Chapter Two
Emma
An hour after that panicky wake-up scramble, Emma was still feeling frazzled as she and her mother loaded her grandmother
into the passenger seat of her beat-up thirdhand Honda.
“It will be better to take your car than your mother’s,” Sylvia had said in her no-nonsense tone.
“Why?” Rosie had asked, looking almost hurt, as if Grandma Syl had said her Volvo SUV smelled like a dead raccoon.
“Because it makes the most sense. Emma already has a car seat for Olive. And you know how hard it’s been for me to boost my
fat tuchus into your SUV.”
So there Emma was, embarrassed about her junk heap car. When she paid cash for it a year ago, depleting what was left of her
savings after her final tuition payment, the car had represented all her hard-earned progress. She had a job. An apartment.
And now a car of her own, so she wouldn’t have to spend an extra hour a day catching public transportation to take Olive to
day care before heading to work.
Maybe it wasn’t the best-looking vehicle, but she had worked hard for every dent and rust patch.
They settled Sylvia into the front passenger seat, carefully adjusting her cast and her crutches, then her mother walked around
to open the rear passenger door next to Olive.
“You can sit by me, Grandma,” Olive chirped, looking delighted at the prospect of a bookstore outing with her grandmother
and great-grandmother.
With everyone settled, Emma climbed in and backed slowly out of her mom’s driveway. She was fully aware she was a ridiculously cautious driver. She rarely exceeded the speed limit and always looked both ways twice before entering any intersection.
Killing her father while learning to drive could probably scar a person forever in that direction.
And, yes. She found it darkly funny that she was so careful behind the wheel when she had certainly specialized in every other
kind of risky behavior over the past ten years.
Mindful that she was carrying three people she loved, she drove slowly through Wood Briar.
The town had changed since she last lived there. New businesses had popped up here and there and a few others had closed.
The pizza place where she and her friends hung out now seemed to be a bakery and the former bike shop sold tourist supplies
like beach chairs, kites and towels, at least judging by the window display.
The town had added hanging baskets from the old-style streetlights, and their colorful blossoms spilled over in wild abundance.
The bookstore looked the same, taking up a prime corner of real estate only a block from the seawall.
“You can park in the back now,” her mother said. “A few years ago, the downtown alliance bought up the inner block area for
parking.”
That was new. Parking had always been a problem downtown, especially in the summertime when tourists flocked to every small
Oregon beach town, even the more remote ones like Wood Briar.
The tourist madness apparently hadn’t kicked in yet. On that early June Sunday morning, she could easily find a space close
to the back entrance of The Rainy Day Bookshop.
Olive unhooked her own car seat, a relatively new skill Emma wasn’t all that thrilled about. “Stay there,” she ordered her daughter. “We need to help Grandma Sylvia first.”
The girl gave a pout but picked up her favorite doll that she had named Penelope, for some reason, and began chattering to
her as Emma opened her trunk and pulled out the collapsible wheelchair her mother had insisted they bring for Sylvia.
“I don’t need this stupid thing. I’ve got crutches and a knee scooter. They’re perfectly fine.” Her grandmother’s wrinkled
features wore a disgruntled frown as she glared at the chair.
Rosie sighed, looking weary. This seemed to be a battle the two of them had fought before. Emma might have expected Sylvia
wouldn’t be a very easy patient. When had she ever taken the easy route? Her grandmother loved causing trouble, which was
one of the many reasons Emma adored her.
“You know you’ll heal better if you take it easy,” Rosie said in an ultra-patient tone. “You’re great at the crutches and
the knee scooter, but why use them when you don’t have to? We rented the wheelchair. We might as well use it.”
“Fine,” Sylvia grumbled. “But this thing makes me feel like an old lady.”
“You are an old lady,” Olive piped up from the back seat.
Emma winced. Olive basically had no filter whatsoever. Kind of like her great-grandmother. Maybe that was why the two of them
seemed to get along so well.
“Thank you for the reminder, my dear,” Sylvia said, sounding amused rather than annoyed. “I’m definitely not as young as I
once was. I suppose it’s fine this once.”
Emma and her mother helped her grandmother from the car to the wheelchair. It didn’t really take both of them, but Rosie seemed
happy for Emma’s assistance.
“Want me to push her in?” Emma asked.
Rosie shook her head. “I’ve got it. Go ahead and help Olive.”
The two of them headed to the rear entrance of the bookshop while Emma opened the door for Olive and helped her out of the
car.
“I love love love bookstores,” her daughter announced, her voice bubbling over with joy as she skipped to the door.
Same, girl. Emma smiled at her, grabbing her hand as anticipation curled through her. This place would be her project for the next few
months—assuming Rosie could convince Sylvia to step back, which seemed a formidable task right then.
And speaking of formidable tasks.
Emma walked inside the bookstore and was momentarily speechless. All she could think was ew.
She hadn’t been in here in nearly a decade and it looked like not one single thing had changed. The bookstore seemed trapped
in another era, with fluorescent lights, dingy paint the color of old bandages, and crowded, claustrophobia-inducing aisles
stacked with dusty books.
Olive looked around. “This place is messy.”
That was one word for it. Emma could think of several others, none of which were appropriate to say in the presence of her
three-year-old child.
“We’re in here,” Rosie called out.
Still holding Olive’s hand, Emma made her way to the office that ran along the rear wall. Dust motes floated like tiny shards
of gold in the light coming through the front windows. She might think them pretty under other circumstances. Circumstances
where she had not found herself suddenly responsible for turning a profit out of this cluttered, disorganized pit of despair.
Inside the office, she found her mother trying to move a chair so Sylvia’s wheelchair could fit at the computer desk.
“Did you see the play area when you came in?” Sylvia asked. “I keep old books I find at Goodwill and yard sales for kids to
read while they’re in here. They can even take them home if they want. It’s our own version of a Little Free Library.”
“That’s nice. A play area is a good idea,” Emma said as she exchanged a look with her mother. Wasn’t a bookstore supposed
to sell books?
“It gives the children somewhere to hang out in the store so they don’t pull everything off the shelves, plus keeps them occupied
while their parents shop for books,” Sylvia said. “The toys may be outdated. I only have some blocks, a couple of trucks and
a play kitchen I bought at a yard sale. The kids seem to enjoy it anyway.”
“Maybe Olive can play there sometimes while you’re working,” Rosie said, that anxious note in her voice again.
Her mother was trying so hard to make sure Emma was comfortable. Her eagerness made Emma’s throat feel tight and achy.
“That will be great,” she said, meaning the words.
Olive was the main reason she was here in Wood Briar. For her daughter’s entire life, Olive had spent more time in day care
than with her own mother. Emma had been busy working or going to school, though she tried her best to juggle her responsibilities
around her daughter’s schedule and take mostly online classes, where she could do the schoolwork while Olive was in bed.
Her daughter was smart, healthy, well-adjusted. But in her nearly four years, she had already been through eight day care
situations.
In another year, she would be heading to kindergarten, then grade school. She was growing up far too fast. Emma wanted the chance to be with her more and to have her enjoy as much time as possible with her grandmother and great-grandmother.
Finding good quality childcare was the single hardest thing Emma had to do as a single mother. Harder than staying up all
night with her when Olive was ill, even after a long shift at work. Harder than the constant grinding worry about finances.
Harder than the equally grinding effort to stay sober so she could be the mother her daughter deserved.
Olive’s father was not in the picture whatsoever. Depending on her mood, Emma found that state of affairs either far more
simple or much more complicated.
Most of the time, she thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have to deal with Kevin Hollis on the daily.
Sometimes, though, she couldn’t help thinking how much easier her path would be if she had someone else to help carry the
relentless parenting load.
Kevin would have been a lousy father. She knew that. Emma hadn’t wanted to let her child anywhere near him and she had been
relieved when he had signed away his parental rights, though it certainly complicated things for her.
Day care shouldn’t be as much of a problem in Wood Briar, especially if she could bring Olive along with her to the bookstore
sometimes while she worked. Besides her mother and grandmother to help out on occasion, she still had friends in town, including
one of her best friends, Josie. She was a stay-at-home mom with a daughter around Olive’s age as well as a baby boy. When
Emma told her she was coming home for the summer, Josie immediately offered her babysitting services. Yes, it would still
be day care but in a homier environment.
Somehow, the office was even less appealing than the rest of the bookstore—windowless, cluttered, with dingy carpet and acres of dark paneling.