes my other cousins would come over and there would be such laughing. So many children. So many women.”

  “And men?”

  “Well, not in the kitchen.” Mama G smiled wryly. “But yes, there were men. Philomedra’s husband was very helpful.”

  “He cooked?”

  “Lord, the things you say. Not back then, he didn’t cook, but he was an excellent eater. Every singer needs an audience, and he was a very appreciative one.”

  Grace had to laugh. “I suppose things were different back then.”

  “You have no idea.” Mama G sipped her hot cocoa, a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s odd—when you look back, things seem simpler, but they weren’t.”

  “Really?”

  “When it’s a memory, you already know the outcome, so we believe it was an easier time. Looking forward is much more uncertain, and so feels more complicated. But I don’t think it is. Not really.”

  Grace nodded. “I wish Hannah was still with us.”

  “I know.”

  Tears stung Grace’s eyes. “I keep wondering if it really was an accident, or if—” The words stuck in her throat.

  “Oh, Grace. Don’t. She accidentally overdosed, pure and simple.”

  “How do we know that for certain?”

  “She wasn’t the sort to inconvenience herself, and death is the ultimate inconvenience.”

  Grace sighed. “I just wish we knew.”

  “Would it make any difference?” Mama G’s gaze darkened as she sipped her cocoa, holding the mug with both hands. “I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on Hannah that she would avoid anything she didn’t like and that would be trouble. You could see it in her face. I’d hoped that as she grew older, something might capture her wild heart, that she’d fall in love, if not with a man, then perhaps with her own child. I’ve seen that happen and it can make a difference. But when she had Daisy and nothing changed,
that’s when I knew how she’d end up.”

  “How could someone not care about a child like Daisy? I don’t understand that.”

  “She’s a good one, our Daisy. I’m glad she has you. But, Grace . . . you need to talk to her about my illness.”

  “Why?”

  “She thinks it’s temporary. I heard her tell Linda that. Daisy needs to know what’s happening, what to expect. I’d tell her myself, but she’ll be freer to express her thoughts with you.”

  “I don’t want to do that. She’s already had to deal with so many bad things.”

  “The truth is always the best way to go.”

  “I can’t. It’ll just make her sad.”

  “It will. But you’ll be there for her.”

  Grace looked at her cup of hot chocolate. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “You’ll know once you start. And you need to do it soon.”

  The words hurt, but Grace nodded. “But right now, I need to cook dinner.” She got up and set to work, making omelets for them all. She had to call Daisy three times to get her to come down to eat, but she eventually came, so determined to get back upstairs to her book that she stuffed her mouth too full and almost choked. Grace had to tell Daisy to slow down, and the command was met with a glare.

  Grace took the opportunity to tell Daisy about the “jobs” the committee had for her. Daisy seemed interested but cautious, and Grace was a little disappointed at the little girl’s lack of excitement, although Grace supposed she understood. Daisy didn’t know the people in town very well, but she would.

  After dinner, Mama G’s calm began to slip away. She got irritated when she couldn’t find her favorite slippers. Twice she called Grace “Hannah,” and even asked where her mother was. When she began to get fretful and even her knitting seemed to irk her, Grace fixed some of Ava’s tea, relieved when it worked.

  Hours later, after she’d put both Daisy and Mama G to bed, Grace locked up the house and headed to her bedroom, tired from the long day.

  She noticed the light was still on under Daisy’s door, and she knocked softly. Getting no answer, Grace went in. Except for the small lamp by the bed, the moonlight streaming in through the window on the other side of the room was the only light.