Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
“Okay, so when we get back to the office we can divvy up the stories and I can figure out what Stan’s already filed, and where we’re at,” Peter says as they drive toward town. He pauses, “I’m pretty sure he has his password written down on his desk blotter so I can get into his files.”
“Desk blotter?” Lizzie laughs. “We’re really going old-school, huh?”
“Stan is nothing but old-school. You have no idea what it was like getting him to switch from a typewriter to computer. Now he loves it, it’s pretty funny.” He grows quiet as they drive along a very snowy Main Street. “When I got that call, I couldn’t help but think-”
Lizzie puts her hand on his arm. “I know Dad, you guys have been a team for a long time. But the good news is, he’s fine. He may not be writing for a little bit, but he’ll soon be back sitting across from you. Oh! Maybe he can dictate his stories, there’s lots of tools for that, I can help you figure out what would be the most user friendly.”
“Yeah, that would be great, thank you,” he looks over at her, “But for now I’ve got one of the best writers I know working for me, so I’m not complaining.”
They pull into the little group of offices housed in a Cape-style building right on Main Street. Lizzie gets out and thinks back to practically growing up in this building. When she was in middle and high school, and college too, she wrote stories and columns for the paper. She hadn’t had a byline in the Gazette since the last summer she’d lived there, right after graduating from college.
They quickly get themselves situated at the antique partners desk Peter and Stan have been using since they began the paper well over thirty years ago. When she was little, Lizzie often fantasized about growing up and working across from her dad, just like this. She’d never had any interest in medicine, and Gabby had never pressured her. She and Matt had been raised to find what they loved to do and create a career around that. Matt had been passionate about the environment and climate change since, well, forever. He was always charting weather patterns and temperature changes around the world. Everyone, including his teachers figured he’d head off to be a meteorologist, climate activist or scientist. He’d surprised everyone, even himself, by coming back home after college. He loved the Cape, and nothing meant more to him than trying to save it from climate change.
Lizzie on the other hand was never without a book, some paper and a pen, and later, a computer. She was so much like her dad. Infinitely curious about people, their stories and how to share them with others. After she received her Master’s in journalism at Boston University, she stayed there. She liked Boston–not too big, not too small.
When she was hired at the Sentinel it was as a features writer, which is what she loved. But now with so many reporters gone, feature stories were often grabbed from the wire, and she was more often relegated to news, something she didn’t feel competent at, nor was it her passion. Just reporting on the who, what, when, where and why didn’t satisfy her desire to go deeper, to get to know people. The ‘going deeper in’ stories were why she had become a writer.
“Okay, so new to the festival is storytelling at Tall Tale Books, I don’t think you’ve met the new owners, Anika and Jay Patel. They’re wonderful, they had a great idea to have older kids telling stories to younger kids and I think it’s going to be great.”
Lizzie starts making a list. “How many words are you looking at for these stories? 500? 800?”
“These can be pretty quick hits, yeah, anywhere in that range. And if you could take a couple of pictures for each one that would be great. We lost the money for a photographer years ago. Thank goodness for smartphones.”
“Got it. What else?”
Peter is looking through his notes. “Hmm, I see another story Stan didn’t get to yet, he was going to talk to Leah Alden over at - ”
“Sea Coast, yeah. Hope’s granddaughter. What’s the angle on that one?” she asks, writing down some notes.
“She’s pretty much taken over running the business side of the shop, and she’s really involved in climate change efforts,” he says.
“So how does this tie in with the festival?” she asks, wanting to know what this story is about.
Peter laughs, “Yeah, that would be good to know, huh? She brought forth a proposal to make sure that nothing being used to decorate the town was single use. Everything could either be used again next year, turned into mulch, or would naturally biodegrade.”
“Wow, that’s very cool,” Lizzie says, writing all this down. “I keep saying it’s going to be this younger generation that’s going to save the world.”
“Ha! Listen to you, you’re only 32 yourself!” her dad jokes. “It’s not like you’re old, honey.”
“No, but this generation, they have people like Greta Thunberg blazing a trail. When I was 17, 18-years-old I certainly wasn’t protesting climate change and doing anything to help change the world. I was worried about whether some boy liked me, or what college I was going to.”
“Do not sell yourself short, you were writing about housing issues here all the way back in high school, remember?” Peter says, organizing some papers on his desk.
“I guess, but I wasn’t doing anything big,” she says.
“Every change that happens starts somewhere,” he boots up his computer. “Anyway, if you could do those two stories today that would be a huge help.
“Got it. I’ll start with these and then report back.”
“Sounds good.” He’s a bit distracted looking at his screen.
“Dad?”
“Sorry, I’m just looking at where we’ve got other holes for this week’s issue.”
She stands up and gets ready to head out, “Well consider these two filled, and I can do as many more as you need.”
Peter takes a relieved breath and sighs. “Thank you honey, you have no idea how much you’re helping me.”
“It’s kind of helping me too,” she says, putting on her coat. “I wasn’t feeling too Christmasy before I came back here, but I think between making cookies and doing this I’m finally starting to feel like it’s Christmas. So thank you!” She pulls on her hat and heads toward the door. “I’m going to walk over to Tall Tales and talk to the Patels, and then I’ll go to Sea Coast and talk to Leah. Do you want me to grab you something when I come back?”
“I think I’m good, sweetie, thanks, but I’ll text you if I change my mind.”
“Okeedokey, love you!”
“Love you too.”
The book store was just around the corner, and Lizzie was happy to get out and get some fresh air. Everything looked so beautiful covered in the freshly dropped snow that had finally stopped. It definitely gave everything an extra dose of holiday cheer. She was enjoying her new boots as she confidently strode the sidewalk. Best five dollars she’d spent in a while.
When she arrived at Tall Tales she put her notebook and pen down on the freshly shoveled steps, and moved back to take a photo. She’d invested in the phone with the best rated camera when the Sentinel started asking all the reporters to take their own photos. It was well worth the extra $10 a month on her bill.
She gathered up her things and walked into the store. It looked very different from the last time she’d been in, but still had the same cozy and inviting feel with lots of warm woods, and little white lights wrapped around the rafters, and there was even a real Christmas tree in the middle of the shop.
“Can I help you?” a man, who she assumes must be Jay. asks from behind the counter.
“Hi, I’m Lizzie Martin,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m writing a story for the Gazette about your storytelling event for the festival? Is this a good time? I promise not to bother you for long.”
“Hey, I’m Jay Patel,” he pauses for a moment, “Wait, are you Peter’s daughter? The one he’s always talking about?”
“As hard as I try to break him of that habit,” she shakes her head in embarrassment. “Yes, that would be me. Sorry about that.”
“Stop, your dad is awesome. I’m a dad too. It comes with the territory, I’m afraid. My wife is the one who’s the force behind the event. Let me get her from the back, hold on.”
While Jay goes to find his wife, Lizzie takes the opportunity to browse around her former workplace. The shelves had all been upgraded, and she can see the children’s section has expanded and is full of new and diverse titles. The section for local authors has also grown, carrying classics from the past and present. Cape Cod is very famous for its writers and artists of all types.
“Hi, I’m Anika Patel,” she hears from behind her as she’s thumbing through a book about cats she thinks Sophie might like.
“Hi!” Lizzie puts the book back on the shelf. She turns and shakes her hand. “I’m Lizzie Martin, are you sure you have a few minutes now? I could always come later if this isn’t a good time.”
“No, this is fine. Weirdly there seems to be a lull almost every day around 2. We have yet to figure out why, but you can practically set your watch to it.” She motions Lizzie over to a cozy reading area with overstuffed chairs near the counter. “This okay?” Lizzie nods and sits down.
“This is perfect. I promise I’ll be quick.”
“No hurry! We love the Gazette, your dad and Stan have been so good to us. They’ve covered anything we’ve done since we took over, from our grand opening to signings, to the story slam we host once a month.”
“Wow, that’s so cool, you have a monthly story slam? How did my parents not tell me this?” She’s taking notes.
“Your dad is actually a regular storyteller. He’s got a lot of stories,” Anika laughs.
“Well, this is news to me, I am going to have to find out more.” Putting on her reporter hat, she switches gears. “When did you and Jay take over the store?”
“About a year and a half ago. It was completely by the seat of our pants, but we’re learning!”
“What were you both doing before?”
Anika sits back. “Well, Jay is, or was, I guess, an attorney, we lived in D.C. He worked in government, and I worked for a nonprofit that was focused on supporting community efforts to bring awareness and problem solving around climate change.”
“Wow, and you left all that to come here and run a bookstore?” Lizzie is intrigued.
“The thing was, we knew we were doing good things, but we had no quality of life. We hardly saw each other, and we had two kids who were growing up and we were missing it. We figured we’ll have time to get involved with bigger projects when they are a little older, and we hope to do some things for the community here, now that we’re more settled, but we wanted balance. Which probably sounds very hokey,” she laughs.
“No, quite the contrary, it sounds very smart and well, conscious.” She’s quickly writing everything down. “How old are your kids, and were they okay with the move?”
“They’re 9 and 12 now, and they were nervous about leaving their friends and school, but we’d vacationed here many times and they loved it, so it was a pretty easy sell,” she smiles. “And even though we’re busy, it’s our business, so if there’s a school event we close for an hour, and they come here after school when they don’t have sports, band or theater. We’re really happy.”
“I don’t blame you, it sounds like you’ve created a great life for all of you. So is this your first time participating in the festival?”
“Yeah, last year we were still so new, other than handing out cookies and discount coupons we didn’t do much. This event was actually my daughter Neve’s idea.”
“Tell me more,” Lizzie says.
“She comes sometimes to the story slam and she had the idea of doing one for kids telling stories to other kids, and we thought it was perfect. She came up with the theme of ‘Your Biggest Christmas Surprise,’ and recruited story tellers at school.”
“She sounds very creative! How many storytellers will there be?”
“There are eight of them that will be taking turns telling stories to a new batch of little kids over a couple of hours. There is one very important rule that they all must adhere to though…”
“And what is that?”
“They can’t say anything that would lead any child to doubt their belief in Santa Claus,” Anika says very seriously.
Lizzie smiles as she writes that down. “Good rule, no spoilers.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for ruining a child believing in Santa!”
“No, never,” Lizzie concurs. “Well this is perfect, you’ve given me plenty to work with. Just one last thing, why did you and Jay want to be part of the festival this year?”
Anika pauses for a moment. “We have grown to love this community so much, and they have supported our business and us as we started a new life here. I guess it’s partly a way to say thank you, and to also give back when so much has been given to us.”
“Perfect. After all these years I always know the perfect end quote when I hear it, and that was it.” Lizzie stands up, “I can’t thank you enough for your time, it’s such a pleasure to talk to you. I will have to make it down for one of your story slams. I am extremely curious to hear my dad!” She puts her coat back on, and gets ready to leave.
“Well, if you’re still here we’re doing one on New Year’s Eve for the folks who like a mellower event to go to.”
Lizzie buttons her coat, “Darn! I will be back in Boston then, but maybe next time!”
“For sure, I hope you come in again while you’re here,” Anika says as she walks her toward the door.
Jay calls over, “Yes! Please come back, I’m sorry I got stuck over here with a cranky computer.”
“Definitely, you have not seen the last of me. Oh! Can I just take a quick photo of you two?”
“Of course,” Anika says. Jay comes over and puts his arm around his wife.
“Perfect,” Lizzie says after clicking a few. “Thank you again, I’ll see you soon.”
She walks outside into the cold air and feels happy, that unfamiliar feeling, again. Being around good people doing good things has a special kind of magic that’s contagious. Walking toward Sea Coast Coffee in her own little happy bubble, she wants to keep that feeling going. The best way she knew to do that was a Sea Coast latte. She texts her dad
Stopping at Sea Coast, want anything? Oh! I loved the Patels!
She sees the three dots lingering in the cloud on her phone.
Nope, thanks honey, I’m good. I knew you would! See you soon.
She puts her phone in her pocket, walks towards the coffee shop and sees Jack standing outside looking toward her smiling. Before she can think, she smiles back. Damn it.