Chapter 13
Lucy
Seagulls cried overhead as Lucy sat on her back porch and wrote in her gratitude journal, the sun crawling up into the sky from where it had emerged over the horizon a half hour earlier. It was high tide and the waves crashed so heavily against the shore that it sounded like they’d lap up onto her porch at any moment. Closing her eyes, she focused on nature’s soundtrack as she whispered her daily affirmations.
I create room every day for growth and learning.
I only invest my energy in worthy endeavors.
I have faith that I have all the answers I need inside myself.
Each day, I take one step closer to knowing and accepting myself.
My presence shapes moments and touches lives.
Annie had given her a book on affirmations for her fifteenth birthday. Dozens of statements filled the book, and Annie had helped her pick out the ones she’d felt comfortable saying. Ever since, she’d made time each morning to focus on positive affirmations. Those she used now felt like the right ones for her; however, it had taken years before she could say the final one she repeated each day: My presence shapes moments and touches lives.
Saying it and believing it were two different things, but Annie had assured her that the more she said it, the more she would start living it. So she dutifully repeated the words each day and focused on believing them.
She’d stayed up late the night before reading the book Gatsby’s Ghost had left her. After flipping through the pages in her journal, she found the affirmation she’d copied from that book, the one he’d drawn the arrow by: “Yes, you can move mountains. Whatever is happening right now, this is it. This is your life. And it’s not going to begin again. You can’t change the past, but in five seconds you can change your future.”
She looked out to the ocean and said out loud, “You can move mountains.” The downtown business owners had entrusted her as their leader, and she wouldn’t fail them.
Maybe it was time to add some new affirmations to her daily routine.
Lucy channeled what she’d read in the self-help book as she thumbed through the well-worn volume Annie had given her, its spine broken in numerous places and an edge of the paper cover torn in the bottom right corner. She flipped to a random page, closed her eyes, and ran a finger down the page. Opening her eyes, she frowned at her choice: I grant forgiveness to those who have caused me harm in my past while honoring my boundaries for the future.
That sounded like something her therapist would have told her when she was in her twenties, when she’d been trying to make sense of her mother leaving when she was only five. She and Taylor had been drinking cosmos one night while watching Sex and the City reruns in their college apartment, when Taylor had the idea to look up Lucy’s mom on the internet. Lucy’s dad never spoke about his wife after she left, and Lucy knew it was too painful for him to discuss. Her mother had made no attempt to contact them, and her mother’s parents had only ever known she was alive and living in California trying to make it as an actress.
In the early years, Lucy had been angry at her mother for leaving. Then somewhere in her late teens or early twenties she’d grown worried. Was her mother okay? Was she healthy? Happy?
Fueled by courage from a good cosmo, she and Taylor grabbed one of their computers and searched for her. If what Taylor found was accurate, the only thing Lucy’s mother was acting in was community theater. That was what she’d broken up their family for—community theater in Riverside.
It had taken Lucy another ten years of therapy to get to where she was now, which was indeed detached. She no longer cared where her mother was or what she was doing. Missing all those years with Lucy were her mother’s loss. Annie had been twice the mother Lucy’s own flesh and blood could have ever been. It was a cruel twist of fate that Annie never married or had children while Lucy’s mother had a child she clearly never wanted.
Lucy was in her late twenties before she allowed herself to understand that her mother’s problems had nothing to do with her and certainly hadn’t been caused by her mere existence. Maybe adding this new affirmation would remind her just how resilient she already was. She wrote it on the inside cover of her gratitude journal before trying it out loud.
“I grant forgiveness to those who have caused me harm in my past while honoring my boundaries for the future.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d felt as though Annie had guided her to the right words. She wasn’t sure if she believed in spirits or their ability to interact with the living world, but she always felt as if Annie was right beside her when she closed her eyes and let her finger find a new affirmation.
And Gatsby’s Ghost had helped her find another.
She closed her journal and gave herself one more moment to enjoy the sound of the surf, the harsh tenor of waves crashing mixed with the cries of laughing gulls overhead, and the feel of the sun on her skin as the day heated up.
Satisfied, she smiled. It was time to head into work and see how she could use her talents today.
Lucy decided to stop by the Little Free Library on her way into work. Curiosity had got the better of her, and she wanted to see if Gatsby’s Ghost had picked up the latest book she’d left for him. Each time she left a book, she worried he was simply a tourist passing through town and the book would never be picked up because he’d already be gone. The thought brought about a feeling she recognized after years of therapy as “abandonment,” but it made her sad just the same, even though she had no idea who he was. It was a nice distraction and the first time she’d really felt a connection with someone since Carter moved to Chicago.
Chickadees were chasing one another from tree to tree as she walked through the park, and Lucy stopped for a moment to admire a hummingbird fluttering around a bright-pink hibiscus bloom. It was hot already, even at nine thirty in the morning. Continuing down the path, she waved at a toddler who was smiling at her from his stroller as a family passed by on the sidewalk.
As she approached the Little Free Library, she reminded herself of the gift she’d given the community with this idea. Everyone loved the library, and it had been so popular they’d had to build a bigger one. She tried to stop and acknowledge how her idea had positively impacted the town and its people, but self-doubt crept in. The little library wouldn’t have been necessary if she’d been successful in raising money to save the much larger public library. Would she fail the town again with the waterfront?
The Mel Robbins book from Gatsby’s Ghosttalked a lot about taking action and how any action, regardless of its outcome, was a step toward success. He’d marked a quote that said something like, “Win or lose, at least I’m doing something.” She’d taken action and out of those efforts had come this Little Free Library, which had brought him to her. So maybe it wasn’t a total loss. He seemed to bring her the right message at just the right time, much like Annie always had. Perhaps Annie had had a hand in it too, just like with the affirmations.
It cheered her slightly to see that the book she’d left for Gatsby’s Ghost was gone. So far, their system seemed to have ensured they’d each received the books left for each other.
After scanning the shelf of children’s books, she selected a few new ones and took them off the shelf so she could read the cards. She giggled at the one written in green colored pencil about Alice the Alligator.
Alice is nice. She mite like Sidny. He wint to my skol 1 day.
Charlie
Lucy always stocked plenty of children’s books on alligators in the store. The local kids all knew Sidney and wanted to learn more about alligators, and the tourists were always wide-eyed at the idea of running into a pet alligator on the island. Alligators did hang out along the freshwater creek that ran through the island, but tourists rarely ventured away from the beach or downtown to spot them.
By the time Lucy left the library and walked over to the bookstore, her mood had turned positive again. As much as she loved helping adults find the books they were looking for, nothing was better than helping a young or teenage reader find the right thing to read. From understanding something new to feeling understood, Lucy firmly believed there was a book for everything.
As Lucy was turning on the coffee pot in the back, she heard the jingle of the bells on the door. Walking to the front, she saw a woman who appeared to be in her early forties scanning the shelves of new releases. Lucy didn’t recognize her and assumed she was in town visiting.
“Hi, welcome.” Lucy smiled when the woman turned. “Can I help you find something?”
The woman blushed and seemed embarrassed that Lucy had caught her looking through the shelf.
“Do you have Hydrangeas on Hill Street?”
Lucy nodded. “I do.” She moved to the left of the woman and plucked the title off the shelf. “I read it when it first came in. It’s a lovely book.”
“I feel a little silly.” The woman opened the book and turned it so Lucy could see the author photograph on the back flap. “It’s my first book. I still get a little thrill every time I find it in a bookstore.” Her cheeks still flushed pink, her eyes not meeting Lucy’s.
“You’re Debra Brannon.” Lucy smiled. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations!” Walking over to the counter, she said, “Please, I’d love it if you’d sign the two copies we have. It’s always a treat when authors stop by and sign their books. We have a few local authors, but it’s rare to have anyone who doesn’t live here in the store. Where are you visiting from?”
“Raleigh. My family used to vacation here when I was a kid, so I decided to bring my boys this year. They’re teenagers, so they’re probably not even out of bed yet. I just came downtown to write in the coffee shop for a little bit and when I saw you were open, I couldn’t resist the urge to come in and look for it.”
She took the marker Lucy held out for her and signed the book in her hand while Lucy grabbed the second copy off the shelf.
“I’m so embarrassed though. It must seem a little self-aggrandizing to go into bookstores just to see your book on the shelf.” She shook her head as she handed the first book back to Lucy.
“Please, don’t be embarrassed. As a former aspiring author myself, I can’t imagine what it would be like to actually see your book on a shelf. It must be exhilarating.”
Debra’s eyebrows knitted together as she looked up and handed Lucy the second book. “Former aspiring author? Why former?”
Lucy shrugged, forcing a smile. “Getting published just wasn’t in the cards for me.”
Debra pursed her lips. “Hmm, I bet there’s more to that story. Publishing is a tough business.” She shook her head.
Lucy turned away to put the books back on the shelf. Debra didn’t understand. She’d actually managed to get her book published. Deflecting the attention away from her shortcomings, Lucy asked, “What’s the book you’re working on about?”
Debra took a step closer. “How many books have you written?” She wasn’t going to let the subject go.
“You don’t want to hear about my writing. Really, it’s nothing.” Lucy stepped around Debra to go straighten books on a display table that sat in the middle of the front part of the store.
“I live to talk to other authors,” she said, following Lucy. “Writing can be a lonely game sometimes.”
Lucy offered her coffee and they moved to sit in the armchairs by the front window since the rest of the store was empty and quiet. Debra talked about how she’d started writing short stories for fun, never even showing them to anyone. Then she participated in a month-long writing challenge that gave her the push to write a full novel. Lucy was familiar with the challenge, as she, too, had participated years ago before completing her first manuscript.
“Let me tell you how many books I wrote before that one over there landed here on your shelf. Five.” She held up a hand, each of her fingers spread wide. “The first two were so horrific I’ve never let anyone see them. The next one got me an agent, but after a year of being out on submission she told me it was dead and to write another one. So I spent a year writing the next one only to have the same thing happen. That one”—she pointed toward her book—“is lucky number five. It took me ten years of writing before I got to hold my book in my hands. And you know what? It was worth every single day.”
Lucy stopped her coffee mug halfway to her lips. She couldn’t believe the author behind one of the summer’s most praised debuts had been writing for ten years—and had kept writing even after two rounds of rejected submissions.
“So fess up.” Debra motioned in Lucy’s direction. “How many books have you written?”
“Two,” Lucy said quietly. In the past, she’d hesitated to admit she’d written two books that had never been published.
“Two?” Debra said as if Lucy might as well have written nothing at all. “Did you ever try to get an agent?”
“Yes. I have an agent. Or at least I think I still do. She actually sold my first book, but the publisher went under before it was finished. Leona—my agent—tried to find another home for it, but when it didn’t sell, she told me to write another, so I did. That one didn’t sell either.”
“Honey, getting an agent is huge. Most agents only accept a handful of new clients a year. If you landed an agent with your very first book, you’re basically a prodigy.”
Now it was Lucy’s turn to blush. “I think it was just a fluke maybe. I mean, no one wanted my book after the first publisher folded. And obviously they had some issues if they had to fold. And then they all passed on my second book. Not everyone is meant to be an author.”
Debra shook her head. “There are a million reasons why an editor passes on a book. Maybe they just published something like it. Maybe your main character has the same name as the kid who bullied them in elementary school.” Debra shrugged. “Maybe they just ate bad egg salad for lunch and hated everything they read that day. All you can control is sitting down and writing a good book.”
Lucy sighed. “But how do you know if you wrote a good book? If the publishers are all telling you they’re not interested, how do you know it’s not because your writing just stinks?”
Debra thought for a moment before answering. “What’s your agent like?”
“Leona? She’s basically straight out of central casting. Exactly what you think a New York literary agent would be like.”
“So she’s blunt?”
“Yes, she can be.”
“Good, because I’m about to be blunt too. It sounds to me like maybe you’re your own worst enemy. You obviously have an agent who’s stood by you. Do you really think she’d submit you if she didn’t think your work was up to snuff? Agents value their relationships with editors. They don’t send them just anything.”
Lucy hadn’t thought about it like that. She knew Leona had tried to boost her confidence after the first book fell through, but she’d never jeopardize her career by submitting something that wasn’t good enough. It occurred to Lucy that maybe the problem was that Leona believed in her as an author more than she’d ever believed in herself.
Debra’s phone chimed and she pulled it out to check the notifications. “My teenage zombies have finally dragged themselves out of bed. I have to get back. But, hey, promise me you’ll think about what I said. Don’t give up when you’re already so close. Maybe the next time I come in that’ll be your book on the shelf.” She pointed to the new releases.
Lucy thanked her for signing the books and for the advice, waving as Debra left the store. She hustled over to the computer and typed a quick email to Leona before she had time to change her mind. No more five-second hesitations around here, she vowed.
She even had an idea for the premise of a new novel.
Leona,
Yes, I still want to be an author. In fact, I have a new idea I want to run by you.
How do you feel about You’ve Got Mail? It’s always been one of my favorite movies, and I’m thinking about a retelling where the couple falls in love via notes left inside books in a Little Free Library.
You always say to use real life for inspiration, right? Although he isn’t trying to bulldoze my bookstore, I have actually been exchanging notes with someone in our Little Free Library. There’s no love connection there, but wouldn’t it be fun if there was?
Thanks for your continued support. Let me know if I should start fleshing out a synopsis.
Lucy
Her finger paused over the mouse for a split second before she sucked in a deep breath and hit Send. Debra was right; she was her own worst enemy. Leona had believed in her enough to submit two different books to publishers. And Annie had believed in her ability to be a business owner when she left Lucy her family’s legacy. Maybe it was time she started believing in herself as much as everyone else did.