15. Lana
CHAPTER 15
LANA
T he worst of it was, we still had to do the fun run.
I’d handed out all the pledge sheets, secured all the permits. Set up a whole party at the end, on the beach. It was too late to cancel, and besides, I couldn’t. I still had the bill to pay, for the repairs. This wouldn’t cover that, but it might make a dent. If people showed up. If they had pledges.
“It’s a perfect day for it,” said Brad, looking out.
I squinted past him. Perfect, how? The sky was gray, cloudy, threatening rain.
“It won’t rain,” Brad said, like he’d read my mind. “I checked six different forecasts. They all say the same. It’s going to be cloudy till noon, then in time for our picnic, the sun will come out. Shade for the race, then sun for the party. Don’t see how it could work out better than that.”
I bit my tongue on a bitter response. Winning the grant would’ve been better. My building not crumbling would’ve been nice. But I’d decided I’d be happy today, at least for the town’s sake. The run was the type of thing Mom would’ve done, something that got everyone out having fun. She’d have been in the middle of it, the sparkling center. I’d do the same. It would be my big sendoff.
“We should head out,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. I’d been doing a lot of that since the day of the flood. When I smiled, no one asked me if I was okay. I hated to lie, so better they didn’t.
“Your sunscreen,” said Brad, and came up behind me. He unzipped my fanny pack and dropped it in. I checked my shoes one more time — laces tied tight — and we headed down the back steps and up the road. A few early runners were headed up too, summer people in jogging pants with crisp new pledge sheets. They’d probably sponsored themselves and stopped there, a few bucks so they could come to the party.
“What’s with all the cars?” said one of the summer folks, a fit-looking woman in brand-new pink sneakers. Her husband glanced past her, back down the street.
“Out-of-towners,” he said. “Don’t know where to park.”
I hadn’t noticed at first, but the tourists were right: the street parking was busier than I’d ever seen it, cars parked all the way to the little town bank. A station wagon and a bug both arrived at the corner, one from the west, one from the east. They honked at each other, then the bug backed up. I frowned at them both, then up at Brad.
“Where did they come from? They’re not ours, are they?”
Brad shrugged. “I don’t know. I put up a few posters while we were in Boston, but I mostly focused on people from here.”
We heard the main crowd before we saw them, bubbles of laughter, excited chatter. My heart did a somersault. So many, this early? Had we somehow cross-scheduled with some other event?
“You’ll have to help me,” I said. “If it’s more than fifty. I don’t even have tags for them, I don’t think, past that.”
We rounded the corner, and the square was overflowing, half the town in their jogging pants and ratty old shoes. Alice had beat us to the sign-in table, and was handing out numbers scrawled on yellow legal paper. I pushed through to join her.
“What’s going on?”
“Mrs. Schneiderman’s knitting club,” said Alice. She scribbled another number and tore it off her pad. I snatched it up and gasped. Eighty-six. I’d been expecting twenty, maybe thirty runners. Forty tops. There had to be a hundred here, maybe twice that. I gaped at them, dumbstruck.
“Mrs. Schneiderman… What? Since when does she knit?”
“I don’t know, but she’s in some club. They knit gloves for the homeless. Scarves, and all that. I guess they signed up some of their donors?”
“This is for your store, right?” said a red-faced woman. She was jogging in place already, her number taped to her chest. “I always swing by you and pick up some beach books. Something to stare at to keep the motormouths off.” She made a blah-blah-blah gesture and rolled her eyes. “I’m sick of talking to people. You’d better open up soon.”
I groped for something to say, but no words came to mind.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” the woman said. “I’m only joking. You should do this every year. I love a good run.”
“Thank you,” I said at last, but she was jogging away, joining a group of her summer-guest friends. Dora came loping over, Cathy in tow, and I couldn’t believe it. “You two are running?”
“I am,” said Cathy. “She’s here to cheer.”
Dora pulled out her T-shirt so I could see the slogan — CHEERING SECTION — printed in big juicy letters. “We’ve been talking you up,” she said. “All us old folks. Handing out flyers down by the beach.” She motioned her friends over, all in the same T-shirts, Joyce from the library, Tom and Carl from the auto shop. A whole lot of Mom’s old friends. I felt my eyes prickle.
“Thank you so much,” I said, my throat gone tight. “Oh, this is Brad, if you all haven’t met him. This was his idea, so?—”
The cheering section surrounded us, bathing us in their warmth.
“It really is so good to see you doing this,” said Joyce. “I’d always joke with your mom, how you’re my competition, but the town wouldn’t be the same without you around.”
“Do you have enough water for all these runners?” Dora peered past Brad, up the wide road. “I should call Rex. Have him go pick up more.”
“No need,” said Brad. “I thought we’d be busy. I made sure to grab plenty, just to be safe.”
More runners came up to hand in their pledge sheets, and I took over from Alice, handing out numbers. A lot of the runners were from out of town, but it made my heart swell to see how many weren’t. It felt like half of main street had turned up in their joggers, the other half in bright CHEERING SECTION T-shirts. Everyone I knew was here cheering me on, fighting to help keep Mom’s legacy going.
“They really loved her,” I whispered, half to myself.
“They love you ,” said Alice. She nudged me. “We all do.”
“Don’t talk like that. I can’t run if I’m crying.”
We handed out numbers all the way to one hundred sixty, and the start line was buzzing when it was time to go. Alice did the honors, counting us down, three, two, one, GO , and then we were off. I paced myself to Brad as I’d done when we practiced, and soon we fell into our familiar rhythm. I’d thought we’d got fast, with all the morning runs we’d been doing, but we ended up in the middle of the pack. I glanced up at Brad.
“Should we try to run faster?”
“Why?”
“So we’ll win?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I don’t see much chance of that. Besides, we’ve already won. Did you see all those pledge sheets?”
I tried not to let myself get too excited. Some of those sheets would be worth five dollars, a buck per kilometer to join the race. But even if half were that, some of them wouldn’t be. Mine wasn’t, I knew, and Brad’s wasn’t either. None of my neighbors would’ve skimped on their pledging. If the average pledge sheet was worth fifty dollars, we’d clear eight thousand, minus the cost of setup. So, almost six thousand. That would make a dent.
“On your left!” Chester barreled past us. Brad laughed out loud.
“Okay, let’s run faster.”
We put on some speed, but we never caught Chester. The man must’ve had some secret marathon background, because he started out fast, then he kept running fast, and by the three-kilometer mark, we’d lost him completely. And Brad was right: the dark clouds were clearing. We ran out of a gray morning threatening rain and into a gorgeous one, the sun overhead, the sky and the ocean a clear, spotless blue. The last leg of our run took us along the beach path, curving under the bluff where the wishing bell hung, around past the lighthouse, straight to Hidden Beach. I put on a burst of speed at the last second and crossed over the finish line two steps before Brad.
“Sixty-sixth,” shouted Alice. “And sixty-seventh!”
Brad grinned and high-fived me. I laughed aloud. The runners ahead of us were spread out on the beach, some in their swimsuits, some stretched out on towels, some sampling the picnic laid out on long tables. Kids were running all over, splashing in the waves. I spotted Chester and Rex over by the old pier, plotting, no doubt, to come fishing later. Dora was working the busy drinks table, handing out juice and water to thirsty runners.
“I should go help her,” I said.
“Hold on,” said Alice. She took me by the arm and pulled me aside, over to the deserted first-aid station. She had her legal pad with her, and she turned it to show me.
“What am I looking at?”
“I added them up.” She ran her finger down a long line of figures, and as I followed, I felt my eyes go huge. I felt like my insides had gone light as air, like I might float away at the slightest breeze.
“Those aren’t— those can’t be. Are those… the pledge numbers?”
“I added three times, just in case I messed up. But that’s the real number. All our pledge sheets.”
I had to sit down. I flopped into a beach chair. My head was spinning. That number… how?! Our repairs would be covered. Our next book order. We’d be able to replace the inventory we’d lost. It would be like that falling shelf never happened, only it had . All this was true. Not just the bad parts, but Brad. The fun run. The town coming through for me, and even some summer folk, even total strangers . They’d really come through.
“I don’t believe this.”
“Believe it,” crowed Alice. “We can do the café thing you’ve been talking about. Start the book club back up again. Get our sign repainted.”
“Speech,” shouted someone.
I laughed, disbelieving. This had to be some kind of beautiful dream. But Alice was dragging me back to my feet, up to the stone steps that led to the pier. The last of the runners were still trickling in, but a hush had come over the crowd on the beach, everyone suddenly turning to me. I caught Brad’s eye and he started clapping, and a swell of applause nearly swept me away. It went on so long I almost looked behind me, to see if someone more impressive had snuck up from the pier.
“Thank you,” I said, when it died out at last. Somebody whooped, and I found myself smiling. “Honestly, I don’t know how to thank you. With the money we’ve raised today, I can pay my repair crew. I can reopen, so?—”
The roar was deafening this time, so loud I rocked back. All this for me, for my little bookshop?
“When are you opening?” came a shout from the back. It hit me, I hadn’t thought about that. I’d been so sure I’d go under, I had no plan.
Alice nudged me. “Say next week.”
“What?”
“Tell them we’re opening back up next week!”
I swallowed hard. Next week? That was too soon. We’d need time to clean up, to redecorate. To plan our big relaunch, now we could afford it.
“Two weeks,” I said. “The first of next month. I’m bringing back book club, and we’ll have coffee. It’ll be our grand relaunch, and you’re all invited.”
Brad led the cheer this time, and I basked in the glow. He’d won me this second chance, and I wouldn’t blow it. I’d build back Mom’s store better than ever.