Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
STELLA
Thursday I allow myself to sleep in and skip my run. I’ve worked hard on my bookstore for seven days, and I’ve gotten tons done in such a short time. After weeks of go, go, go, my body deserves a rest.
Especially considering how much help I’ll have today. Mom and Dad are driving up this afternoon to deliver the book carts I ordered online weeks ago, and they plan to work for a few hours. Julia’s coming after school. Drew said he’d try to get here before dinner to help.
Except once I’m back to sleep, my back doorbell rings. And rings again. I pull up the app on my phone to see who it is. Someone I don’t know.
“Hello?” I croak through the speaker.
“Hi! This is Marla. Welcome to Blissful. I brought a breakfast casserole. No sausage, I promise. No one answered my knock at the front.”
Because I’m still in bed.
“I’ll be right down,” I say.
My sore body rebels as I get out of bed and dress. I probably won’t get to sleep in until I meet all four thousand Blissful residents.
Marla doesn’t stay longer than ten minutes.
The time spent with her is worth it because the breakfast casserole is a delicious french toast concoction.
These people should leave recipe cards with their dishes so I can recreate their masterpieces.
I add her name to the growing list of thank you notes I owe and write her name on an inch of tape that I stick to the side of the casserole dish.
Has no one here heard of disposable dishes?
After a last, longing glance at my bed, I head downstairs for another day of sorting books.
We’ve cleaned out the children’s book nook and the left half of the store.
I want to get the area under the book nook and the rest of the store cleaned out by the middle of next week.
I set up the tripod with my phone to film as I sort.
I’ll speed it up and do a voice over to post on social media.
I now leave the bookstore door unlocked as Drew suggested, which means I don’t have to run to the door every time someone knocks. I stay where I am, and they come to me. It lets me continue to work as we talk and doesn’t interrupt my filming.
There are less visits today than previous days, which I appreciate.
After school Julia breezes in with a smile already on her face.
“Good day at school?” I ask.
Her smile deflates. “It was okay.”
The smile must be because she’s here. I look around. Despite the tedious work of sorting, I’m happy to be here too.
I move to the tripod and stop filming. That’s enough for one day.
“Someone brought us cookies.” I point to the desk. “Please stick around for dinner. I have so much food upstairs, I will never be able to eat it all on my own.”
I’ve invited her for dinner every day this week, but she hasn’t yet stayed. Today she gives an indifferent shrug, closer to a yes than any other day, and grabs a handful of cookies before joining me.
I let her choose the music. We have our sorting down to an art and quickly get into our rhythm.
“Stella?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how you're giving away books and doing the pumpkin craft? I could paint a pumpkin patch on butcher paper to put up in the windows so everyone knows.”
She’s deadpan as she speaks, but there is a spark of hope in her eyes. Even if I didn’t love the idea, I’d still say yes.
“That is brilliant! I love it. Can you include the opening date of the store? I have a whole roll of butcher paper and lots of windows.” I snap my fingers. “I don’t have any paint. Is there somewhere to buy some in town?”
“Green’s Grocery has art supplies.”
“If I give you money will you pick some up tomorrow after school?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you. If you have any more ideas, please tell me. I think hiring you is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
She turns away to hide her smile.
A knock sounds at the door before it opens. Lana comes in with another loaf of bread and jar of jam.
“Lana,” I say. “You don’t have to bring us bread every day.”
She’s not looking at me. Her attention is on Julia, and Julia’s eyes are focused on that bread. It’s taken me four days, but I finally clue in that Lana isn’t here for me.
“Hush, Stella. I want to. Earlier this week I gave you strawberry jam. Today it’s boysenberry. Julia, you’ll have to let me know what you like best. Do you still have the platter and knife from yesterday?”
“They’re upstairs,” I say. “I forgot to bring them down. Julia, will you go grab them? They’re on the kitchen island.”
She jogs across the store and disappears into the back.
Lana moves closer. “Stella, what you are doing for that girl is heaven sent. No one has seen her mom for a while, and we’re worried she’s living all alone in that house. Whenever someone goes out to check on her, she gets upset and draws into herself more.”
I glance at the staff door where she disappeared, a new layer of worry to add to the others. “Can you get child protective services involved? She shouldn’t be alone.”
“We want to keep her close. If her mom is gone, they’ll take her to Tucson, and we might never see her again. Besides, she’s almost eighteen. Seems a shame to uproot her life when she won’t be the state’s concern in a few weeks.”
My heart breaks all over for Julia. “I can see that.”
“Thank you for giving her a place to be after school and getting her some money. She needs it. I hope her mom, wherever she is, never finds out or it’ll be gone in a day.”
Julia runs back into the store and hands over the knife and platter.
Lana smiles at her. “Thank you, Julia. You come over anytime for a free donut, you hear?”
“Thanks, Miss Lana.”
We’ve just begun to work again when Mom and Dad come through the backdoor.
“Where are you hiding?” Mom calls out.
“Under the book nook,” I say. I tug on Julia’s sleeve. “Come meet my parents.”
Mom and Dad put up a great deal of fuss at seeing me as if Saturday was last year.
“I saw you a few days ago,” I say. “And we talk on the phone all the time.”
“It feels a lot longer.” Mom catches sight of Julia, hunched over with her hands hidden in the cuff of her long sleeves. “You must be Julia. Stella can’t stop bragging about what a fabulous employee she’s hired.”
“Julia,” I say. “This is my mom and dad, Michelle and Steve.”
She steps forward and, of course, Mom hugs the girl. For a second, I think Julia might push out of the embrace, but she doesn’t. She melts into it for two seconds before stepping back.
Dad shakes her hand which makes her smile shyly at the formality.
“Let’s unpack the back of my truck,” Dad says. “Then put us to work.”
We free my four flat-topped book carts from their boxes. It will be helpful not to have to carry the books everywhere. Now we can wheel them. The three new folding tables we move to the front of the store, ready to put out tomorrow. We’ll fill them with books for Apple Jamboree.
Then it’s back to sorting. It’s a never ending chore.
“Julia,” Mom says. “You’re a senior this year. Any school plans for next fall?”
“No. I want to stay in Blissful.” Julia glances in my direction as if to check for my response to what she says next. “And keep working at the bookstore.”
I nod to let her know that’s okay with me. She answers with a relieved smile that she quickly squashes.
“Are your friends staying in town or leaving for college?” Mom asks.
Julia shrugs. “Some are staying, most are going. Blissful isn’t all that exciting to them. My best friend graduated last year. He’s at Arizona State in Tempe.”
“Is he perhaps more than a friend?” Mom prompts.
“Mom,” I warn, then tell Julia, “Feel free to ignore any prying questions sent your way.”
She shrugs, though her cheeks are pink. “Not anymore.”
A romantic at heart, I resist asking for more details. She’ll talk to me about her friend when she’s ready, but if she’s like me, she won’t disclose personal details to people she barely knows.
But I underestimate my parents. They banter back and forth, and gently tease me about my awkward high school years.
Gradually Julia opens up. She talks about school, books, movies, and music.
About her friend, Anthony, who lived on the land bordering her grandpa’s until he left for college, which is when they broke up.
She laughs at my dad’s dad jokes and even tells one of her own.
By seven, we have the area under the book nook cleaned out of books. The furniture looks lonely next to empty shelves, but it’s only for a short time. Everything needs a good scrub, the walls need paint, and a few sagging shelves need to be replaced, but I’m getting closer.
We’re all hungry, and for the first time this week, Julia stays for dinner.
We head up to my loft. After washing my hands, I pull from the fridge a few options for dinner.
We each grab a plate to fill and then stick it in the microwave one at a time.
The kitchen is narrow and we jostle each other as we move around.
I don’t have stools for the countertop yet, so we eat in the living room.
“You have more bookshelves in here?” Julia asks. “Don’t you have enough downstairs?”
Dad thinks that’s funny.
“You can never have too many bookshelves,” I say.
My phone dings with a text from Drew.
DREW: Running behind. Sorry I couldn’t come and help.
My favorite part of every day has been when Drew comes for dinner and stays a few hours after.
At the beginning of this week, I had plans to continue to sort books every night, but that changed quickly.
If I did, then Drew would join me, and I made a promise not to use him like I did those first few days.
He needs down time, so I’ve worked on projects up here, and he’s joined me while working on his own.
STELLA: You have to eat. Come over whenever you’re done and at least have dinner.
DREW: Okay. Thanks.
By the time Drew arrives, my parents and Julia have left. When he comes inside, he’s carrying his guitar. His hair is wet from his shower, and he smells like Irish Spring soap.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say.
“Starving.”
He places his guitar against the wall and takes the plate I hand to him.
“What’s the guitar for?” I ask.
“Playing is how I unwind at night. If it will bother you while you’re working, I won’t get it out.”
I’m elated. “I would love it if you played.”
Soon we’re sitting on the couch. He eats while I go through the videos he took of me last weekend. I’ve cut them down into shorter videos, but haven’t posted any of them yet. I keep reading articles about how to market on Instagram to put off actually posting anything.
The first video I plan to post is short, less than sixty seconds, and consists of me looking around at the store before Drew asks, “Stella, are you ready?
" I say a few ridiculous sentences, burst out in nervous laughter, and then do the motion across my throat for him to stop recording.
It's funny and real and an authentic beginning to my online presence.
Tomorrow I’ll post it, I promise myself. Time to be just a little bit braver.
I have other videos ready to share too. Lots of before-and-after videos, a few of me cleaning shelves in triple time, and videos of the messy store with a voiceover of me explaining my plans. The content is there, it’s taking the step forward and posting that I have yet to do.
Drew takes his empty plate to the kitchen. When he comes back, he pulls out his guitar. After a quick tune, he strums “Stairway to Heaven.” I hum along, so happy he likes nights in like I do.
“Stella?”
I replay a video, unhappy with the way I’ve spliced two clips together. “Yeah?”
“I get together with friends on Friday nights at Oak Tavern. Will you come with me tomorrow? It’s a great chance to meet people your age in town.”
I look up from my laptop, surprised by the invitation. I like just the two of us, but I know Drew has a life outside of me. I guess I didn’t expect him to invite me into it.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
His fingers don’t slow as he speaks. “You aren’t intruding. You’re meeting the people who live in your new home town. They’ve heard about you, and now they want to meet you.”
I grimace which makes him laugh. I prefer that people not notice me, but I suppose this is what happens when the town is small and I buy a bookstore.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I have so much work to do and only six more weeks to get it all done.”
“It’s only a few hours. I promise to help in the store on Saturday. What other objections have you got?”
He knows me too well.
“I’m not great at meeting new people in social situations,” I admit.
One of my goals was to be social, but a night out at a tavern is a lot to start with.
“Idle chit-chat when someone comes into the store is easy. It’s like talking to patrons at the library.
But a night out is different. My brain empties of all coherent thought, and I either say nothing, or I babble. ”
I don’t mention how Mallory made it easy because she talked and took the pressure and attention off of me. I try not to think about Mallory at all these days. I miss her. In the last two months, she hasn’t reached out to me once.
“I’ll sit next to you the whole time,” Drew says. “If you ever get stuck and don’t know what to say, just tug your ear.”
I laugh. “Tug my ear? That won’t seem odd to anyone?”
“Then touch your nose. Or blink rapidly.”
“Your ideas are getting worse! Fine, I’ll tug my ear.”
He grins. “So you’ll come?”
With Drew, I’d probably go anywhere.
“I’ll come.”
We spend the rest of the night doing our own thing, interspersed with conversation. If every night going forward were like this one, I would live happily.