Recommended Reading

32. Not Grand, Average-Sized Gesture

32

Not Grand, Average-Sized Gesture

It takes two days for Evie to confirm Corner Books’ spot at the Reading Festival. I stop between customers long enough to double-check we were added to the website before sending back an email asking for a list of presenters, titles, publishers, and ISBNs. I attach a link to my planning documents, telling her to get acquainted because this evening, we start the real work.

The celebration between Gladys, Uncle Andy, and me dies quickly as we all realize how much preparation and organization this is going to take.

“I’ll handle it,” I assure them. “This is what I’m best at.”

I see Uncle Andy open his mouth, probably to tell me we’ll handle it, but Gladys swats at him and says, “And steal all the glory? I don’t think so. We work together and reap the spoils together. There won’t be another word on the matter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Uncle Andy and I say in unison.

I pull out my Summer of Bobby list. Somehow, things got salvaged. I drop it on top of my tote bag when a group of customers comes in.

Once they’ve been served, Gladys suggests I busy myself dusting the shelves.

“I dusted last week. Shouldn’t I start the planning?” I ask. Dusting isn’t really a task for the person who negotiated Corner Books a spot in the town’s biggest literary event of the year.

“You can plan at the same time. The polish repels future dust.” She hands me a rag and a canister of lemon Pledge.

I head to the back corner. If I have to start somewhere, it might as well be among the romances. I run my finger along the spines of the novels, indulging in my usual thrill. My finger bumps forward on a section of the shelf. These books’ spines are sticking out more than the others. A book sticking out isn’t that unusual. Books, like people, come in all dimensions. But these ones are part of a romance series from the same author and the same publisher. They should line up exactly. I try to push them in. There’s resistance.

I yank a handful of paperbacks off the shelf. Yup. Right against the bricks of the back wall is a book. A jolt runs through my hand.

I pull out a novel written by the same author Luke was reading when I met him in this spot. I can tell it’s an old release. It must have gotten pushed behind the others and forgotten. The pages are yellowed, and the cover is dinged up. I place the other books back in their spots. They now line up perfectly. The hidden book, The Flesh and the Devil , comes with me to the register.

I put it down on the counter. I gave the first Devil to Luke. The other is sitting in front of me.

The old Bobby would have seen this as a sign from the universe on how some people are meant to be together. I’d have jumped into action … and set myself up for failure. The irony of a devil tempting the new Bobby back to his old ways doesn’t get past me unnoticed. If the tree in the middle of Eden had been chopped down and used to make books, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. But this isn’t forbidden fruit. It’s an old book. That’s it. Merely a coincidence at best. And Luke established we’re friends. Nothing more.

Gladys looks up. “Where did that ratty old thing appear from?”

“It must have gotten lost in the shelves.”

She scans it, then turns it over and begins typing into the ancient cash machine. “It’s not in the system. Why don’t you keep it? With its condition and age, I doubt we could charge more than ten cents anyway.”

“Sure,” I say. “Throw it on top of my stuff.”

Gladys peers at me through the thick lenses of her glasses. “You can’t have finished dusting already.”

Evie arrives at Corner Books as we’re closing. She greets Gladys but gives a wide berth as she skirts around the older woman.

I hear the telltale chug of the second Gladys’s motorcycle pulling up to the curb.

The OG Gladys barks, “Make sure to lock this door. You can’t have riffraff running in off the street.”

“Since when are there riffraff in Little Elm?” Evie asks once the Gladyses have driven away.

“Beats me,” I say. I point to three chairs I set up by the windows for us. “Should we get started?”

We cross the store and take our seats, each of us pulling out a clipboard and pen. Not to brag, but the stack of paper on mine is much thicker than Evie’s. My eyes glance to the extra chair.

“He’s not coming,” Evie says.

“Who isn’t?”

“Luke.”

“I didn’t expect him,” I lie before I change the subject. “Corner Books already had the majority of the presenters’ missing books in our inventory. Uncle Andy called in favors for rush deliveries on the others and Mae from the post office is doing some behind-the-scenes magic to help them get here even sooner.

“Next,” I say, barreling on, “the volunteers. I’ve got a three-pronged plan. One, Little Elm College’s day camps wrap at the end of next week. Those counselors could make great volunteers, especially for setup and cleanup. I suggest we recruit as many as we can. Two, I’ve already invited Mr. Martinez and Mr. Shah and the other seniors to do shifts manning the info booths. We’re giving them green room access for their time. I already let the caterers know to consult with the dietitian at the residence. Three, I’ve called and texted people I’ve helped around Little Elm and customers who seem like a good fit for the extra spots. The responses have been enthusiastic. We should have more volunteers than we can use.”

“You did all this in one afternoon?” Evie asks as I finish and assign each of us actions.

I nod. “It’s no big deal. A couple of days and the festival prep will be back on track.”

Evie fiddles with the clasp on her clutch and looks as if she’s about to say something. She shakes her head and stops fidgeting.

“I owe you an apology,” she says. “You stood up for me with Roger even though I was happy he was going to show everyone that video of you.”

“You were nearly giddy with glee,” I agree. “I get why. I sucked at being a friend to you.”

“It took two people to make that friendship toxic,” Evie says. We walk to the door, but she stops before she leaves. “I don’t know if we’re going to be friends again, but I don’t want to be enemies either. I deleted the footage I took from the day at the fountain. I wanted you to know.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think it could do more damage than the existing video I already put into circulation myself.” I open the door for her.

Evie gestures to a car outside. “My dad’s here.” She stops again and stares at the third chair before she leaves. “Not everyone is better as friends.”

I tilt my head.

Evie gets into the waiting car without looking back.

I go to the register to gather my things. The Flesh and the Devil sits on top of my tote, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string like Gladys does for special orders. Not once has she succumbed to my pressure and launched into a The Sound of Music sing-along medley. I really don’t understand where she gets her resolve from.

I turn the book over in my hands, the wrapping making it look special. I remind myself it isn’t a sign, only a coincidence. It’s just a book.

I sling my tote over my shoulder. Once the alarm is set and the doors checked and rechecked, I stand outside and hold the package. Teresa Denys only published the two books, and they must have sat happily together in Corner Books for years.

With the brown-paper-wrapped book swinging in my grip, I start moving through Little Elm with the confidence of Julie Andrews’s portrayal of a nun-turned-governess marching along the tree-lined avenues of Austria.

It may be only a book, but it belongs with its companion.