36. Truman Holiday
36
Truman Holiday
The bell tinkles and I turn, expecting to see Luke’s returned.
Instead, a guy with pale skin and broad shoulders who looks like he’s in his late thirties sticks his head in. Both his arms are tattooed in full sleeves with a flower design going up his neck.
“I saw the lights. Are you open? I could really use a recommendation,” he says.
I quickly wipe at my eyes and blink several times. “We’re closed today because we’ll be at Little Elm’s Big Reading Festival. But come in. I’m sure I can help you. I’ve got a gift for what people should read.”
He enters the store. “I’m trying to reconnect with someone. I meet her in a few hours.”
Past lovers reigniting a flame. “Having history with someone is hard,” I say. “I rarely say this, but I’m not sure a book is your best bet.”
The guy begins backing away. “You’re probably right. I should go.”
“I only meant there isn’t a lot of time for you to read.”
He shakes his head. “It’s probably a mistake I came back at all. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’m sure she won’t really want to see me.”
“So have I. Don’t worry. We’ve got short books.” I lead him to the children’s section and see a copy of Where the Wild Things Are poking out in a display of children’s classics. I think this will do in a pinch. I hand it to him. “We all need someone to forgive us and keep dinner warm.”
“I read this as a kid. I don’t understand.” He takes the book and flips through the first couple of pages.
“You will,” I say. “Read it again carefully.”
The guy slips a twenty-dollar bill into my hand.
“This is way too much for a paperback,” I say. “This is mostly a used bookstore.”
“Thanks for the help.” Without a look back, he’s gone.
Alone with my thoughts, I wipe at my eyes again. I can’t. Not today. I’ve got lists of tasks to accomplish. Things to do. The day is full. Crying over a guy isn’t on the agenda. There’s no room left in my schedule.
I grab my clipboard and a tear falls. It stains the page, smudging the ink, before I wipe the back of my forearm across my eyes. I get a tissue from behind the counter and give my nose a good, hard blow.
“I told you to always keep this door locked,” Gladys says, the bell tinkling as she enters.
Uncle Andy follows behind her, looking tired. His usual plaid shirt and khaki pants are wrinkled.
“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles.
“Get yourself a coffee first,” Gladys instructs him. “Bobby, you get the dolly. I’ll get my cart.”
I stick to the plan. Load the boxes into the truck. Drive to Little Elm College, the three of us squished into the front seat of Uncle Andy’s truck. Park in the vendors’ lot. Set up Corner Books’ booth.
Do not let yourself think about this morning. Do not obsess. Do not cry. Do not fall apart.
But when we get to our table, there’s a surprise. There’s a second booth decorated like Lucy’s therapy stand from the Peanuts cartoons. Someone painted across the top, Bibliographic Help - 5 cents and The Book Whisperer is IN , below.
“It was Gladys’s idea,” Uncle Andy says. “I thought it was overkill.”
“You loved it two weeks ago. Who put a bee in your bonnet?” Gladys snipes back.
“Unload the boxes. I’m going to find another coffee.” Uncle Andy stomps away, leaving Gladys and I with the setup.
He returns when we’re nearly finished as are the booths and stages around us.
“I see you didn’t bother to think of us,” Gladys comments. “That’s unusual for you.”
Uncle Andy grunts, plunking his coffee down onto the table with enough force the folding legs wobble and some liquid sloshes out the plastic lid.
“Is everything ok?” I ask him quietly.
“Peachy,” he mumbles. “This has been a lot of work already.”
Gladys gets right up into Uncle Andy’s face. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, young man,” she says, “but you can change that attitude immediately. A lot of effort went into getting Corner Books here and you’ll be grateful and pleasant even if you need to fake it.”
Uncle Andy starts to say something, but Gladys isn’t done.
“And before you sass me, Andrew,” she warns, “I suggest you think twice. You think you’ve seen the worst of me; you still haven’t seen me on one of my bad days.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” replies Uncle Andy.
Gladys nearly pushes me into my seat behind the Book Whisperer stand.
People pass and ask, “Do I give the five cents to you?”
“That’s only a joke. Tell me, what do you like to read?”
Books are flying from Corner Books’ tables. We are sold out of used textbooks and giving out flyers for students to stop in after the festival by the time Evie frantically comes up behind me.
“Mayday! Mayday!” she calls. “Truman is AWOL. He’s nowhere to be found and he’s not answering his phone. He’s the host of the main stage. There isn’t a backup. What do we do?”
“We’ll find him,” I say. “Truman is one of the most reliable people I know.”
“Get off your hiney and go get him,” Gladys says. She walks around to the front of my booth and turns the little sign from IN to OUT .
I see Wanda working the AV setup of one of the stages as I pass in my hunt for Truman.
“Do whatever else you need. I know where to look,” I tell Evie.
I have the perfect advantage. After memorizing his schedule when I liked him, I then spent months keeping my distance from Truman. I know exactly where to find him.