Chapter 9
Jay and Arne had been busy all afternoon, and Jay was chortling when he stopped by Parker’s Alki Beach condo later that day.
“You are gonna love this,” he said as he settled on Parker’s leather couch with his phone.
Parker handed him a beer. “Okay, enough with the big mystery. What’s up?”
“We made a meme from today’s slaughter. Put it on our socials and people are already all over it,” Jay said, and turned his
phone so Parker could see.
Parker had made his point. He’d figured that was enough. This was just plain mean-spirited. He stared in shock at the image
of Alice Willoughby, with her fingers to her temples, her face screwed up, hovering over a picture of T-Mobile Park, where
the Mariners played. “I can’t think.”
On another post she danced over a picture of Parker and the caption beneath said,
KWOW fans! Parker Black killed it today.
“Take it down,” Parker commanded.
Jay’s brows pulled together. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Are you nuts? Why?”
“ ’Cause it makes me look like a shit.”
“If you’re a shit, you’re a shit. Wear the brown proudly,” Jay cracked.
“Look, we won today. There’s no need to gloat, so pull that down,” Parker ordered him.
Jay shrugged. “I can, but people are already picking it up. The chick’s out there now and you can’t stop it.”
Parker groaned.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” said Jay. “You won the debate. You’re the king of the hill. You’re out there defending
the bros and you’re getting new followers on social and have new subscribers to your YouTube channel. You should be doing
victory laps. Everybody loves you, man.”
Parker looked again at the pained expression on the face of the Alice Willoughby meme. Not everybody.
As Alice approached the bookstore Saturday morning, she saw her mother and Bettina through the window. They were at the register,
huddled together, looking at something. She opened the door and the little bell over it gave a playful jingle. At the sound
both women jumped apart. What on earth was going on?
“What were you two looking at?” asked Alice.
“Nothing,” Bettina said quickly and stuck her phone in her sweater pocket.
What was on Bettina’s phone? They obviously weren’t going to tell her, and that couldn’t be good. And what was her mother
doing there when she should have been home recovering and finishing off the chicken soup Alice had made her?
“I thought you were going to stay in bed another day,” Alice chided.
“My voice is coming back. I feel better,” Nola said.
“I could have driven you in,” Alice pointed out. She lived on the same property. It was silly to take two cars.
“I needed to run an errand on the way in. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“It’s never any bother, Mom,” Alice said. “You still don’t look good,” she added, taking in the dark circles under her mother’s
eyes. Mom had applied concealer, but it was doing a poor job of hiding evidence that she hadn’t slept well.
“How did you sleep?” Alice asked, although she knew she wouldn’t get an honest answer.
“I slept fine.”
Definitely no honest answer. Had her mother been obsessing over how poorly the debate with Parker Black had ended? It wouldn’t
surprise Alice to hear that. She’d had trouble nodding off herself. It was hard not to keep going over everything she’d said
and thinking of everything she should have said.
“Even though I failed you?”
Nola gave her a disapproving frown. “You did not fail me. You were a warrior princess, and I was proud of you.”
“Till I went brain-dead,” Alice muttered.
“That beast trampled you,” said Bettina. “He’s awful. The romance community needs to rise up in arms. Especially after . . .
well, they just need to.”
Why hadn’t Bettina finished her sentence? “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Alice asked.
“Of course not,” Bettina said. “I think it’s time for my coffee break,” she added, and scurried off to the back room.
They hadn’t even opened yet. It was too early for a coffee break. “Something is going on and you’re not telling me,” Alice
accused her mother.
“Yes, and that something is us getting back to business,” Nola said firmly. She unlocked the door and turned the sign to Open.
“Mom, what were you and Bettina looking at?” Alice demanded.
“Nothing,” said Nola. Their first customer entered. She smiled at the woman and said, “Welcome to HEA Books.” And that ended
Alice’s questioning.
The woman smiled back. “Thanks. I heard about your debate. I wanted to come in and support you all.”
“We appreciate that,” Nola told her. “See?” she said to Alice as the woman moved away to browse a selection of book-related
merchandise. “Good things often grow out of bad. And, speaking of good things, have you decided what you’re going to wear
to the gala next week?”
Alice was always nervous before the gala affair. It was a crush of writers and booksellers, important people in the book community.
She felt like an imposter when she attended, but still she wouldn’t miss it for anything. Hollywood had its Academy Awards
ceremony, but it couldn’t compare to the Washington Book Association gala, and Alice was looking forward to seeing some of
the authors she and her mother had interviewed on their podcast.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“I think you need a new dress,” her mother suggested. “Why don’t you leave early, take the business charge card and your sister,
and have some fun.”
“Clothes aren’t a legitimate deduction,” Alice protested.
“Then take my charge card. This is on me,” Nola said.
No matter what Alice bought she never liked what she saw in the mirror. Clothes seemed to wear her instead of the other way
around. But maybe Scarlet could help her pick something fabulous.
It was sweet of her mother, but she certainly wouldn’t leave early if they were busy. “Thanks, Mom. Let’s see how the day goes,” she said.
She ditched her coat and scarf and gloves and stuck her bagged tuna sandwich in the mini fridge, then went back out into the
heart of the store, ready to greet their customers. Yesterday had been a disaster but yesterday was gone. Their supporters
had treated her wounds and now this was a new day, and she was where she was meant to be. She’d spend it with what she loved
most—books and the people who appreciated them.
Books. They marched along the shelves on three walls and cuddled together on all those rolling shelves. Some showed off in
window displays. To the outsider they were just bound pages. To the readers who loved them they were individual treasure chests
filled with adventure, love, hope, romance and witty banter. They were the ticket to exotic locales and ballrooms lit by a
thousand candles, and they beckoned the tired, the sad and the imaginative, eager to build images from words on a page. They
held the perfect fix for every lonely heart and they inspired readers in happy marriages. Books didn’t discriminate. They
welcomed one and all. They entertained the extrovert and understood the introvert. Books had the unique ability to be all
things to all people.
Someone like Parker Black, who probably only read Sports Illustrated—for the pictures—couldn’t possibly understand the importance of what was to be found at HEA Books. He was a Philistine. A
primitive. Debating him had been foolish. It had been throwing pearls before swine. Alice may have lost that debate, but Parker
Black had lost something important, long before they faced off: the ability to care. He was cut from stone and if he wasn’t
so unlikable she’d have felt sorry for him.
Her mother was right. They’d done their part.
Now it was time to move on. The gala would be the perfect way to do that.
It would be packed with local authors, such as Garth Stein and Robert Dugoni, and would host a veritable constellation of favorite romance and women’s fiction writers ranging from Kristin Hannah to Debbie Macomber.
Alice always wound up in fangirl mode, gushing over her favorite authors.
Some often had an advanced reader copy of an upcoming book to share, and Alice collected those like trophies.
She definitely needed to find something fabulous to wear.
Her sister must have sensed them talking about her earlier because after lunch she showed up at the store. She wasn’t there
to talk about shopping though.
“Have you seen this?” she demanded, turning her phone so Alice could see.
Eep! What was this?
“Don’t show her,” cried Bettina.
Too late. Alice had seen. There she was, hovering on some comic’s TikTok post, with a picture of a pile of boxes on
a front porch. The caption read,
My Wife When I Ask What She Spent All That Money On.
Alice, the stand-in for the wife, had her fingers to her temples and looked like she had gas. She was dancing above the boxes,
saying, “I can’t think.”
“Was this what you were showing Mom?” she demanded of Bettina.
Nola chose that moment to come from the back of the store, wearing her red winter coat and hat.
“I’m going home early and see if I can kick the last of this bug,” she said as she pulled on her gloves.
“You girls are in charge.” She looked at the expressions on their faces—Scarlet’s angry, Bettina’s frustrated and Alice’s .
. . She had to look as horrified and sick as she felt.
“Who showed her?” Nola demanded.
“Who do you think?” Bettina replied and scowled at Scarlet.
“You have got to get even with this piece of garbage,” Scarlet said.
“We’re not getting even. We’re moving on,” Nola said firmly. “Close up early,” she said to Bettina. “Scarlet, you’re to help
your sister with shopping. Help her find something gorgeous to wear to the gala. I assume you have the time since you’re obviously
not at work or meeting your husband somewhere to make up,” she added, her frown showing what she thought of that.
“He’s still staying at his mother’s, and he can stay forever for all I care,” Scarlet said, and raised her chin.