Chapter Three #3
Though it proved breezy again, Arden walked in springtime.
It certainly showed itself in the daffodils, the tulips in flower stalls, the tender green leaves on trees.
She heard it in the shouts of kids in a little urban playground, in the singing—wonderfully off-key—of a woman who washed her third-floor apartment windows.
She took her time, strolling, window-shopping—and decided she might do actual shopping after the signing.
Then she stopped, let out a half laugh because she stood in front of the pizza place, a favorite of hers as a teen.
Surprised and pleased to find it still in business, she vowed to stop in on the way back to the hotel for a slice of nostalgia.
When she reached the bookstore, she set the past aside. Squared her shoulders, put on her best smile, then walked inside.
“Welcome, welcome! Glenda Durning.” The woman with a flood of gray-streaked black hair shot out a hand.
“I’m the manager. My, you’re a tall one.
We’re so happy to have you. We had a lot of calls after your podcast—you were wonderful, by the way!
We ordered more stock. I’m going to whisk you into the back room.
We have some online orders we need you to sign before we start. ”
Arden wondered if Glenda and Elle were somehow related, as the woman chattered all the way during her fast-clipped pace through the store.
Smaller than Next Chapter, she noted, but with shelves and tables cleverly arranged to allow room for browsing.
And people did just that as Glenda did indeed whisk her back to the tiny, crammed room where a dozen—no, fourteen—copies of Whispers were stacked on a counter amid the expected chaos.
“Thank you for having me today,” Arden began.
“Oh, we’re delighted. We love highlighting debut authors, and you’re essentially a local. Brooklyn born. Now, as we related, this will be a straight signing. We do occasional readings on a weeknight, but Saturday afternoons are too busy, and we don’t have the space.”
“That’s fine.”
“Now, we have pens—oh, I see you have your own—and the books are flapped. Those requesting personalization have the name highlighted. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just water, thank you.”
“That’s easy! We had an author in last month—I won’t name names! And she insisted on ginkgo tea with brown sugar. I’ll go get your water. You go ahead and start signing the orders, and I’ll be right back. Oh, restroom’s just over there.”
She whisked out as she’d whisked in, and Arden began to sign.
While she feared the humiliation of sitting at a signing table, trying to look pleasant because no one had bought her book, at least she’d sold fourteen copies.
Thirty minutes later, when she sat at the corner table and saw she actually had a short line snaking through tables and shelves, she put away her fears.
When a number of people in the first group mentioned the podcast, she decided lesson learned.
When your agent and publisher want you to do a podcast, or anything else, do it.
Smile in place, she reached for the next book, and caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.
She sat a moment, book still in hand, leaning to try to see around a bookcase.
“It’s for Mike.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought I saw someone I know. I hope you enjoy the book, Mike.”
“Heard you on Gracie’s Book Club the other day. It sounded like something I’d like. From Brooklyn, are you?”
“Originally, yes.”
While she carried on the conversation, she had to resist looking past him.
He’d been wearing sunglasses, a ball cap, and for a minute she’d thought she’d seen Dustin. But that was crazy. And since she didn’t like the feeling it gave her, she dismissed it.
Instead, she looked at the next person in line. Her smile turned into a gasp of surprise before she sprang up.
“Kyra!”
“Yes! I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”
But Arden had already wrapped her former schoolmate in a hug. “Of course I remember.” She pulled back. “You cut your hair.”
Gone were the teenager’s beaded braids. The woman wore her hair in a pixie cut of curls with a few of the curls twirling down to her big, dark eyes.
“You, too. I couldn’t believe when I heard you on Gracie’s Book Club. I had to come, see you, get your book. I know you’re busy. I don’t guess you have time to catch up.”
“Damn right I do. I passed Lombardi’s on the way over, and I thought of you. How about Italian sodas after this? Cherry for you, right?”
“And lemon for you. God, the things we remember. I’d love that, Arden. Girl, I’ve missed your face! Sign my book. I’m going to do some shopping, and I’ll come back in an hour.”
“Perfect. I’m glad you came, Kyra.”
When she ran out of line, Glenda had her sign stock, then copies for staff.
“This was great, Glenda. You have a wonderful store, a wonderful staff.”
“Customer service, number one. You did really well. We’d love to have you back for your next book.”
“I’d love to come back.”
“I see your friend’s waiting. We just need a picture with the staff for our website before you go.”
The minute they were outside, Arden hugged Kyra again.
“I can’t believe we’re here. When I walked over, I thought about how we’d come downtown, haunt the shops, get pizza or ice cream, talk and talk. You, me, Bonita, Kelly.”
“Our own melting pot. The redhead, the Black girl, the Latina, and the Asian.”
“How are they? Have you kept in touch?”
“Bonita went into international finance. She’s based in Milan. English.” As they walked, Kyra ticked off fingers. “Spanish, Italian, French. Four languages. So far. She’s studying Japanese now.”
“Wow.”
“We email now and again. If and when she comes to New York, we try to get together. Kelly’s in Harvard Law.”
“One more wow.”
“We like to talk—actual phone calls every two weeks. And she comes home to see her family, so we get together. Wait until I tell her about this! Arden Bowie, author.”
“How about you?”
“Kyra Brightstone, RN. Surgical nurse, Brooklyn Hospital Center.”
“And the wows keep coming.”
They sat, as they once had, in the busy restaurant over Italian sodas.
“I don’t want to dredge shit up, but I want to tell you, I wish I’d known better what to do after you lost your folks. It was all so fast, and you were gone, and I didn’t know what to say, what to do.”
“There really wasn’t anything. I shut down, closed off, and made it hard on my aunt and uncle for a while. But they were patient, and just kept loving me anyway. I cut you off, I closed out everything from before. I shut that door, you didn’t.”
“You needed to then.”
“Maybe I did. But I’d like, very much, to keep it open now.”
Kyra took out her phone. “Number, email, address, in my contacts list.”
Arden took out her own. “Same.”
“Girl, you ghost me, I’ll be pissed.”
“Won’t happen.”
Thumbs flying, Kyra put in her data. “Why don’t we do something else we used to? Order pizza and talk about boys. And something we didn’t used to. Have a bottle of wine with that.”
“I’m in. But I don’t have much to talk about in the boy-slash-men area. You?”
“I’ve been seeing Denzel for about eight months now. We’re making noises about moving in together.”
“I want to hear all about it,” Arden said as she signaled the waiter.
“Oh, trust me, you will.”
They sat another hour. As she walked home in the evening bustle of downtown, Arden thought how easily friendship came back, how a broken connection could link again, if you let it.
He followed her. He had to see her safely back to wherever she was staying, didn’t he?
Maybe he’d lost his nerve in the bookstore, and after, she’d gone off with that woman, so he’d lost his chance to surprise her. To take her to dinner. To, he’d imagined, take her back to her hotel, have her invite him up.
And spend the night showing her what they were to each other.
He had to wait, just a little longer, for that. But it didn’t mean he’d shirk his responsibility. She was just a woman, alone and vulnerable in New York, so he’d see her safely back.