Chapter
12, The Bookstore
After my stomach felt the need to shout
out to everyone at City Hall – bringing to mind the need to have a talk with my
stomach – Todd and I decided to share our finds at Betsy’s Diner over a deliciously
sloppy stacked Grilled Cheese Sandwich, homemade chips, and of course
milkshakes.
“It appears your grandmother, Lillian,
sold the property to a Bruce Jackson in 1996. I am going to do more research on
the sale, but your family did own that property beginning in 1953.”
“Coinciding with the obit reference of
residency in Copseville since 1953,” I thought aloud as I sipped my shake, awaiting
the arrival of my meal. As we waited, we read through the copies of records
before us, the shuffling of paper audible as we sorted out the relevant
information held between the pages.
“What
month in ’96?” There were many thoughts and questions swarming my mind. The
reality of my dreams being a lost memory was perplexing; especially with the
awareness that I have forgotten much more than the night of my dreams.
Something awful had to have happened to my family that greatly affected me…But
what?
After gulping almost half of his shake, Todd
responded, “The sale closed at the end of January, and for an incredibly low
price in my opinion…I don’t understand why your grandmother would sell for so
little.”
“Well, maybe she
couldn’t live there anymore. Maybe she had no choice but to sell cheap just to get it off of her hands…You know, I found only one article pertaining to
Oliver’s mysterious death. It was a poor follow up explaining that Oliver had
died three days prior to being found. There was no mention of cause of death,
noting that the authorities were not revealing any information at that time.
But there was nothing after that.” While Todd flipped through the files of
property records, I had wandered off in search of the historical records
department within City Hall.
The waitress delivered our food, as we
struggled to make room for our plates. As soon as my sandwich was before me, I put
away all thoughts just long enough to take my first messy bite, and then
another. Taste didn’t matter quite yet, weight in my stomach did. Once I felt I
could focus again on the task before us, vocal stomach approaching appeasement,
I gave my attention back to the mysteries unfolding before us.
“I still don’t understand what any of
this could have to do with my dreams.” The cheese oozing out of my sandwich was
wonderful. I ordered mine with pepper jack and cream cheese, and sliced
tomatoes. This grilled cheese was the epitome of sloppy. And I loved it. Grease
was running down my fingers, melted cheese was falling to my plate, and the
tomatoes made it hard to keep my sandwich together. Exactly how it should be. I
dove in, opening my mouth wide with the intent to get as much flavor in as
possible. My taste buds burst, saliva awakened, and I believe I groaned. This
was hitting the spot. I was lost in the nirvana of my food, and missed what
Todd was saying – Again. And again, Todd chuckled.
“I love how you become so engrossed in
seemingly little moments, finding joy in the mundane and necessary.” He was
covering his mouth in an attempt to not spit his food out as he laughed.
“I blame you,” I said with a wink. “You
are the one that introduced this fabulous diner to me, knowing the food would
border on making one a glutton.” What I
loved was the ease at which fun and laughter entered into moments that could
become too serious. That was a gift of Todd’s.
“Well, what is our next course of
action?” Todd had finished his grilled cheese: bacon, tomatoes, jalapeños, and
pepper jack and cheddar cheese.
“I need to go to the grocery store
before I go back to the cabin. I have pretty much eaten all of the reserves I
brought with me. But first, I want to check out that bookstore called Reticence
Unlocked.” I took the last bite of my finger-licking-good sandwich; slightly
disappointed it was gone knowing I would miss the flavor, but also relieved
because I am not sure I could fit any more food in my stomach. I said it was
huge, right?
We went to the restrooms to wash our
hands, and I my face. Did I mention I am not the most eloquent of eaters? I am
sure this is not surprising considering the lack of eloquence following me
around. I sigh at this thought. I am not eloquent, or dainty, or what a typical
woman should project. Of course, maybe I am exactly what the typical woman
should project: clumsiness, hungered stomach, and the occasional
stare-off-into-space-as-I-get-lost-within-the-recesses-of-my-mind syndrome. At
least, even if I have no idea what is going on in there, I feel at home.
We walked over to the bookstore, Todd
reaching for my hand. I let him take it, enjoying the warmth emanating from his
palm. He held on as if afraid I would rip mine away, though I liked his
strength. There was a slight breeze, picking the hair off my shoulders. It felt
nice, but there was no time to appreciate it because Reticence Unlocked was
Betsy’s neighbor, sandwiched between the diner and Jittering Joe’s.
As soon as we walked in, I was in
heaven. The smell of books, new and old, beckoned me into the store. I was propelled forward by sheer awe, taking in the stretch of books lining the walls on their
antique shelves, running from floor to ceiling, spanning the length the store.
There were even antique rolling ladders to encourage customers to peruse the top shelves. Shorter shelves were
placed in diagonals flanking the center aisle, drawing you in toward the rear of the store where the cashier's counter greeted patrons. Near the door on my right was a
lounge area taking advantage of the natural light, and sprinkled among the low shelves were other sitting and study
areas.
“What are you looking for?”
Todd was still holding my hand, as we stood in the middle of the store.
“I don’t know…” He let me go so
I could wander. I began picking up books, opening them, and breathing them in
until I reached the cashier's station. The counter ran along the back of
the store from left to right, transitioning mid way into floor to ceiling
bookshelves. The opening in the center of the wall of books whispered my
name, a sign ANTIQUES hung above. Inside, a small fireplace was to
my right with a couple of chairs in front; to the left was a small table with
two small chairs. The floor to ceiling shelves continued around the room with a
door opposite the entry, which I assumed took one to the storage rooms.
I walked the perimeter, stroking the
book bindings, the smell intoxicating. Not really sure what I was looking for,
I began to randomly pull books out, checking the copyright dates. There were
books from pre-twentieth century to mid-twentieth century. I have
no idea how much time I spent in this space, or what Todd was doing.
One book in particular stuck out to me.
I am not sure why, but it spoke to me; something about the gold filigree on the
binding. I removed it from its spot, sitting in one of the arm chairs before
the fire place. I began reading.
The writing instantly drew me in. The
protagonist was strong, emotional, and complex. The mysteries wrapped within
the character’s lives were intriguing. I was hooked! Before I knew it, I had
read five chapters, knowing I had take this home. First, I searched
for the author’s name, in hopes of finding more books written by him or her for
future purchase.
Looking up the copyright page I was
shocked to find who the author was: Lillian Sanders.
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