Chapter 11 Clara
“M ISS C ELIA?”
An older woman stacking the classics section turns around at me calling her name. She puts down a leather-bound copy of War and Peace and looks at me. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you, Clara.”
It’s a slightly creepy introduction, I can’t lie. It’s honestly the last thing I expected her to say. Top of my list was Get out or something equally unwelcoming.
The only way I can describe Miss Celia is she looks like a feminine version of Gandalf the Grey, which isn’t an observation I’ll be voicing out loud.
Her ashy silver hair is long with a slight wave as it flows on either side of her face down her chest. She’s tall with a lean silhouette.
The deep lines on her alabaster skin show the passage of time, but like how I felt with Flo when I first saw her, I can’t put an age to her.
Someone needs to look at what’s in the water in this town, I swear.
“That’s nice,” I say. What else can I say? “Do you have five minutes for me to tell you about an idea I’ve had?”
I ask to be polite but the Green Light bookstore is empty other than the two of us. “Of course. I was told you’re on a mission to save the town from despair. I’ve been looking forward to your visit.”
It feels less like sarcasm and more like playful banter.
Maybe I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt because she looks like she’d be a really nice grandma—or wizard—and Arthur, one of the town leaders, said almost the same thing to me yesterday.
I assume it’s messaging that originated with Flo, but who knows.
All my words are stuck in my throat, something that hasn’t happened to me during a pitch in years .
She looks at me over the frameless glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“I don’t think the town is in despair. I’m trying to find ways to get positive attention on Fraser Falls to increase visitors and spending.
Are you familiar with Matilda Brown? The author? ”
Miss Celia taps on her hearing aid. I hope she isn’t turning me off. “Yes. She’s very popular with our book club.”
“I also love her books. I’m friends with her publicist, we went to college together.
Matilda has a new book coming out—I’m sure you already know that.
She starts her US tour on release day but she has a three-day break after she’s in New York.
I asked her publicist if she’d be open to considering a last-minute addition to her schedule to support an indie bookstore. ”
Miss Celia’s expression doesn’t change, but she leans against the bookshelf. “What did she say?”
“Well, last-minute changes to book tours are the kind of thing that gives publicists hives, but Matilda gave a provisional yes. I was totally honest that I was inquiring without talking to you first, so if you say no there’s no hard feelings, but they need an answer by tomorrow.”
Miss Celia pushes her glasses up her nose and dusts her hands off against her dress. “You’re quite the meddler, Miss Davenport.”
I’ve been called worse. “The Northeast dates sold out immediately and they were looking at doing another one in Philadelphia or Boston, but I convinced them to do it here, knowing people will travel anywhere for Matilda. Also, people love supporting indies and since I know you ship, this is a great way for people to find out about you.”
She looks at her feet instead of my face. Fiddles with a button before looking up again. “I assumed you’d buy out my stock or something financially frivolous. However, I can see you’ve put quite a lot of thought into this one.”
My heart pounds. I stare at the dozens of stocked shelves lining every wall of this place.
“I can absolutely buy out your stock, Miss Celia. I’ll give you my address and credit card right now, but I thought giving your store some exposure would benefit you long-term. But to be clear, I’m happy to do both.”
Miss Celia smiles and waves me off, shaking her head. “I’d be happy for your publicist friend to contact me to discuss the finer details. No purchase necessary.”
I FEEL LIKE I’ M WALKING on air as I head over to the Hungry Fox Tavern to get something to eat and use their Wi-Fi.
This town is turning me into a cliché but I’m struggling to be mad about it.
I tug the zipper of my coat up a little higher and use my headphones as earmuffs to combat the cold wind.
After thirty seconds, I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I’m not alone.
I lift one ear of my headphones and hear a soft jingling.
When I turn around, pulling the headphones down to my neck, there’s a furry face at my knees.
“Hi, buddy.” I crouch to stroke Elf. I look up at his owner. “You know, if you don’t want to walk your dog alone, you can just ask me to walk with you. You don’t have to walk ten paces behind me like a serial killer.”
Jack rubs the back of his head with the hand not holding the leash to stop me from being charged by a seal-looking dog. “I’m walking to the tavern. I’m not following you.”
“That’s where I’m going.” I watch him realize that he needs to either walk with me or continue walking behind me after I just compared him to a serial killer.
He looks like he’s weighing up his options. Polite conversation for a few minutes or me telling Tommy that he followed me the second I walk through the door. Jack lets out a defeated sigh and I get my answer. “Cool.”
It’s amazing what a difference a week can make. Last Tuesday, Jack walked me to the B his gray ears are blowing in the wind.
“Yeah, he was super shy when I took him home. He’d never lived with someone so it took a bit of getting used to, but now he’s the biggest diva. I have to remind him he used to live outside when he won’t go for a walk in the rain.”
I smile and tuck my face into the top of my coat. “He has standards.”
“Apparently,” he says. “Clara, watch—”
Jack’s hand wraps around my middle as the other shoots across my front, gripping the leash beneath where my hand is just as Elf pulls away urgently.
My body freezes as Jack holds him back. The top of my head sits right below his jaw but I don’t look up, scared of the judgment.
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know what he saw. ”
I unloop the leash from my wrist, letting Jack take it back. He slowly lets go of my waist, clearing his throat. He points to the tree on our right. “Don’t worry about it. There’s a cat on the branch.”
He hardly strains against Elf pulling in the direction of the tree. “Is it stuck?”
“No. He likes to sit up there and survey the local area–slash–aggravate passing dogs.” The sign outside the Hungry Fox flickers to life as we approach. I look both ways before crossing the street, a couple of steps ahead of Jack. “His name is Prudence.”
My head snaps back to look at him over my shoulder. “ His name is Prudence?”
“Donald started feeding it one day when it kept showing up in his yard. Didn’t bother to check before naming it.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Donald the butterfly-net guy?”
Jack pushes the door to the tavern open, letting me walk in first. “I can’t believe you remembered his name.”
I turn around when I’m through the door, nodding enthusiastically as he and Elf follow me in. “He made a huge impression on me! I’ve never seen one that big!”
It feels like the whole room went quiet the exact moment I opened my mouth. Jack closes his eyes briefly; I turn to face the rest of the room. I turn back to Jack to make a joke but he walks past me, heading for the bar with Elf following him, leaving me standing alone.
Five minutes a day is obviously his maximum tolerance for me. I brush off the sting and head to my favorite seat in the corner of the room. It’s close enough to the fire to be warm but far enough away that I don’t end up itchy from the heat.
I’ve started coming here to work on my laptop because the internet connection in the B & B is the worst I’ve ever experienced. Tommy is quiet and sweet. He makes polite conversation when I arrive until he takes my order, then leaves me with my work.
I begrudgingly set up my computer at the table and grab a menu. I don’t pay attention to Jack laughing at the bar with Tommy.
“The burger is good, if you need a recommendation.” I look over to the armchair beside the fire where Melissa Wilde is sitting.
Winslet Akinola is in the chair next to her.
I have to pretend I don’t know that they run the town flower shop and go by Mel and Winnie, all of which I read on their “about” page.
“Thanks! I was thinking about getting the lasagna.”
“Great choice,” Mel confirms, Winnie nodding beside her.
Jack and Tommy walk toward us and I go back to studying the menu.
Jack fills the empty seat in front of the fire next to Mel and Elf lies at his feet.
Tommy stops at my table and leans against the back of the chair opposite me.
He nods at my laptop. “Do you ever stop working? What’s gonna fuel you tonight? ”
“Lasagna and a still water, please. I’m harassing every contact I have for toy drive donations.
I know a lot of people.” I’m not kidding.
It took me fifteen minutes to email all the people in Dove’s list and twenty minutes to make a list of my own.
Nobody is safe and I won’t be taking no for an answer.
“Can’t you just raid your attic at home? Bet you have more toys up there than anyone.” I just laugh, because how can I explain that my mom threw that stuff out the second we outgrew playing with it? Max played with his stuff on a rotation so nothing caught her attention.
“I think my mom and dad still have my Clara doll in their garage,” Melissa says, laughing. “I was literally the coolest kid in school when I got one for my birthday.”
“I wanted one so bad ,” Winnie says, pouting. I don’t think that’s what I should write on my sticky note under her name. “My dad used to tell me they were always sold out, but I’m now realizing he was probably lying. Did your sister have one?”
Jack sips his drink quickly so I almost miss that he nods.
“It’s so cool that you have a doll named after you.
Was it a surprise or did you know? You must have been a little girl, right?
” Mel asks. She seems to be genuinely interested but it feels borderline illegal not only to be talking about Davenport in Fraser Falls, but to be doing it in front of Jack.
“She’s called Clara because I designed her.
My grandpa looked after me and my brother a lot when we were kids and my dad was trying to scale up the business he’d inherited.
Grandpa made me and Max design toys and pitch them.
I came up with Clara and Dad liked her, so they made her. It was the first popular toy we did.”
Jack instantly sits up a little straighter in his chair. “How is it possible that I didn’t know this?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Do you have a specific interest in dolls from twenty years ago?”
He rolls his eyes. “I researched every popular doll from the past fifty years when I was working on the prototype for Holly. I read everything about that doll and nowhere does it say she was designed by Clara Davenport.”
I feel defensiveness prodding me in the center of my chest. “I was ten, Jack.”
“You aren’t credited anywhere.”
“I was ten,” I repeat. “I hardly even remember it. I probably drew it in crayon.”
Not quite the truth, but Jack’s sudden and urgent interest is throwing me off. I remember working on my design pack for the whole week. I used the special pencils I’d received for my birthday to make sure everything was as tidy as possible.
My mom thought my grandpa’s childcare techniques were giving me an unattractive competitive streak but Grandpa loved it. He said it would give me all the life skills I needed. Not sure which of them is supposed to be useful right now though.
Jack’s still staring at me, his brown eyes lost somewhere not quite here. He blinks slowly. “You’re their first victim.”
My heart slams into my chest. “Excuse me?”
“They stole your design and didn’t credit you, Clara. You’re their victim just as much as we are. Of course they knew they’d get away with doing it to us. They’ve been doing it for twenty years.”
All the blood in my body rushes to my cheeks. My face feels like it’s on fire. The skin on my chest begins to itch. Mel, Winnie, and Tommy are frozen in place. “You’re so far off.”
“Dude,” Tommy says, standing up straight. He’s shooting his best friend a look of disbelief. “Come on.”
“It’s the truth,” Jack says.
“Jack,” Winnie says quietly, staring at her feet.
I suddenly feel very far from home. “I think I’ll put that lasagna order on hold.” My computer snaps as it shuts from the accidental heaviness of my hand. “Lunch tomorrow, maybe,” I mutter as I push my things back into my purse.
“Tomorrow,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “See you, Clara.”
There are gentle murmurs of bye behind me as I head toward the door. I hear Tommy snap, “Sit down,” behind me, but I don’t turn around to investigate.