Chapter 2 Friendly
T he week progressed as I stilled my mind from the thoughts of Lauren. This came easier than expected, mainly as a result of the house calls I was making to Ms. Debbie. She was hopeful that she would return to work soon. However, trying to see past my own thoughts, I worried about the swing in her health. To be fair, I wanted to pay off my portion of the store so that Ms. Debbie could enjoy retirement and have the means to do so. And despite my claim that I did not have the money on hand to buy out her share and had been denied a loan, she insisted that I simply make the payments in whatever increments I could afford.
Although she knew my word was as good as gold, I felt like I needed to at least give her some equity to help with what I could only assume was becoming a stack of medical bills. After evaluating my savings, I made a rather rash decision to drive to a nearby used car lot and get what money I could for my car. At first, it seemed a little reckless to forgo a car for the store, but I had pondered the idea before. I lived about a mile from the bookstore, and everything I needed was within walking distance. With the extra money saved on gas and insurance alone, I could rationalize the heavy investment. Yes, it all sounded logical in my head. However, the thought that Ms. Debbie had no living relatives never occurred to me, at least not until the following Wednesday.
Whenever I opened the shop each morning, certain customers would arrive at seven, enjoy their coffees, and peruse the aisles before heading to work, daycare, or wherever their day called for them to be. Other than the morning, lunch time, and five o’clock rushes, the store faced lulls. For me, I always filled this time with stocking and arranging books, cleaning the store, or as of lately, calling Ms. Debbie and checking in. Typically, she always answered on the third ring as the phone sat next to her bed, and every morning around nine, she knew I would call. The only difference today, however, was she did not answer on the third ring, nor on the fourth or fifth. Instead, the phone continued ringing, as if confirming something was wrong.
My initial thoughts trailed back to the conversation we had the night before. Ms. Debbie had said she felt much better and wanted to come in. However, I could not help but imagine that her well-being was only her body’s way of getting well enough to die.
It was then I considered closing the store and driving over to check on her, but one issue impeded my plan. My car was gone, and Ms. Debbie lived five miles away. On second thought, I dialed the sheriff’s office, informing them of the situation. Hearing my concern, they agreed to send over an officer and a paramedic to do a wellness check.
Thirty minutes later, I received the call back, confirming what I had feared. Ms. Debbie had passed away only a few hours before, alone. I sank back into the chair behind the counter. I had always told her she could count on me, and it seemed, at the end, I had failed to be by her side. Frustrated, I raked my hands through my hair, unsure of what to do. The coroner would be in charge of transitioning her to the morgue, where, I assumed, they would make arrangements, seeing she had no family.
Admittedly, it had crossed my mind to ask her if she wanted me listed as an emergency contact or possibly even serving as her power of attorney, but I never felt comfortable articulating those thoughts, as bleak as they sounded. Instead, I leaned on the thought that, if she needed me for those, she would ask. Or perhaps, she dreaded that conversation as much as I did.
The remainder of the day became a blur as many questions floated through my head. The regular customers came and went, and with each interaction, I felt obligated to tell the news of Ms. Debbie’s passing. However, the effort of explaining the situation every time the door opened was overwhelming, so I decided to close early.
Going home felt wrong, while eating lunch or doing my regular routine was of no interest, but out of habit, I went outside to check the mail. While I was still processing the shocking news, a sense of surprise stroked my mind as I reached inside the mailbox and my fingers fell upon a rather thick envelope. Pulling out the letter, I saw the printing across the top that suggested it was an official document, marked time-sensitive. At first, I hesitated, as neither my nor the store’s name was denoted in the window of the envelope. However, the sickening feeling that I alone was in charge now led me to tear open the crease and scan the first few lines. As I glanced over the parchment, each word brought about confusion and concern for the workings of an official audit. I had been privy to all the store’s dealings, but this particular notice was addressed directly to Ms. Debbie.
Perhaps a blessing and a curse, the summons filled my mind with concern instead of condolence, as I dreaded the extent of extra bookwork that had just fallen in my lap, which amplified my own agitation. Placing the letter on my desk, I found myself alone in the backroom when I finally came to my senses. This was the only logical place for me to go for multiple reasons. I knew Ms. Debbie had kept records for the store in boxes and could not help but think she might also have something that denoted her last wishes. Actually, I highly doubted the presence of a will or list of wishes of any sort, but the hope calmed my mind and gave me something to focus on besides the loss of who I had come to realize had been my only true friend.
Flipping on the lights, I scanned the room, recalling how many times I had asked Ms. Debbie if she needed help moving or sorting through the boxes. Each time, I received the same answer, “No, dear. I’ll get to them one day.” Well, that one day had never arrived, or perhaps that was her intent. Sitting down beside one of the boxes, I opened the flaps and pulled out a few pieces of paper from the top. Box one held what appeared to be a collection of old tax documents, receipts, and bank statements she had collected.
Scanning the fading letters and numbers, I finally landed on a year: 1971. Digging a little further, I examined the next few documents, assuming they would vary by year, possibly falling older the further down I went, but that was not the case. In fact, the entire box seemed to be from ’71, yet when I tilted the cardboard on its edge to examine the outside, there were no marks to indicate as such.
Having known Ms. Debbie for years, there was one thing I knew for certain. When it came to business and books, she was one of the most organized people I ever knew. In fact, I had to promise to adopt her methods of bookkeeping when I took over the store.
With a long draw of air, I filled my lungs with the possibility of weeks of work dedicated to going through Ms. Debbie’s papers unless... I could just throw them out. No doubt, the Internal Revenue Service would not come after her now, and 1971 was well out of the scope of their seven-year audit.
I began to close the box to set it aside for trash, but I knew better than to be so reckless. So, to the overwhelming thought of work, I let out a sigh and focused my mind away from any emotions while tuning my brain to its rational setting.
Standing, I looked around the room. I knew I had previously noticed the vast number of boxes that had been collecting dust over the years, but considering all I would need to sort through now, the number seemed to triple.
Reaching for another box, I settled back into a chair and leaned over to examine the contents. Again, this was another year of tax records, this time from 1979. However, at this point, something caught my eye. I had never asked my friend why she went by Ms. Debbie, and to that extent, I never knew her full name. But as I looked over the paper I held in my hand, the name Lois Debra Collins stared back at me. It was not the realization that she had a full name, which she never cared to share, that tripped me up. No, it was something more intriguing. Having been more focused on finding the year, and wondering why she had kept records for so long, I had previously missed seeing her name.
Returning to the prior box, I pulled out the top stack of papers. Where her name was written resided a smudged attempt to remove it. But as my eyes focused, I quickly saw the reason why. In very faint lettering, read the name, Lois Debra Mason.
I fell back into my chair, examining the two papers side by side with a million questions, but at that point, I heard a knock at the front door. Agitated from wanting to be left alone and by the thought that someone could not be bothered to acknowledge the “Closed” sign, I wheeled around in my chair. Standing to my feet, I headed into the main lobby of the store. In passing, I dropped the two sheets on the desk. Despite my attempt at fixing my face, I failed to enlist a welcoming smile as I opened the door.
As I pulled back the handle, I offered a snappy, “Sorry, we’re closed,” before realizing who I was addressing.
“I know, but I saw the lights on, and—”
I shook my head, cutting her short from finishing her explanation, as I silently questioned what day it was. Taking a moment to consider her presence, I offered a more pleasant face this time. “Lauren, was it?”
“Yes, and I apologize—”
I held up my hand. A storm had rolled into the city, and she had clearly run through the rain to make it to the stoop, only to still be soaked. “Come in,” I said, standing aside.
A slight glow replaced her concerned face, melting away the gloomy outcast of the skies behind her. Stepping through the door, she gathered her hair to one side as the water began to drip to the floor.
“One second,” I said, leaving her alone as I headed to the breakroom. Stacked in a cubby lay a few towels for what Ms. Debbie always referred to as oopsie occasions. With one in hand, I returned to Lauren, who seemed unaware of the extent of her condition. “Here. You’re soaked.”
Acknowledging the drenched shirt suctioned to her chest, Lauren combed her fingers through her hair, blushed, then accepted the towel. Padding her head to soak up what rainwater she could, she then draped the towel across her shoulders. I began to step away, seeing that I might have made her uncomfortable. However, without hesitation, she began to follow me.
“Feel free to peruse the store,” I offered in hopes of easing her mind.
“Thanks,” she said before hesitantly choosing her next words. “Why the early closing today?”
By this point, we were standing alongside my desk, where I had left the papers from Ms. Debbie’s boxes. I turned and straightened my stature. To both of our surprise, we nearly bumped into each other upon my change in direction. As she stood mere inches away from me, I adjusted my appearance to be as professional as I could. Giving women any form of news that might arouse emotions was not my forte and was something else worth avoiding. But, as I had reckoned earlier, the customers had a right to know. I just was not ready to process the story repeatedly.
There was an unexpected catch in my voice at first, almost a pulling back of my words. “She’s dead,” I muttered, without offering any pretense. The confusion on Lauren’s face was immediate, offering me a chance to elaborate the best I could while downplaying my own emotions. “Ms. Debbie... she was found in her bed this morning,” I concluded, shaking my head.
“I’m so sorry. You two were . . .”
“Very close,” I finished, unwilling to divulge the now evident codependence we had developed in our strange world of books that lacked outside friendships and families.
Seeing she may have struck a nerve, Lauren closed the small gap between us and laid her head along my chest, resulting in a partial hug due to her hands still clasping the corners of the towel.
“I’m sorry, Joshua,” she whispered.
Hearing the tenderness with which she spoke my name brought warmth to the dreariness that had consumed the day. I placed my arms around her and pulled her in tighter, resting my chin against the crown of her head. The dampness from her clothes that now soaked through my shirt went unnoticed, but the mere familiarity of being near someone again did not.
“Thank you,” I finally managed.
To this end, we began to pull away from the embrace as I searched for a reason to clear the air. Returning to the purpose of the store’s early close, I picked up the papers from the desk and handed them to Lauren.
“Why do you think Ms. Debbie would have kept boxes of records from the past five decades?”
A perplexed look formed across her face as she looked over the papers. “Was she the type to never throw anything away?”
“Not exactly. Actually, she was well organized. It’s just... weird. I had offered to help her go through them, but she always said she would get around to it. See, look,” I motioned as I walked toward the backroom. Considering how none of this was really her business, I assumed showing Lauren what I had to sort through would steer her toward the bookstore instead.
Lauren’s eyes lifted to the vastness with a sense of being overwhelmed. However, seeing her countenance of shock transition to curiosity, I realized that my thought to drive her away was a waste. So, instead, I opted for any insight she might have. Walking back to the doorway and lifting the papers from her hands, I continued.
“What’s also interesting is that, between these years, Ms. Debbie changed her last name.”
A confused look overcame Lauren’s face. “Wouldn’t that be when she got married?” she questioned, unsure of the issue.
“Yeah, I guess, but she never mentioned being married, widowed, or having any family for that matter.” Lauren merely shook her head, giving no further insight into her thoughts. “I guess her name doesn’t make a difference, but I can’t throw them all away without going through them first. Somewhere in those boxes are all the recent tax years’ data and who knows what else.”
“How long do you think that will take?”
“Weeks, maybe...” I said exhaustedly. “With Ms. Debbie gone, I’ll have to go through the boxes as I can. I mean, there’s still a store to run, and that takes time.”
“Time”—the word seemed to trigger Lauren, causing her to check her watch. Disrobing from the towel, she placed it along my chair. “I’m sorry, but I really must get going.”
“Wait,” I said, stern enough to cause her to flinch but with enough plea to entice her to listen. “I mean, can you not stay a little longer? You have the whole bookstore to yourself, or you can stay here and talk with me,” I added, unsure of what or why I was asking.
The daydream of losing oneself in a closed bookstore drifted through her thoughts as she smiled at the opportunity that may never present itself again. “I would love to, but honestly, I have to go.”
I asked her for a further explanation through the curious stare in which I gazed, but she was reluctant. “I suppose it’s best you get out of those wet clothes,” I offered, relieving her of any obligation for an explanation.
“Yes. Well, thanks for letting me in from the rain.”
“Anytime.”
As Lauren turned to walk away, I couldn’t help but eye her from behind. Good looks and curious minds had ruined many a man, and I still had the edgy feeling that I should keep our encounters more professional, yet at the same time, I could not help myself.
“Say, Lauren?”
“Yes,” she said, turning with a gleam.
“I’ll see you next week?” I questioned.
“Of course,” she replied, leaving only her smile to be etched in my mind for the next seven days.