Chapter Forty-One
Forty-One
We spend the next day at the store. Miguel orders falafel sandwiches for everyone for lunch, just like he used to.
And Riley sells even more novels than usual while Natalie helps Dane move the table full of books with serious businessmen on the covers to the back of the store to make room for more bare-chested men with lustrous locks.
Meanwhile, Brenna’s been glued to the computer, getting everything set up for the grand reopening.
As for me, I take four naps but still manage to mooch a bellyful of handouts.
It’s almost like old times…except, of course, Amelia’s not here.
“You two good to lock up?” Miguel asks Riley and Dane at the end of the day. They nod. “That’s our cue, dog,” he tells me. “You need to take some meds and get to sleep.”
I sure do. At home, he hovers like the best dog dad he is, and once he’s convinced that he hasn’t made a mistake having me out all day, he tucks me into my bed. I’m about to doze off when I hear him in the kitchen.
“Hi. It’s Miguel. Right, obviously you know that because you have caller ID.
So, you know that I, uh. Well, I tried calling a few times earlier on break, so I guess I’ll leave another voicemail.
Harold, um, he had an accident right before the blackout and it turns out his heart’s failing.
We’re home now. He’s okay, but as you can probably imagine, he’s pretty miserable, and…
I’m just wondering if you might let Amelia Mae come visit him, sometime before fall?
Harold’s especially attached to her, and I thought she might lift his spirits.
The vet said he probably doesn’t have a lot of time left.
No pressure, though. Oh, and again—I really am sorry about how I behaved, Fiona.
You’re right, I have no idea what you went through, and you deserve better.
Also—oops, I guess that means I’ve run out of time.
Okay, bye. I guess you can’t hear that, either.
Oh well. I really care about you, and I’d like us to be together, no matter how complicated that is.
I wish I’d told you that when I had the chance. ”
Well, I’ll be doggone. For my next trick, I am going to talk him into admitting he loves her. Unfortunately, I don’t expect Fiona to let Amelia Mae come back to Michigan; I’m not even sure I would, if I were her. But I would very much like to see her again.
I wonder if she misses me.
I know she does.
But the medicine Miguel put in my food is making me groggy, so I close my eyes and let it take me under.
—
“Harold, can you hear her? Harold, buddy, wake up.”
Huh? Where am I? The bright light streaming through the living room windows means it’s no longer night. But…why is Miguel holding the phone receiver out in front of me?
“Harry? Are you there?” says a voice, and I nearly pee myself in excitement when I realize it’s Amelia Mae.
“He hears you!” Miguel tells her.
“Thank goodness—oh, Harry!” she cries. “You poor thing, how terrible for you! Are you okay? Are you bored out of your gourd?”
I whimper a bit.
“Aww, Har,” she says. “I know, and I love you, too. We’re going to figure something out so we can see each other again.”
“Does your mom know you’re calling?” Miguel asks tentatively.
“Of course she doesn’t!” she scoffs. “I saw your name on her phone and helped myself to her voicemail before she had a chance to delete your messages.”
“She deleted my messages?” says Miguel. “Actually, never mind, that’s not the point. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing that on my own. And yes, she’s being a dunderhead, but I’m on it.”
He frowns. “I’m not sure you should be involved in our, um, affairs.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Miguel. Is Harry still with you?”
“Yes,” he says cautiously.
“Great. Make sure you put the phone near his ear, but not too close.”
He follows her instructions, then says, “All right. He’s listening.”
“Harry, it’s me again. Are you in pain? Do you want me to tell you a story?” she asks, and I cock my head at the phone in anticipation.
“Stupid question,” she says. “So, I’ve got a great one for you today. Let me tell you the tale of two otherwise intelligent adults who were so fearful of letting other people in that an almost-twelve-year-old girl and a—how old are you again?”
“He’s fourteen,” Miguel tells her, shaking his head in amusement.
“Right, a not-young dog and the girl had to intervene so the adults would stop beating around the bush and do what they really wanted to do, which was spend time together. Ahem,” she says loudly, and I smile because she really is something else.
“I’m sure you’re wondering, didn’t all that give the lonely girl a chance to get to know the world’s best dog?
Don’t tell Walter I said that. The answer is, yes, it did, so we can’t totally blame the adults.
But exactly when things were swimming right along for them, they had some sort of conversation in which they both said a bunch of things they probably didn’t mean. ”
“Ahem,” says Miguel.
Amelia Mae ignores him and continues. “To be fair, they’ve both loved and lost before, so of course they’re afraid to let on how much they like each other.
And yes, there’s a lake the size of a small sea between them—but the train ride’s only an hour, and honestly, one of them is the most fretful city mouse in all of Cook County and should move to Michigan like her daughter keeps telling her to.
And I guarantee her new best friend would love a bigger yard now that he’s finally old enough to frolic in the grass. ”
Miguel’s chuckling anxiously.
“Harry,” she says solemnly, “I know this all sounds like a speculative soap opera, but I swear on my grandmother’s knickers it’s a true story. We just need to come up with a better ending.”
“I presume you’re talking about me,” Miguel says.
“Ya think?” she drones. “You messed up.”
“I did,” he agrees. “But I’m going to make it right.”
“Good. How are you going to do that?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it begins with the novels I’ve been reading.”
“And what do those have to do with the price of printing in China?”
He laughs. “Everything. I’m finally reading Amelia’s books. The other Amelia, I mean.”
“Ohhhh. Well, that’s a start. And boy, do you have a type or what? She told me, you know.”
His brows inch closer together. “Who told you what?”
“Sorry—I mean Fiona told me the truth about her books. She and Uncle Jon sat me down the other night when the power was out. We had candles lit, and it was all shadowy and creepy and just perfect for revealing the big twist! Course, I’m pretty sure I knew all along, deep down.
He spent so little time at his computer, and she spent so much on hers, not to mention all that scribbling in her notebooks. Really, it never made sense.”
“Wait—your uncle’s home from Europe?”
“Why? You wanna kidnap him?” she teases, and he snorts.
“Believe me, I do not. But I was thinking I could come to Chicago to see your mom. Except it sounds like the timing isn’t good.”
“Yeah, the rest of this week’s crap. My play got pushed back because of the power thingy and I have rehearsals. But next week’s wide open. I don’t think you should come here, though. Not with Harry being all banged up.”
He glances down at me. “That’s a good point.”
“I’m full of sharp thoughts.”
“Also, we have the reopening,” he says, more to himself than to her. “Though that’s not until Friday.”
“I don’t know what a reopening is, but it sounds like a party.”
“In this case, it means we’re doing the opposite of closing,” he says, smiling to himself.
“The event is for our community—it’s sort of a surprise.
So yes, I guess it’s a party. We’re announcing that the store is going to focus on romance novels.
Don’t worry, we’ll still have Stabby Peeps and the other books.
It’s just that Romance will take up the most space. ”
“Nice. You going to call it ‘Happy Endings’ now?”
He laughs nervously. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”
“Why not? I mean, I get that you adults make all kinds of great things sound naughty when they really aren’t. But happy endings are why people buy books, after all—especially the ones with love in them.”
Miguel is silent.
“So, are we invited?”
“Well, yes, of course. But I don’t think there’s any way to convince your mother to come.”
“You leave that to me, Miguel. She talks a tough game, and she’s all worked up about you, but I’m her only child, and if I really, really, really want to be there,” she says in an exaggerated whine, “then that’s where we’re going to be. Pinky promise.”
“Incredible.”
“I am. What time?”
“Six o’clock, but we’ll be open all day.” He takes a deep breath. “Hey, Amelia Mae? Can I ask you something?”
I startle. This is the first time he’s called her by her full name.
“Course,” she tells him.
“Do you know why you’re named Amelia Mae?”
“Yepperdo. I’m named after my mom’s grandmother, who was the most important person in her life before me.
Even before her and Uncle Jon’s parents died, Grandma Amy—that’s what she called her—was the one who mostly raised them,” she tells him.
“You know Mom was browsing at the library one day and saw a whole table dedicated to your Amelia May. And that’s how she started reading her books, and, well—the rest is herstory. ”
Beside me, Miguel is very still, and I myself am so stunned I can’t even whimper.
Oblivious to this, she keeps talking. “She says the stories are fantastic, but I need to wait until I’m at least fourteen to read them because of the sexy parts.”
Miguel starts laughing, and once he gets going, he can barely stop. “So let me get this straight,” he says when he’s able to speak again. “Stephen King’s okay, but not romance.”
“Not all romance. I’m good with it. Men are disgusting, anyways.”
“Agreed,” he says, still laughing.
“I’ve gotta—actually, I won’t tell you what I’m up to, because that would make you an accomplice. But before I go…”
Miguel looks at the receiver curiously. I do, too.
“No offense, but you really need to figure out how to use technology. Your message kept playing after you thought it stopped recording. I told Mom she’d better listen to it, or I’d cry.” I can practically hear her smiling from Chicago. “You’re welcome.”