Chapter Three
Three
“We’re going to meet JMB, Harold,” Miguel says, opening the car door so I can hop into the back seat. “After all this time! I can hardly believe it.”
Me neither. Miguel’s been a wee bit obsessed with Jonathan ever since he read his first novel, Missing Person.
Oh, how he can go on about that book—how lyrical the prose, how clever the narrator!
But most of all, he loves the story, which is about two siblings who lose their parents and have to make their way in the world by relying on each other.
It’s fiction, but it’s based on Jonathan’s life—and it’s what happened to Miguel and his sister, Miriam, too.
Their dad left them and started another family, and their mom died soon after of a broken heart.
He told Amelia that Missing Person is the only book he’s ever read that made him feel someone understood what that was like for him.
And now he’s finally—finally—going to get a chance to tell JMB that himself.
As he and I make the short drive to the bookstore, I hear a strange yet familiar sound that makes my ears perk up. It’s been so long since I heard it that it takes me a moment to recognize it as something other than an amorous cicada. He’s humming!
Oh, this will be a good night indeed.
There’s a crowd gathering in front of the store, which has closed early for the event, so Miguel and I go through the back entrance.
“Boss,” Riley greets Miguel from the register. “You look sharp.”
“Um, thanks,” he says, glancing down at himself. He finally shaved, and he’s wearing pants and a pair of shoes that cover his toes. “Ready to sell as many books as possible?”
Across the room, the long, rectangular display tables have been moved to make space for rows of folding chairs.
“You know I am. Might be the first and last time we have more than a hundred people in here at once,” says Riley. “Speaking of people, Zara Aboah will be here tonight. She drove in from Detroit to hear JMB, of course, but she’d also like to say hi. Can I grab you for a minute before he speaks?”
“Mmmm,” Miguel says. From another person, this noise might imply a willingness to be persuaded. From him, it means absolutely not.
Riley, dog bless her, won’t be turned away so easily.
“Zara was a friend of Amelia’s. Remember, Amelia helped her find a literary agent? So, she’d like to say hello and talk about maybe doing a launch event for her debut novel here.”
“Maybe some other time—I need to give JMB my full attention. You can introduce her to Brenna.” Brenna does the store’s events and bookkeeping.
“Miguel.” Funny how a name can mean different things depending on how you say it. Right now Riley’s commanding him to listen. “Amelia really liked Zara.”
His face twists up all strange, so I scooch closer to him and lean against his calf. “Sorry, Riley. Maybe next time.”
She eyes him, then sighs quietly. “Not a problem. I’ll take care of it.”
“Sorry,” he says again. “I’m going to test the mic and see if Jonathan’s here yet.”
She looks down at me. “Come on, Harold. Let’s go get a few more of JMB’s books to put out.”
I trot behind her to the stockroom. I peed in here once.
Miguel said I wasn’t going to be allowed in the store anymore.
No one believed him—he loved Amelia too much to deny her anything, even her excitable mutt—but I never did it again.
Amelia used one of those natural cleaners on my mess.
Even all these years later, I still catch the occasional whiff of my youthful indiscretion.
Riley uses a knife to carefully cut the seam of a box of books. “What are we going to do, boy? It’s been well over a year, and he still seems so depressed. I mean, believe me—I get that grief takes time. But I really think he should see a therapist.”
Over a year was a very, very long time ago to me. Though sometimes not. Every now and then, I wake and immediately put my paws on Amelia’s side of the bed—let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!
And then I realize she isn’t there; she never will be again.
That’s when I understand Miguel most of all—why he still reaches for her before his eyes open in the morning, the way his whole body seems to collapse into itself after he calls across the house for her, only for reality to come crashing down on him all over again.
I respond by lying at Riley’s feet. If I’m honest, I have no idea what we’re going to do, since I seem to be unable to find so much as a single person for him to date, let alone share his life with.
I’m counting on JMB to reinvigorate Miguel, or at least remind him that it’s important to connect with people you won’t find on a page.
I’m a first-rate companion if I do say so myself.
But humans need humans; even I know that.
We leave the stockroom to set even more of JMB’s books on the tables in front of the window.
Brenna has placed a big poster with a picture of Jonathan beside the display tables, and another one outside the store.
He’s wearing a jacket and wire-rimmed glasses and seems very serious.
Miguel claims he’s a literary genius, but I’m not so sure about that.
What kind of genius writes stories about people falling out of love instead of into it?
The crowd outside the building is even larger now. Some people are clutching hardcovers under their arms; others are flipping through their copies. A few are peering in the window to see if they can catch a glimpse of the famous JMB.
Dane, who’s come in through the employee entrance, joins us at the front of the store.
His hair’s sticking up even more than usual, and I’m pretty sure he was wearing the same T-shirt and shorts when I last saw him.
He directs a big grin at Riley. He’s as wild about her as I am, except he wants to mate with her.
He gestures toward the street and whistles.
“That’s a mob! We’re going to bring in some serious moola tonight. ”
Riley grins back at him. “From your lips to the cash register’s drawer.” She turns to Miguel. “Should we start letting people in? It’s almost six-thirty, and we want to give them time to get settled.”
“Not yet.” He glances at his watch with a troubled expression. “Jonathan should be here by now.”
Dane shrugs. “Train’s probably delayed. The one from Chicago’s never on time.”
“Maybe, but I told him to take the earlier one just in case.”
“You talked to JMB? Sweet,” says Dane.
“Not technically—I told his assistant that. He’s famously reclusive, which I can understand.”
“Maybe a little too well, huh, chief?”
Miguel arches an eyebrow in warning.
“Eyes on the prize, big guy,” Dane tells him. He looks down at me. “Wanna go find that author, Harold? Don’t worry,” he assures Miguel. “I’ll be careful with him.”
Careful? Pshaw. I’m in fine form tonight, so Dane and I head outside to see if Jonathan’s getting accosted by overzealous fans.
There are a ton of those, but no author.
When we return, Miguel’s squinting at the computer on the counter.
It’s a big box, even deeper than our television, and he keeps leaning toward the screen and then away from it.
He used to use reading glasses, but I haven’t seen him with a pair…
well, come to think of it, since the last time I saw him reading a book, which was around when Amelia first got sick.
He did peek at I, Edward before we drove over, but that doesn’t really count.
Like with Missing Person, he can probably recite half the novel from memory.
“No email from Jonathan. Not from his publicist or agent, either,” he tells Brenna.
“That may be, but the crowd’s getting restless,” she responds. “We should let them get settled.”
“I guess we don’t have a choice,” says Miguel, looking at the doors. “I just hope he gets here soon.”
There’s a buzz in the air as people stream in and take their seats.
I can tell Miguel’s too nervous to attempt to socialize, so I work the room for him, letting customers rub my head and pat my back and tell me what a sweet, well-behaved dog I am.
As I mingle, I try to see if anyone smells like they could use a Puerto Rican pal.
There are lots of nice people, yet no one seems right for Miguel.
The store grows quiet, but JMB still hasn’t appeared.
Finally, Miguel goes up to the podium. A bead of sweat rolls down one side of his face; another immediately appears on the other side.
He doesn’t bother wiping them away. “Thank you all for being here tonight. I apologize that we’re running late, but I’m sure Jonathan will arrive shortly. ”
“I hope so. At fifty bucks a pop, I could’ve gone to see the Rolling Stones,” an older man calls from the back row.
“Um, I assure you that would have cost more—and it definitely wouldn’t have come with a signature from Jonathan Middleton-Biggs,” Miguel tells him.
“Apparently neither does this,” the man volleys back.
Miguel attempts to smile, but it’s no use. “He should be here,” he says, and though he’s not addressing the crowd, the microphone picks it up and sends his voice echoing through the room.
“What happens if he doesn’t show?” asks a teenager with raccoon rings around his eyes.
“I just cannot imagine that happening. Jonathan offered to do this event,” Miguel tells him. “So, he’ll be here. It’s simply a question of when.”
“I have to get home to my sitter soon,” says one woman.
“My shift starts in an hour,” says a man a few seats over from her.
“Everyone, hold tight,” Brenna calls from behind the seating area. “I’ll grab some wine from the back.”
“Is that even legal?” Dane asks Riley in a low voice.
“Private event—as long as she doesn’t serve anyone underage, it’s fine,” she tells him quietly. “Let’s just hope there’s enough for this crowd. Where is JMB, anyway?”
“Please do your best to stay comfortable,” Miguel says into the mic. “We should begin any minute now.”
We do not begin.
Soon the wine’s gone and people get up from their seats to mill around. No one’s buying books, though, or even browsing; they’re just complaining. Some are even speculating that JMB never planned to come to the store in the first place.
Now, of course he did—I heard that conversation myself.
Jonathan’s been super famous ever since some woman named Oprah told everyone to read his second book.
So, it did take his assistant some time to convince Miguel he wasn’t being pranked, that Jonathan really did plan to visit the store and sign every last ticket holder’s novel.
The assistant swore he wanted to help and get readers to buy more books at Lakeside.
Which is even more important to Miguel than getting a chance to shake his favorite author’s hand.
Riley pulls him away from the podium. “Boss, he’s an hour late. Something must have happened,” she whispers.
“?Claro! But I’m not sure what I can do. I can’t refund everyone right here and now,” he whispers back.
Dane’s slunk over to the register where they’re standing. “Dude, don’t refund yet—rain check. Tell them you’ll have a do-over in the very near future, and that you’ll throw in a free book at that event.”
Miguel gives him the same look he gives me when I try to steal food off the counter. “I can’t afford that. I’ll…offer a discount on anything they buy tonight.”
“No one’s buying,” says Riley glumly. “I actually had someone ask for their money back for I, Edward.”
“The next time they come in, then.”
She nods. “Okay.”
But it isn’t okay at all. Miguel’s practically lifeless as he tells them about the discount and vows to be in touch soon with a rain date.
The customers stream out. Then Miguel sends the staff home, even though Riley offers to close up shop for him. Once the store’s empty, Miguel sits beside me on the tile and runs his hand down my back again and again, which means he’s really trying to soothe himself, not me.
“I can’t refund all those tickets—I already spent some of that money on July’s rent, and the rest is earmarked for August payroll,” he tells me.
I’m about to start getting worried about him giving up the hope he’s barely got in the first place when he narrows his eyes. “Looks like we’re going to have to find JMB, Harold. Because the only way he’s not coming into Lakeside and doing this event like he promised is if he’s dead.”