The Magic of Found Objects by Maddie Dawson

Author:Maddie Dawson [Dawson, Maddie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B08M6791DZ
Goodreads: 56427670
Publisher: #PrB.rating#5.0
Published: 2021-07-31T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The bookstore reading doesn’t start as a disaster. It starts with a miracle—or if not an actual miracle, at least a hopeful sign.

That is that Gabora is dressed and ready when I go to her room to fetch her. There she is, opening the door, her blonde wig combed and sprayed and installed in the right place on her head, and she’s wearing her Author Lady costume—a bright-red pencil skirt and a white blouse with a little mouse medallion. She always wears that. Children like mice, she insists, as proven from her years writing about Peter and Eleanor, who always traveled with their pet mouse, Lancaster.

But then my heart sinks as I see how she wobbles when she walks, and how she grabs for Adam’s hand as we go down the hall. Her eyes are a little glazed over, and when I look more closely, I can see that the slash of red lipstick didn’t quite make it onto her lips the way all of us might have hoped.

Adam, however, is the picture of a young, cool professional, dressed in khaki pants and a light blue button-down shirt and a sports jacket. His hair, which can’t be tamed, is curly and unruly and magnificent. I have to look away.

The lights in the lobby are flickering when we come out of the elevator, and outside, the wind seems to have picked up a bit. The bell captain, a large Black man with a big smile, herds us over. He says our cab is just arriving now.

“Y’all be safe out there now, y’hear?” he says. “It’s a big one comin’.”

“A big what?” asks Gabora, but we’re already outside, under the awning, and a driver has hopped out of his yellow cab and is tipping his cap as he hurries over to us, bending against the wind. The decorative palm trees in pots look like they’re trying to touch the sidewalk.

“To the Magnolia Bookstore?” he says, and half of his words seem to get carried off. He helps steer Gabora to the car, and I tuck her in and close the door and then go around to the side and scoot in to the middle of the backseat. Adam jumps in and closes the door.

“Yes, sir. Magnolia,” Adam says.

“I didn’t know there was going to be a storm,” Gabora says. “Sometimes readers don’t like to bring children out if the weather isn’t good.” She leans forward and tells the driver about how she’s an authoress—a term I’ve never been able to convince her out of—and that she’s here to meet her young fans from the South. “Do you have any children, young man?”

He says indeed he does, two boys and a girl.

“Well, then, here, honey, I have an extra book in my bag. I’ll sign it to you!”

“Why, thank you, ma’am, and don’t you be worryin’ about this storm,” says the driver. “It’s those summer storms we have to worry about here.” He says here as though it ends in an ah. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror and he smiles.

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