Printed Letter Bookshop by Katherine Reay

Author:Katherine Reay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-05-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Janet

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

I push open the alley door and call out nice and loud into the shop. It feels as if I’m setting the tone for the day, and I want it to be a good one—unlike the last few days, in which I’ve felt scattered and distant from Claire and Madeline.

We’ve come to know each other well, packed in here so tight, and we work with a certain energy. But I can sense it’s not right at the moment. We’re not right.

Madeline has been at Maddie’s house more, made more visits to the bank, and cleared out the small storage closet with an almost frightening amount of determination—then locked herself in it, repeatedly, with her cell phone. She’s also developed those worrying vertical lines between her brows. But she’s lucky—her muscles seem to pull into two smaller lines rather than my singular deep channel.

Claire’s distracted too. She sits staring at her computer, shelves books in the wrong sections, and looks horrible. Her normally neat, sleek bob is frizzy on top with little wisps of hair standing straight. And she’s not sleeping—that’s obvious, especially as she’s wearing less than her picture-perfect makeup. She’s basically forgotten about under-eye concealer. Looking at her makes me ashamed of myself because rather than console her, I console myself with the thought that even in my worst moments, I doubt I look so lonely. I feel it, but always work to hide it.

“You’re in a good mood. It must have been some date.” Madeline emerges from the storage room.

Date?

“Ah . . . Yes . . .” I busy myself with my coat, my bag, and my memory. “That was a few nights ago, but yes, it was good.”

Claire materializes as well. “It sounded great to me. Tell her . . . Don’t you want to relive it?”

We congregate behind the counter. There are plenty of places to sit in this store, chairs in the office, a little corner with three seats in the back near the classics, and tiny chairs in the kids’ section, but we stand behind the counter like the booksellers we are—and the Printed Letter is not open yet. Claire flicks her fingers at a paper coffee cup sitting in front of me. I nod my thanks and take a sip.

“We met at the Capstone Grill in Evanston. He lives and works downtown, so we met halfway. And—”

Madeline jumps in. “What does he do? It said insurance, but what type?”

“He’s a salesman.”

Madeline’s face pinches like lemon is on offer rather than a romantic story. I almost laugh.

“We met at seven and . . .” I go through the evening moment by moment, working hard to remember what I told Claire and how I told it.

“Tell about the kiss.” Claire pokes Madeline in anticipation.

“He already kissed you?” Again the lemon face.

“It’s not high school,” I quip and continue. “Besides, it was a completely appropriate and romantic brush across my lips, right at my car. That perfect lean, pause, and linger.” I press my lips together in memory, and that really sells it.

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