Chapter 15
Libby
It should be known just how much I love books.
I think it might be implied, considering that I own a bookshop in the heart of Boston. But then again, some people who shall remain nameless, that selling books for a living doesn’t always mean you love them.
But I do. And at the heart of that love, is the even deeper love for kids’ books.
I think for most bookworms, writers, and artists, that’s where it starts, isn’t it?
One nostalgically well-written children’s book bore the love affair that would imprint itself so deeply on our souls that we would seek out good stories sewn into old pages for the rest of time.
And this is why I also love elementary school book fairs.
They cross two of my favorite things– picture books, and kids who want to take them home.
Brooklyn Rose Elementary School is buzzing with little bodies, all flooding towards the library to ooo-and-ah the tables Joni and I spent all day setting up just for the fair.
“You know,” she says as we straighten the piles for the third time, “There really is no sense in making this look pretty. As soon as a swarm of first graders does one lap, it’s going to look like Walmart on Black Friday.”
“It's the principal of the matter,” I say with an undampened smile. “Kids are forced to go to libraries these days.”
“I know. It’s the only time us teachers get a breath other than lunch and recess, which isn’t really a break at all considering how many kids lose their recess due to being little shits in class.
But yes, library time is when we get to drop them off and hit the teacher’s lounge for forty-five blissful minutes. ”
“It’s not a bar,” I giggle.
“Might as well be.”
I shake my head at that. Joni is a wild one. But as much as she gripes and moans, she does love her job. And she loves kids too. It reminds my heart of the little hole that is there. The one that grows bigger every year.
The one I don’t know if I will ever fill…
“Well, I love it,” I say, clapping my hands together as the tables are complete. “Books are magic. Always. Whether it’s the Gruffalo or Pride and Prejudice.”
“Monsters and arrogant men. Magical, yes,” she teases.
But again. I don’t care. Nothing is going to ruin my mood.
I am at a school, a place that forever will smell like crayons and monkey bars and Goldfish crackers.
And I’m selling books. No construction workers in sight. No Hemingway signs in sight.
No Dax in sight.
Once the doors open, it’s a free for all.
Kids running every which way. Grabbing books, putting them back in the wrong spots.
Playing with the bins of erasers, bookmarks, and pens that are also for sale.
A cacophony of squeals and laughter and mommy can I haves.
It’s not just magic, it’s music. It’s busy, chaotic, and crazy and I love it.
A girl excited for the next Ivy and Bean. A boy just now getting into the Harry Potter Series. This is where it starts. This is what matters.
Halfway through the fair, two little girls with blonde curly hair and bright smiles run up to the counter. “Hello!” the older of the two says.
“Well, hello!” I chime back. “Can I help you?”
“Actually yes. My sister wants a book about flowers. And I told you that you probably don’t have a book just about flowers.”
I smile at that, looking down at the smaller of the two. Her hair is even curlier, with a touch more red. And wild. They look like they’ve been running around in wildflower fields. They smell like sunshine and fabric softener and something else. Something familiar.
“Actually,” I say, my lips curling into a smile. “I think I have just the thing.”
I round the counter, leaving the line to Joni, and the girls follow me to one of the tables where I present them with a watercolor picture book.
“Daisy Daylight and the Forget Me Nots?” the older of the two reads.
“Yes. It’s all about flowers. So many kinds of flowers!”
“Even poppies?” the small girl asks, tugging the book from my hands.
“Even poppies,” I smile back.
“Oh, good because those are my absolute most favoritest.”
I laugh at that.
“Okay well we have to go find our dad now,” the older girl says, taking her sister’s free hand.
“I’ll be waiting.”
As I make my way back to the desk, I am practically skipping.
“They were adorable,” I say to Joni, taking a sip of my water bottle. “The absolute cutest.”
“Their dad is cute too,” she says.
“Oh?” I ask, not thinking much of it.
“Totally. Like certified silver fox. Had them later in life.”
“And I am sure he’s happily married but would appreciate the compliment.”
“Actually,” Joni says, “He’s single…”
“Mm,” I say, also without any thought. Men, single with cute kids or not, are not going to ruin my favorite day.
“It’s sad really,” she goes on.
“That he’s divorced?” I ask, ringing up a comic book for a boy with glasses and a Flash t-shirt.
“He’s not divorced,” Joni says. She waits for the boy to walk away before whispering, “He’s widowed.”
My heart drops through a trap door in my chest as I think about the two little girls.
“Oh…”
“Yeah. She died a few years back. He’s been single as a pringle ever since.”
“That’s terrible,” I say softly.
“Delilah remembers her, but Poppy was too young.”
With that, my heart slams into my ribcage.
All the thoughts run together at the same time, like moths to a streetlight, crashing into the reality.
Silver fox.
Single.
Poppy.
Delilah…
Oh shit.
Dax comes into light, almost like a mirage, as the two little girls– Delilah and Poppy– pull him to the counter. Their mouths are going a mile a minute, and he is looking down at them smiling. He doesn’t see me yet.
“He’s…a single dad?” The question is almost all breath as it wisps from my mouth.
“Yeah. Haven’t you been listening?” Joni asks. “What’s gotten into you? Do you know him?”
“Dax,” I say. Other than that, I have no words.