Frank Schreiber examined the book in his hands, a satisfied grunt escaping his lips as his fingers trailed over the spine. “A pretty good job, if I do say so myself,” he murmured, pleased at how well the binding job had come out. The plain black cover with its simple lettering disguised the inner contents well.
“You doing okay, Dad?”
He glanced up. His youngest daughter, Catherine, stood at the entrance to the bookstore, humor lighting her face.
She nodded toward the stack of books at his elbow. “Lost in your treasures again, huh?”
You have no idea, honey. “I’m great! How could I not be, surrounded by so many goodies?”
She laughed as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Why did I even ask? Hey, I’m picking up Mom and we’re going to grab something to eat. Wanna come?”
“No, no.” He waved her on with his hand. “I already ate. You guys have fun. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“I’m betting you won’t notice we’re gone.”
“You know me too well. But I’ll notice. It’s a lot quieter in here without you chattering females around. Perfect for reading.” He laughed out loud when he caught Cat’s faux outraged expression. “You know I speak the truth.”
Her eyes softened as she turned the doorknob. “Yeah, whatever. Love you, Dad,” she called, as she walked out into the late afternoon sunshine.
“Love you, too, Catey. Always.”
Turning back to the book in his hands, he opened it and surveyed the inside pages. Gorgeous. Simply stunning. He didn’t believe the legend his grandmother had told him about the book; that was clearly nonsense her grandmother must have told her, a myth passed down through generations. But given its age, he didn’t doubt the value of its contents. He’d dutifully guarded it, rebinding the pages when the ancient bindings gave way. Better to have it in a secure house, he reasoned. He liked the idea that such an ordinary exterior could house such riches. Just like people.
“Give it to Cat when she’s twenty-five,” his grandmother had said all those years ago. “Promise me. She’s the one.”
Frank had nodded. His second-born daughter, although only seven then, seemed the most likely to share his passion for the written word.
“Why twenty-five?”
Her eyes had twinkled. “It’s how it’s done.”
He’d pressed his grandmother for more information, but she’d remained tight-lipped, saying only that Cat would eventually understand.
He couldn’t believe his youngest child would hit that magical age in a few months. Twenty-five. His baby, grown up and out in the world.
He frowned. At least he wanted her out in the world, more than she currently was. Submerging oneself in books wasn’t a bad thing, of course—he was guilty of that himself. But he had his beautiful Grace. He had someone with whom he was sharing his life, someone who reminded him to come back to the real world once in a while.
“I hope you find love, my Catey girl,” he whispered. “It’s the greatest treasure of them all.”
God, had he really just said that? He was going soft in his old age.
Whistling, he set the book down, jotted a quick note, and stuck it inside the cover. Then he wrapped the book in the plain brown mailing paper they kept near the cash register and scrawled her name across the front. Setting the book back into the box, he carefully stacked other titles around it for safekeeping until her birthday.
“I’ll tell her, Grannie.” He’d even tell Cat the absurd claims his grandmother had made about it. For now, at least, it was well protected, as she’d asked.
He hauled the heavy box to the storage closet under the stairs.
Heading back to the main room, he wiped his hand across the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. I’m getting old if one box of books has me breathing this hard.
As he walked to the staircase to head upstairs, sharp pain shot across his ribcage. He grabbed the stair railing to steady himself, his other hand flying to his heart. Large dots floated at the edge of his vision. Daggers ripped through his chest as his lungs seized.
No. Oh, no, no, no. He collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. I should have told you, Catey. I should have told you.
All went black.