The Book of Harmony by Melissa McShane

Author:Melissa McShane [McShane, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Night Harbor Publishing

12

I stood at the end of a corridor formed by four bookcases facing each other, mismatched but still far more elegant than Abernathy’s. The sounds of passing traffic came to my ears, similar to what I heard every day in Abernathy’s, but subtly different. It took me a moment to realize the hissing noise of cars on wet pavement was missing. The smell of leather and dust still filled the air, but I was still surrounded by bookshelves filled with old books, so that probably accounted for it.

I stood, listening for nearby movement, for a full minute. The corridor seemed to open up into a larger space, but all I could see of it was a distant wall, paneled in wood stained a medium brown shade, like dirt. All I could hear was still the rush of traffic, not very loud and not very much of it. Swallowing my nervousness, I walked forward and rounded the corner into the open space.

It was a store front, complete with counter and cash register, though where Abernathy’s cash register was antique gold, this one looked like a relic of the ‘80s, with a pebbly beige case and a LCD display. Large windows, streaky from improper cleaning, let in diffuse light from an overcast sky. The pale pink linoleum floor, in this context, reminded me of an old K-Mart I’d shopped at with my mother when I was little. The store had the same run-down, dispirited feeling as that one.

“Where did you come from?” a man exclaimed. Startled, I whipped around to see a young man with spotty cheeks and an AC/DC T-shirt standing in a doorway that led deeper into the store. He held a paper coffee cup that emitted a delicious aroma overriding the smell of dust, and looked stunned, as if customers weren’t part of his daily experience.

“I—just walked in,” I said, taking hold of my startled fear and bottling it for later. “I thought no one was here.”

“I didn’t hear the door.” He gestured, and I looked over my shoulder at the front door, which was solid, unlike Abernathy’s with its glass window, but had identical bells over it.

“I was looking for something by John Grisham,” I improvised, hoping to distract him. “But it’s hard to find anything in here.”

“It’s not well organized,” the young man said. He made no move to come forward, but I could see the hand holding the coffee cup shaking and realized he was afraid. Of me, or of what I represented? He couldn’t possibly know who I was. And if I stood here much longer, he’d become suspicious.

“That’s all right,” I heard myself say, “I’ll keep looking.” I turned, took two steps toward the bookcases, and stopped as the door swung open, setting the bells to jingling. A tall, solidly built woman wearing a hoodie and workout pants entered, carrying a plastic bag which smelled richly of barbecue. She startled when she saw me, her eyes going wide for the briefest moment.

“Where did she come from?” she said, addressing the young man.

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