Chapter 22
After the Faire
And then it was done. All those weeks of wearing the same corset, hauling bins of books across the faire grounds, the fried food, the “huzzahs,” the friends. It was all over in an instant.
Back to reality.
Working in the bookstore usually put her in good spirits, but stepping in now brought on a fresh wave of grief and loneliness that knocked the air out of her every time.
So. Much. Work.
She’d put in so much work. And it was all wasted.
Her dad had come by with two bags of Burger King in hand. It was the first time he’d seen the changes to the shop, and though he would have said the words no matter what, there was a look of true awe on his face. “This place looks as good as new.”
Beatrice smiled at her husband. “Isn’t it great? Lilian did an amazing job.”
Lilian looked back at the shop. Most of the shelves were organized; a few of the bookcases were cleared entirely.
The piles of old magazines and newspapers were gone, along with the smell of perpetual dust. It was clean, but not so much that it lost that air of comfort that came from old books and aged wood.
It’s not enough.
“Thanks.” She sighed. Was she spiraling downward into depression? Probably. But hey, she deserved some time to wallow in her feelings.
She’d been crunching the numbers after the faire. Without Hawk. It took a lot of time, and she was probably missing some important numbers. But she knew enough to realize… it wasn’t good.
Hawk’s reluctance to talk about the numbers made so much sense now. He knew. And he hadn’t told her.
The realization hurt.
It was more salt on the festering wound that was her anger. But even worse was the realization that he was also right. The shop wasn’t the problem. Tenison was.
Their small little shop was so secluded. It didn’t matter how many times their neighbors and friends came by; no matter how many books they bought, it wasn’t enough. It was only a matter of time before their spending practices caught up to them.
She had been hiding her concern well enough at home, but now her father sniffed it out like a blood hound. “What’s wrong?”
“This place,” she whispered at the computer screen. “No matter what we do, it won’t make money.”
Her parents looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. The meaning was easy to decipher. Her mother’s wide eyes and gentle tilt of her head indicated it was Garrett’s turn to speak.
He cleared his throat. “But I thought things were getting better. You changed the prices, the new iPad. Everyone who comes by the shop says the place looks great.”
Lilian looked at her father. The man who had always made her feel like she could do anything. Always the optimist in the hardest days. But this wasn’t something optimism could fix.
“It’s not enough, Dad. The faire barely broke even, and we put a lot of extra money into setting everything up.”
“Maybe. But it's not always about making money.” Her mother offered a tired smile that quickly fell away when Lilian couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. “Oh, Lilian.”
“I didn’t expect this place to be a booming success,” she admitted. “But I wanted it to stand on its own. To help you guys.”
“You are helping me.”
“No.” Lilian shook her head, sniffling hard. “I did all this work. And it isn’t enough. We’re still in the red. And I don’t know what to do. I thought I was doing everything right.”
There. She’d said it. For the first time since she’d taken on the task of helping to run the bookshop, she’d finally hit a wall. One that couldn’t be fixed with a fresh idea and new paint.
“You are,” her father said. His face was ashen and solemn. “I’m the one who has been letting you down. Both of you.”
Lilian’s heart sank. The last time she’d seen that look was when her parents sat her down and said the one word that changed their lives. Cancer.
She couldn’t handle any more bad news. She looked at her mother, who seemed just as surprised and worried about whatever was coming.
“Your friend Hawk talked to me about the numbers not adding up in our accounting. He asked me if I knew anything about it, but he already knew.”
Hawk? The mention of his name caught Lilian off guard.
Her mind reeled as her mother pressed, “Knew? What did he know?”
“The shop hasn’t been making money for years. I’ve been using my profits from the repair shop to pay the bills.”
“What?” The words punched the air out of her lungs. Did he say years?
“I’ve always had the money to spare. And well, no one was really asking questions or keeping track of the books. It didn’t seem like any harm. But, Bea, when you needed treatment…”
“The money went to my treatment?” Her mother breathed, quickly putting the pieces together.
Her father nodded, shame creasing his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t want it to be one more thing to worry about.”
Lilian couldn’t believe what he was saying.
She’d pored over those accounting books.
She knew things didn’t add up. But she’d attributed it to her lack of accounting knowledge.
Now so many things made sense. There were significant profit drops after her mother had been diagnosed.
Now she knew it hadn’t been a decrease in profits. It had been her father.
A part of her was relieved at the newfound realization. Then just as quickly, she was angry. “Are we in trouble?” she demanded to know.
Garrett shook his head. “No. We’re fine. But we do need to think about the future of this bookshop.”
The future of the bookshop. Meaning sell it. She was going to be sick. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? I wouldn’t have done all this if I’d known it was pointless.”
Beatrice’s face hardened. “It’s not pointless.”
She whirled on her mother. “He and Hawk let me believe I was making something out of this place. That I was turning it into a successful business.”
The outburst caught everyone off guard, even her. Then anger came, hard and fast. At her father. At Hawk.
He knew.
He knew and he hadn’t told her. He kept encouraging her. Even said he believed in her. All the while knowing it was a problem that couldn’t be solved.
The shelves and books that had once brought her so much comfort, so much joy… All that felt tainted now.
“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” she muttered, grabbing for her purse. It was time to leave. Go home, crawl into bed, and give into the bone-deep need to fall apart.
Her parents exchanged a look.
“Maybe your father is right. Maybe we do need to sell this place,” her mother finally said. The words came slowly. Carefully. Like they’d been spoken before in whispers, but never out loud.
Lilian stopped short. “Mom?”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother, who loved this bookshop more than anything, was thinking about selling it. Lilian didn’t think her heart could break any more, but the last fragile pieces crumbled anyway.
This was really happening.
This was the end.
Her mother reached for a drawer on the desk.
It was one she usually kept locked. Lilian had assumed they’d lost the key years ago, but to her amazement, her mother pulled out an antique key from her pocket like it had always been there.
She opened the creaky drawer and pulled out a bottle of champagne and three red Solo cups.
None of the items appeared aged.
“I don’t know if your father deserves this after what he did. But I understand his reasons, so here.” She handed him the champagne bottle. “Open this, won’t you, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t be drinking.” And especially not celebrating losing the bookstore.
“I’ve suffered enough this year, don’t you think?
Let me indulge. Oh, by the way, this was in the drawer as well.
” Her mother held up a sheet of paper. One Lilian couldn't fully make out until she was right next to her mother.
And then she blinked at the small legal text, trying to comprehend what she was reading.
“What is it?”
“This is a little paper that says I, Beatrice Teresa Brody, am giving my business to my daughter, Lilian Joy Brody.”
“What?” Lilian stared at the paper in her mother’s hand. It was a wall of text, but slowly, words started to jump out at her. Bill of Sale. Beatrice Brody. Ten Cents Books, and finally her name with a blank signature line under it.
“If you want it, that is…” her mother said.
A loud pop echoed in the small space. Her brain short-circuiting, Lilian thought before realizing her father had opened the champagne bottle.
Words failed her. Her vision was going blurry. Maybe her brain had stopped working. She’d thought she’d cried all the tears in her body before today, but apparently not. Her voice wavered as she asked, “You're giving me the shop?”
“When you sign the form.”
“You're giving me the shop?”
“You've more than earned it. This whole thing has taught me that I enjoy sitting back and reading in this space more than running it. But you… you love it.”
Her mother's small, skinny arms wrapped around her. And Lilian couldn’t keep it together anymore. She broke down, sobs shaking her body as she buried her face in her mother’s sleeve.
“You don't want the shop?”
She shook her head viciously. “No! No, it's not that. I… wasn't expecting this.”
“You weren't?” A peal of disbelieving giggles escaped Beatrice. “Then why did you do all this? You must have known I couldn't manage the shop anymore.”
“I-I—” Lilian stammered, but no reply would come out. Had she known? Deep in her heart, had she suspected her mother wouldn't be able to return to the shop?
Maybe.
A part of her knew that was a risk. And still, she'd done all that work, all that care. “Is this because you’re dying?”