CHAPTER 3 THE MAN AT THE LADDER
Eli had spent thirteen years learning how not to think about Clara Bennett.
He had become good at it in the same way a man could become good at working around a weak floorboard: know exactly where it was, never step there, and pretend the route you took instead was natural.
Then June died.
Then Clara came home.
Now she stood behind the counter of the Book Nook with her hair twisted into a loose knot and a pencil tucked above one ear, looking so much like the girl he remembered that it angered him.
Not because she had come back.
Because he noticed.
“I need to get to the rear wall,” he said.
Clara counted bills in the old register. “Then get to the rear wall.”
“There are four boxes in front of it.”
“You have arms.”
He looked at her.
She looked back.
Maggie, who was shelving cookbooks nearby, made a sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh.
Eli picked up the first box.
Thirteen years, and Clara still had the ability to irritate him within thirty seconds.
It was almost reassuring.
He carried the boxes into the hallway leading toward the unfinished reading room. June had intended to open the space in October. She had drawn a little plan on yellow paper: two sofas, six chairs, a long table, lamps, shelves for local history, and a coffee station supplied by Maggie’s bakery.
Then her health had failed.
Eli had kept working after she closed the store because he had promised he would finish the room.
He had not finished.
Some promises became harder after the person who requested them was gone.
Clara appeared in the doorway.
“What exactly is wrong with the roof?”
“Flashing failed around the chimney. I repaired the exterior. Interior plaster still needs replacing.”
“How much?”
“For the repair?”
“Yes.”
“Materials are already paid.”
“Labor.”
“No charge.”
Her expression tightened. “I’m not taking free labor from you.”
“You aren’t. June did.”
“June isn’t here.”
Eli set down his pry bar.
“No,” he said. “She isn’t.”
Silence settled.
Clara’s face softened. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded once.
They both looked into the unfinished room.
Old wallpaper had been removed from half the walls. The floorboards were sanded but not sealed. Two windows faced a narrow courtyard where honeysuckle vines climbed a brick wall.
Clara stepped inside.
“She wanted this?”
“Very much.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Maybe she wanted to surprise you.”
“Why would a reading room in her bookstore surprise me?”
Eli considered how much to say.
June had talked while he worked. About Clara. About the shop. About regret. About how people could leave the place they belonged before they understood that belonging was not the same thing as being trapped.
He did not know which of those things June had intended him to repeat.
So he chose the safest truth.
“She thought you’d like the windows.”
Clara walked to them.
“They face a brick wall.”
“She said you always preferred quiet views.”
That drew a real smile.
“I did.”
“I remember.”
The smile disappeared.
Eli regretted the words as soon as they left him.
There it was again—the weak floorboard.
Clara folded her arms. “Maggie says you have a business.”
“I do.”
“Why are you here during work hours?”
“My crew is on a farmhouse restoration north of town. I’m meeting them after I finish this wall.”
“You own the company. You could assign this to somebody else.”
“I could.”
“But you don’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
Because June had been there the night his father died and brought food to a house where nobody remembered to eat.
Because she had let him sit in the back of the bookstore through an entire rainy winter when his own home had become too silent.
Because she had never once asked him to explain why Clara left.
“Because some things are personal,” he said.
Clara’s gaze dropped.
The bell at the front door rang.
Maggie called, “Clara, customer!”
Clara left.
Eli returned to the wall.
He worked for nearly an hour before she came back.
This time she carried two glasses of iced tea.
“Peace offering,” she said.
“Were we at war?”
“I haven’t decided.”
He accepted the glass.
She leaned against the doorway.
“Tell me what needs to be done if someone wanted to reopen.”
Eli paused.
“Someone?”
“Hypothetically.”
“Roof is handled. Electrical needs inspection. Front trim needs repair. Upstairs plumbing should be checked. Back window sticks.”
“She warned me.”
“She warned everyone.”
“What else?”
“Floor in the history aisle has a soft spot. Heating system is older than both of us combined. The sign needs repainting. Inventory needs a serious sort.”
Clara exhaled. “So everything.”
“No. The building is sound.”
“What would it cost?”
“Depends how much you do.”
“That is the second time you’ve answered me that way.”
“It’s still the right answer.”
She lifted her glass toward him. “You’ve become more annoying.”
“You’ve become more impatient.”
“I was always impatient.”
“I know.”
Another dangerous sentence.
They drank in silence.
Finally Clara said, “There’s an offer on the building.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Does everyone know?”
“Small town.”
“Apparently privacy is illegal here.”
Eli set down his glass.
“Hawthorne wants the whole block eventually.”
“They made a generous offer.”
“They can afford to.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t sell?”
He looked at her fully.
He had expected this question from the moment June told him what she intended to do with the shop.
He had also promised himself he would not answer it for Clara.
“What I think isn’t the point.”
“That sounds noble.”
“It isn’t. If I tell you to keep it, you’ll think I’m trying to hold you here. If I tell you to sell, you’ll think I’m trying to get rid of you. Either way, I lose.”
Clara stared at him, then laughed softly.
“That is annoyingly reasonable.”
“I’ve had thirteen years to practice.”
Her laughter stopped.
He regretted that sentence too.
Apparently the day was full of them.
Clara turned toward the windows.
“What if I keep it for ninety days?”
Eli said nothing.
She continued, mostly to herself. “Reopen temporarily. Get the books organized. See what the numbers actually look like. Finish whatever Aunt June started. Then sell if it doesn’t work.”
“That’s not a bad plan.”
“I didn’t ask if it was bad.”
“No. You asked what I thought.”
“I did not.”
“You were about to.”
She glanced at him. “Still annoying.”
Eli picked up his pry bar.
“Still impatient.”
From the front of the store, Maggie shouted, “You two are exhausting, and I’m not even in the room.”
Clara covered her face with one hand.
Eli laughed.
It was the first time he had laughed with her in thirteen years.
The sound stayed in the unfinished reading room after both of them had gone quiet.