Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
We’re back at the bookstore the next morning, but it’s just me and Riley; Miguel drops me off so she can keep me company while he runs an errand—to do what, he doesn’t say.
I’m still feeling blue, but I’d rather be blue here, especially now that I know the store’s future is even more tenuous than it already was.
I follow Riley around as she puts this book back and rearranges that shelf and pulls a well-read copy of a picture book from the children’s section.
Dog-eared, she calls the books that the kids love most, and while that doesn’t make sense to me, I certainly don’t hate the comparison.
It’s an overcast, sleepy sort of day, and the only person who’s stopped in so far is a college-aged student.
She approaches the register with a book, but she looks like she’s about to buy a block of manure.
When Riley asks her what she prefers to the novel she’s purchasing for school, she confesses she’d rather watch TV.
Minutes later, the student’s clutching a second paperback and has promised Riley she’ll report back as soon as she’s finished Circle of Friends.
Miguel’s walking in as the student walks out. Riley spots him and waves from the register. “I want to hear about your trip to Chicago! How was it?”
He takes a sip of the coffee he must’ve picked up while he was running errands, then says, “You first. How did closing go yesterday?”
“Kind of you to ask, but it was business as usual. So? Chicago?”
He glances down. “I’m surprised Dane didn’t already tell you—it was a total bust.”
It was not. How can he say that?
But he’s not looking at Riley anymore. Instead, his eyes are roaming the room, and they just landed on the Romance section. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I do not like the way he’s regarding those shelves.
“What happened?” asks Riley. “Dane said you met JMB’s sister and the two of you really got along. She should be able to talk him into coming in, right?”
“I thought so, too, but that’s not happening.” He shakes his head. “JMB’s in Copenhagen and is done doing events.”
“Copenhagen.” Riley practically spits the word out. “Like in his novel?”
“I thought it was an odd coincidence, too, but maybe he’s trying to relive his past. Whatever he’s up to, it sounds like he’s done being an author. Which means we’re in serious trouble.”
“Crap. Well, maybe we can get someone to take his place? I’ve been looking into possible replacements.”
“Thank you,” he says with surprise. “I appreciate that.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Amis charges for events,” she says, rubbing her finger and thumb together. “So, he’s out. Coetzee’s and Lethem’s teams didn’t call back, and Atwood said she can’t commit to anything right now.”
“Probably for the best—people would fuss about it not being Jonathan, so I’m going to end up refunding the tickets one way or another. Which, as we all know, we can’t afford.”
Riley squares her shoulders. “I was actually hoping to talk to you about that.”
He sets his cardboard coffee cup on the counter. “I’m listening.”
“So…we’re struggling.”
“We have been for a while, and I know that’s my fault.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t run this place on your own. It’s on all of us. Dane said Brenna’s trying to reduce our returns, and I’m helping Natalie get better at hand-selling—but respectfully, those moves are only going to get us so far.”
“Por favor, not e-books again,” Miguel says, wincing. “I can practically see Walt Whitman rolling over in his grave.”
“Miguel, if Whitman were alive, he would have been at the forefront of Project Gutenberg and figuring out how to get his books on your phone. Well, not your phone—that thing’s a brick with buttons,” she says, and he pretends to be offended.
“But yeah, I think we should have a real conversation about e-books. They’re gold, and we don’t have to miss the rush.
” She holds up a hand before Miguel can protest. “I am well aware of your feelings on the matter, so that’s not the main thing I’m proposing.
Instead of leaning so heavily on literary fiction, we could get more romance readers into Lakeside.
Romance authors, too. After all, we know so many of them—and didn’t Amelia always say that romance readers were the most voracious?
Nearly every bookstore from here to Timbuktu sticks romance in the back or in some far corner like it’s shameful.
We don’t have to do that. We shouldn’t do that.
We have an opportunity to serve those readers. And yes—make money doing it.”
The lines between Miguel’s brows deepen. “Amelia and I were always clear that this is a store for all readers. Not just one type.”
“It still will be, but romance could be our differentiator. Like Brenna said in our last meeting, our romance sales are slipping right now, which doesn’t reflect industry trends.
Even if that weren’t the case, they could easily be twice what they are now.
We could do a big romance event here. An entire conference, even, where we have authors come and sign books and do readings and—I don’t know, there are probably a bunch of things I’m not even thinking of.
We have the space,” she says, gesturing to the center of the store.
I can see what she’s saying. Most of the tables could be moved so that readers could mingle.
Riley continues. “The romance book club that meets here every month said they’d be all over it, and said they’d tell other readers who aren’t in the immediate area. They’d help publicize it for us.”
“You already asked them?”
“Hypothetically, and strictly for research purposes,” she says breezily.
“We could capitalize on the fact that we’re in the Midwest instead of on the East or West Coasts—not everyone wants to fly to New York or LA to see their favorite novelist, and most of the big-name writers don’t even live there.
Off the top of my head, there are a bunch of local authors who might be willing to come.
We could ask Amelia’s network for help—I’m sure they’d be willing to show up. This could really put us on the map.”
“That’s what JMB’s event was supposed to do. And frankly, I don’t want to do a romance conference or festival or whatever.” He reaches over the counter, grabs a pile of unread mail from a shelf, and begins rifling through the envelopes, ignoring Riley’s incredulous stare.
“Why?” she demands. “It’s a good idea. A great one. Brenna thinks so, too.”
“So you two are back on speaking terms?”
Riley sighs deeply. “Not exactly, but I’m making an effort because I know it’s awkward.
” Miguel keeps looking at her, so she adds, “And yeah, because I do feel bad and my first apology didn’t really seem to do the trick.
Point is, given that she used to do the accounts at Borders, Brenna of all people understands what works and what doesn’t.
You think the JMB reading was supposed to be big?
Well, this would blow it out of the water.
We need to think bigger if we’re going to survive.
With a little testing, who knows—maybe we could stop worrying about rent and buy the building. ”
“That’s not going to work,” he says simply.
What’s wrong with him? Romance’s the antidote to the dumpster fire that is the world: That’s what Amelia liked to say when someone asked her why she didn’t write something “serious.” She was joking…but also, she meant it. And Miguel’s being ridiculous and irrational.
“At least let me move the Romance section to the front of the store so everyone sees it when they walk in,” says Riley.
He shakes his head. “Not now. We’re teetering on the edge of closing. This isn’t the time for experiments.”
“This is the exact time for an experiment.” She tosses her braids over one shoulder and crosses her arms. “Miguel, I know you don’t have the money to pay me like a manager, but I’m already functioning as ours. I have been since Amelia got sick and you couldn’t come in as much.”
“Riley,” he begins, but she doesn’t give him a chance to continue.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’ve loved doing that work, which hopefully I’ve made clear.
But you and I both know I deserve a spot at the table when it comes to decisions, and I’m asking you to let me make one of those decisions while there’s still a chance.
More important, I might be the only person around here who knows what you’re going through.
I’ll never get over losing Jamal in the terrorist attacks.
When I close my eyes at night, I still think about how I couldn’t call him and I couldn’t get downtown, and how I felt like my whole life had ended as I watched the smoke from the towers from our apartment on the other side of the river.
Then came weeks of waiting—even though I knew, I knew, he was gone.
I miss him every single second I’m conscious, Miguel, and most of the ones when I’m not.
I’m not sure that I’ll ever recover, which is probably why Brenna and I never stood a chance,” she says, her eyes glistening with tears.
“So, I’m not going to be the one to tell you to get over it; you probably won’t.
But also, I’m not going to pretend like you’re okay anymore.
I’ve known for a while that you’re not, and I’m sorry that I didn’t bring it up sooner.
I didn’t want to offend you or make it worse.
I should have known that that was a mistake. ”
Now he gives her his full attention. “I’m not offended by you taking credit for what you do. You’re a great employee, Riley, and I am a hundred percent aware that the store couldn’t have survived this long without you. If I haven’t said that before, I’m truly sorry.”
“Thank you, but that’s not what I mean. Can you watch the register for a second?” She jogs back to the break room without waiting for him to respond. A minute later, she returns with a piece of paper, which she presses into his hand. “Here.”
“What’s this?” asks Miguel, glancing down at it.
“The name of my therapist,” Riley tells him. “She’s phenomenal, and she specializes in grief. Call her.”
He’s holding the paper like it’s coated in bird droppings. “My sister already tried this. I don’t need a therapist.”
She gives him a knowing look. “That’s what I said.
Now I wish I’d gone sooner. You know I was still hardly functioning when I showed up here.
I don’t blame myself, but I realize now that I needed someone else to nudge me.
Did you know Amelia was the one to encourage me to go get help?
I’m not sure if she ever told you that. She was already starting to feel unwell, yet she was worried about me.
” Riley’s getting choked up. “And she would have wanted you to get help, too, Miguel.”
“I appreciate your concern.” Except now he doesn’t sound appreciative at all. “But therapy isn’t going to fix my grief.”
“There’s no fix—well, aside from time and being around people you love. But it would help you deal with the pain. And maybe you could talk to the therapist about whether your aversion to romance is because it reminds you of Amelia.”
He rubs his forehead, and I can tell that his measured breathing is deliberate.
“Even if it does, Riley—and maybe you’re not wrong about that—it’s a moot point.
You should be the first to know that it’s extremely likely we’ll have to close at the end of August. If you started looking for a new position, I wouldn’t blame you.
In the meantime, you’re right: You should be allowed to make big decisions.
Rearrange the store however you want. You can even move the Romance section to the front if that’s what you’d like to do. ”
Instead of responding, Riley looks around Lakeside. Almost like she’s attempting to imagine what the space would be if it weren’t a bookstore.
Or maybe that’s just me. And try as I might, I can’t picture anything between these four walls besides books and the people who love them.
But what if this isn’t the place where Miguel can heal? Just like Riley needed to leave New York to get better, what if he needs to leave Lakeside and West Haven to find love?
I close my eyes, rest my head between my paws on the tile, and make a wish…
That moving on doesn’t have to mean letting go.