Ink and Shadows

The poets have taught us how full of wonders is the night; and the night of blindness has its wonders too.

Over the next few days, Nora was too busy to give much thought to the Leopold women. Sheldon wasn’t feeling well on Thursday, which meant Nora had to run the children’s story hour. Though she was happy to read Ten Apples Up on Top! to a bunch of squirming toddlers, she couldn’t oversee the coordinating activity, serve coffee, and assist walk-in customers.

Luckily for her, the only walk-in customer who needed help was Sheriff Grant McCabe. The sheriff was a friend, and since he was off duty, he sat down and watched as Nora distributed printouts of apple trees to the children. She then gave them a sheet of red circle stickers.

“You’re going to put ten apples on top of your tree,” Nora told the kids. “Be careful not to use too many or your tree will get too heavy. Then, this might happen.” Using her left hand, she mimed a falling motion and let out a high-pitched “Plop!”

The children giggled.

“So how many apples do you need to put in your tree?”

“Ten!” the kids cried.

“Five?” Feigning confusion, Nora put her finger to her chin.

“TEN!” the kids happily screamed.

“Okay.” Nora smiled. “I also need a little counting help from the grown-ups. Since there’s only one of me, I’m only serving coffee or tea this morning. So may I have a show of hands? Who’d like regular coffee? Four of you. Tea? One. Decaf? Two. Okay, got it. I’ll get those ready while you and your kiddos work on your apple trees.”

The sheriff followed Nora into the ticket agent’s office. “I take it Sheldon’s having one of his bad days.”

“Yep,” Nora said without rancor. The benefits of having Sheldon Vega as an employee and friend far outweighed his occasional absences.

“Can I help?”

Nora pointed at the pegboard on the back wall. “Grab some mugs, will you? Seven in total. Make sure they’re rated PG.”

“So I shouldn’t hand you the one that says ‘I Don’t Want to Do Anything Today Except Jamie Fraser’?”

Nora crooked her fingers in a gimme gesture. “That’ll be fine. These kids can’t read yet. I was referring to the mug with the gun handle. Or the mug with the grim reaper that says ‘Give Me Coffee or Die.’ ”

The sheriff chuckled. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“Well, you get a free coffee for helping, so take your pick.” Nora poured him a coffee. “Did you come by to sit in on storytime, or are you in the market for a new book?”

“Both. I love Ten Apples Up on Top! and I’m going on vacation next week.” McCabe lined up the mugs on the window ledge next to the pitcher of half-and-half and packets of various sweeteners.

Nora called out, “Regular coffees are ready!” To the sheriff, she said, “You mentioned this a few weeks ago, but I forgot about it. Where are you going? Anywhere exotic?”

“Depends if you consider a Texas goat farm exotic.” When Nora shot him a questioning look, he said, “I’m visiting my sister, which means I need airplane reading for myself and a book for my sister. Something nice, since she’s feeding me and putting me up.”

As Nora filled three mugs with boiling water, she mulled over the sheriff’s request. “Have you heard of Nuking the Moon?”

“Nope, but I’m intrigued by the title.”

“It’s a book describing some seriously crazy plans that the US military and intelligence came up with and, for various reasons, abandoned. Using cats as listening devices, for example. It was put together by the curator of the International Spy Museum.”

McCabe laughed. “Cats obeying orders. That’s funny. Those guys were dreaming. Okay, that’s my book. Now I need one for my sister. Family’s everything to her.”

“Tea and decaf orders are up!” Nora cheerfully shouted. Normally, she’d refer to the drinks by the names listed on the menu board, but today called for shortcuts. She needed to help the sheriff and take up her position behind the checkout counter before the rest of her customers wanted to pay for beverages, books, or other goodies.

“Is this my Agatha ChrisTEA?” asked a pretty young mom in a floral tank top and skinny jeans. When Nora said that it was, the woman moved closer to the pass-through window and said, “I want to put a comment in your suggestion box. Would you consider offering a snack during the story hour? A little treat to encourage good behavior? Like goldfish or fruit chews? It’s so much easier for kids to sit still if they have something to chew on. Nothing sugary, of course. And organic is always best. What do you think?”

Because the woman had always been friendly and polite, Nora didn’t instantly shoot her down. Instead, she promised to consider her request.

When the mom was out of earshot, McCabe said, “That was very reasonable of you.”

“Not really. I just considered it, and the answer is no. I’m trying to foster a love of reading. If I start giving out free food, I might as well call it Children’s Snack Hour.” She sighed. “That mom’s right about the chewing thing, though. If it isn’t nailed down, these kids will put it in their mouths.”

“Speaking of which, that cherub in the overalls is treating Are You My Mother? like it was corn on the cob.”

They both watched the child gnaw on the PD Eastman board book.

“I guess we’re buying a book today!” declared the kid’s father.

The other adults laughed, but Nora smiled in relief. At least the corn on the cob kid’s dad had integrity. Some parents would stick the book back on the shelf and walk away, telling themselves that they shouldn’t have to pay for the destruction of saleable inventory when their child was too young to know better.

“Let’s go to the Home section,” Nora told the sheriff. “If we’re lucky, we can find a gift for your sister and get you out of here before the tantrums start.”

McCabe glanced around in alarm. “Is that likely?”

“Oh, it’s a given. If one toddler cries, they all cry. It’s an emotional domino effect. Anything can set them off. Mom refusing to buy them a book. Dad telling them not to bite. Grandma wiping their nose with a scratchy tissue. Seeing a bug. Misplacing a lovey. A bad night’s sleep. You name it. We have a dozen ticking time bombs in here.”

McCabe put his hand on the small of Nora’s back and propelled her forward. “Let’s find a gift, stat. Here’s what you need to know about my sister, Missy. She loves family, animals, cooking, the state of Texas, baseball, and HGTV. I’m sure whatever you pick will be great.”

In the Home section, Nora showed McCabe several books based on HGTV shows. His responses were lukewarm until she pulled out Magnolia Table: A Collection of Recipes for Gathering.

“That’s the one.” He tapped the cover. “That woman and her husband fix up houses. I only know that because Missy loves their show.”

“But this book came out a few years ago. There’s a chance your sister already has it.”

McCabe shook his head. “I doubt it. She never buys things for herself, and my brother-in-law usually gets her jewelry or framed photos of the family. The kids make her coupon books, which she loves. This is the right book for her. I know it.”

“Colby, no!” a woman scolded.

A second later, a child began to cry.

“Time to move.” Nora gave the sheriff a little push.

“Are you assaulting an officer?” he asked, power walking to the front of the store. Opening his wallet, he pulled out two twenties. And when another child began to cry, McCabe practically threw the money at Nora.

“Does this look like a strip club to you?” Nora joked, enjoying the look of panic on the sheriff’s face. As she wrapped the cookbook in white paper, a third child added to the cacophony. Nora handed McCabe his purchases and whispered, “Take me with you.”

He smiled and reached up to tip the hat he wasn’t wearing. “When I get back, we’ll have lunch. I’ll tell you all about Texas, and you can tell me what I missed here. Deal?”

“Deal.”

When McCabe left, Nora felt inexplicably glum. She couldn’t understand why. She and the sheriff only got together once a month. They’d grab lunch and spend a pleasant hour talking about books, movies, and life in general. Other than that, Nora might bump into McCabe around town. It’s not as if they were dating. Nora was involved with Jedediah Craig, a charismatic paramedic who could have moonlighted as a romance cover model.

Jed’s mother was also a burn victim, but her injuries had been more severe. Jed paid for her care and made frequent trips to the coast to visit her. Just the other night, he told Nora that he’d miss next weekend’s Farm to Table Fest because he’d be out of town.

Is that why I’m down? Because both Jed and Grant will be gone?

Nora didn’t think so. She’d never needed a man’s company to be happy and was perfectly content to hang out with her friends or spend time alone.

Maybe she had a case of saudade, a term she recently came across in a novel. According to the novel’s Portuguese character, saudade was a feeling of absence or incompleteness—a yearning for something unknown.

Nora believed that everyone experienced this longing from time to time. Customers often needed a pick-me-up during periods of transition. When the seasons changed, a major holiday came and went, or a big celebration like a milestone birthday or wedding was over, people often yearned for something new to look forward to.

“I want my mommy!” one of the toddlers wailed back in the children’s section.

Am I jealous of McCabe’s vacation?

Visiting a goat farm wasn’t on Nora’s bucket list, but she’d sell a kidney to spend a week at a seaside cottage. She could read in a hammock and sip iced tea. The ocean breeze would cool her skin and the waves curling onshore would wash away her worries. And when the sun set, she’d read by starlight while feasting on potato chips and chocolate bars. It was a lovely fantasy.

If the store wasn’t full of crying kids, Nora wouldn’t be brooding. She’d rearrange shelf enhancers—the vintage knickknacks she picked up from area flea markets and garage sales—or create new endcap displays. Nora could never hold on to a bad mood when she was surrounded by books, but she couldn’t enjoy their company until the storytime crowd was gone.

In the children’s section, the crying had morphed into high-pitched keening.

Nora was fighting with the childproof top on her Advil bottle when the corn-on-the-cob kid’s dad showed up at the checkout counter, carrying his child in his arms. The little boy clutched Are You My Mother? in a death grip.

Nora pointed at the drool-stained book. “Don’t worry, Dad. I can scan the barcode without moving it an inch. This and a coffee, right?”

“Yep,” the dad said. “My third. It’s going to be a four-cup kind of day.”

The rest of the grown-up/toddler pairs made their way to the front of the store. Nora scanned books and ran credit cards as fast as she could. Children cried, adults cooed, the sleigh bells clanged, and the register beeped. And then, suddenly, everyone was gone.

In the silence that followed, Nora wondered why she’d ever thought a children’s story hour would be charming and fun. She’d been a librarian in a past life. She knew that no book-related events were predictable.

“You own a bookstore. It’s your duty to foster readers in your community,” she mumbled as she cleaned up scraps of paper, used tissues, and, to her annoyance, crushed Goldfish crackers.

After Nora vacuumed the floor and washed mugs, she glanced at the wall clock. The trolley from the lodge, the sprawling, five-star resort catering to the more affluent Miracle Springs visitors, should arrive any minute now. As a rule, lodge guests liked to shop, and Nora perked up at the thought of loading bags with books and shelf enhancers.

With lively bluegrass music playing in the background, Nora started to arrange a table display designed to appeal to the festival attendees heading to the Balloon Fest, the Craft Beer Fest, or the Mountain Bike Fest.

“Balloons, beer, and bikes? I’m picturing Pennywise getting a DUI at the X Games.”

Nora turned to see her friend June Dixon, manager of the lodge’s thermal pools and a member of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society, flipping through a book on mountain biking.

“No man should have such skinny hips. Men are always saying that they like a little junk in the trunk, but ladies like something to hold on to too.”

“I thought you were done with men,” said Nora.

June put a hand on her hip. “Just because I’ll never have another serious relationship with a man doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop having opinions about them.”

A group of unfamiliar people streamed into the bookshop. “Did you ride the trolley down with the lodge guests?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re looking at their shopping guide.” June struck a pose. She wasn’t wearing her work uniform, but a pale yellow sundress that beautifully complemented her coffee-colored skin. “The pools are closed today. The filtration system’s gone haywire and the regular guide had a doctor’s appointment, so here I am.”

“It’s my lucky day.”

June smiled. “Mine too. I spent the trolley ride telling these lovely people about my aromatherapy socks and how I’m using all the profits I make from them to pay for my son’s rehab. When we stopped at Red Bird Gifts, these fine folks did not let me down. They snapped up half of Marie’s inventory. Good thing I’m an insomniac. I can knit a new pair by sunrise.”

Nora jerked her thumb at a bookshelf. “How about putting that seductive salesmanship to work for me?”

June’s golden-brown eyes twinkled. “I’ve already talked up our North Carolina authors to some Kentucky folks, so I’ll lead them to that bookshelf. You should talk to that gentleman with the cane. He came to Miracle Springs for the healing waters, but his troubles go way beyond his bad hip. He needs some book therapy.”

Nora wandered over to the man in question and said, “I like your cane. I’ve never seen one with a carved alligator for a handle.”

The man grinned, and the network of wrinkles marking his face deepened. “I got it in Florida, when my Vera and I were on our honeymoon. I never thought I’d use it. I thought I’d stick it in the umbrella stand and remember what a good time we had.” He shrugged. “When you’re young, you don’t think about hip replacements or slipped discs. You dream about your nice car and your nice house. You dream about the kids you’re gonna have and how they’ll look up to you. It all goes by so fast, and suddenly, you’re an old man who needs a cane.”

“I have a cane too,” Nora said. “I could show it to you if you have the time.”

“To paraphrase George Carlin, I spend most of my time reading the Bible. I need to cram for my final exam!”

The man laughed, but the laugh turned into a cough. When he could breathe again, he leaned hard on his cane, massaging his hip and shaking his head in frustration. Nora recognized the gesture. The man felt betrayed by his body. His bones, skin, and tissue had aged faster than his mind. When he looked in the mirror, the face that stared back at him seemed to belong to another man.

“The good thing about being an old man with a cane is that you have lots of stories to tell,” Nora said in a soft voice. “I’m Nora. I’d love to sit with you for a little while.”

The man smiled. “My name’s Herschel, and that’s the best offer I’ve had in days.”

After settling Herschel in June’s favorite purple chair, Nora told him to look over the menu while she fetched her cane from the stockroom. As she walked away, she heard him reading the choices out loud in the rich baritone of a disc jockey or voice actor.

“Ernest Hemingway—Dark Roast
Louisa May Alcott—Light Roast
Dante Alighieri—Decaf
Wilkie Collins—Cappuccino
Jack London—Latte
Agatha ChrisTEA—Earl Grey
Harry Potter—Hot Chocolate with Magic Marshmallows
Shel Silverstein—Nutella on Toast
Assorted Book Pocket Pastries”

“Anything sound good?” she asked when she returned.

“A Wilkie Collins, please.”

Nora made his drink along with a Jack London for another customer. She also served two book pockets before returning to the readers’ circle.

While Herschel sipped his cappuccino, Nora showed him her walking stick. “I never go on a hike without it. It’s good for swatting spiderwebs and scaring off snakes.”

“I see a fox on the shaft.” Herschel squinted over the rim of his cup. “And a butterfly. And trees. What’s at the top?”

“A river. The design was inspired by a book called The Little Prince. Do you know it?”

Herschel looked pensive. “I remember a little boy and a flower. Not much else.”

“There are words carved into the shaft, hidden in the trees.” Nora pointed out a few of the words. “Together, they form a partial quote from the novel. The whole quote reads, ‘And now here is my secret. A simple secret: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.’”

Nora waited for Herschel to reply. He said nothing, but his eyes filled with tears.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, offering him a napkin.

He turned away. “Forgive me. It’s my Vera. She’s back at the lodge, having a spa day. I’m a husband left to his own devices. Which means I have no idea what to do with myself.” He tried to smile but couldn’t. “This is probably our last trip because Vera’s losing her sight. It’s been happening gradually, so we’ve been trying to prepare. We moved to a ground-floor condo. Sold her car. Organized her clothes and the kitchen with special labels and sticky letters made of foam. Velcro is going to be a lifesaver.”

“It sounds like you’re doing all you can,” Nora said. “I doubt anyone can truly be ready for something like this.”

“No,” Herschel agreed. “I just wish I could make her loss easier to bear. But look at me. I’m no knight in shining armor. When it all goes dark for my Vera, I’ll want to give her rainbows. But how can I?”

His question hung in the air, as beautiful and fragile as a snowflake.

“Vera’s other senses may be heightened after her sight is gone,” Nora said. “Luckily, her husband has a melodious speaking voice. Your voice can create images in Vera’s mind, which means you can be her knight in shining armor.”

“But I’m no good at reading,” Herschel lamented. “I was terrible at it in school. My son says I’m probably dyslexic.”

Nora could suggest that Herschel and Vera could listen to audiobooks together, but she knew that Herschel was looking to delight his wife on a personal and intimate level. “Herschel. Are you willing to close your eyes while I read you a few lines from a children’s poem?”

He readily agreed, and Nora hurried to the children’s section to retrieve a copy of Hailstones and Halibut Bones.

When she returned to the readers’ circle, she asked Hershel to name his favorite color.

“Blue.”

Nora smiled. “Mine too. Okay. Now, close your eyes and listen.”

In a slow, clear voice, she began to read the poem aloud.

As the poem’s images of cloudless skies, seas, forget-me-nots, herons, sapphires, and winter mornings drifted over Herschel, he visibly relaxed. His face cleared and his breath slowed. He looked like he was dreaming, but Nora knew that he was awake.

When she reached the end of the poem, Nora asked Herschel if he’d been able to picture any of the images.

“Most of them. I could see them in here!” He tapped his temple. “Miss Nora, I gotta have that book. And lots more just like it.”

Nora made arrangements to ship Where the Sidewalk Ends, The Night Gardener by Terry and Eric Fan, When Green Becomes Tomatoes: Poems for All Seasons, The Day the Crayons Quit, James and the Giant Peach, Mary Oliver’s House of Light, and several joke books to Herschel and Vera’s home. The entire process took less than twenty minutes, and Nora enjoyed every second of it.

As he was leaving the bookshop, Herschel turned to look at Nora. Putting his hand over his heart, he said, “You’re an angel.”

* * *

By closing time, Nora was completely worn out. It had been an excellent day for sales, starting with the lodge guests and continuing with a parade of festivalgoers, but the heavy traffic had left the shop in disarray. Nora had to tidy the ticket agent’s booth before she went home. If not, she’d never hear the end of it from Sheldon.

If he comes in tomorrow.

She hoped that he’d feel up to working because Fridays were always busy. In addition to the lodge and other area hotel guests, more festivalgoers would be passing through town.

“And we have to make a magical window display,” Nora said, eying the stack of books she and Sheldon had picked out.

Friday had all the makings of a workday that stretched into a work night, which meant pizza delivery, loud music on the radio, and, if they were willing, a little help from Nora’s friends.

She sent a group SOS text to the Secret, Book, and Scone Society. The four women had become friends following the murder of a visiting businessman. They shared a love of books and food, and had also shared their deepest, most painful secrets with one another. They were now Nora’s family, and she trusted them with her life.

Minutes after her text went out, Nora received replies from Hester and Estella, owner of Magnolia Salon and Spa. Both women promised to lend a hand.

June didn’t reply, but she was probably busy cooking dinner.

At the thought of a home-cooked meal, Nora’s stomach rumbled. She wondered if she had anything at home to eat besides an overripe banana and a box of spaghetti.

“It’s too hot to boil water,” she told Ina Garten as she shelved a copy of Barefoot Contessa at Home.

Nora had just finished wiping off the counters in the ticket agent’s booth when the sleigh bells banged. It had been too early to lock the front door when she started cleaning, and though it was now past closing time, she couldn’t chase out this last-minute customer. Not when every light was on and James Taylor’s Greatest Hits was still playing.

“It’s just me!” June sang out. “I have a treat for you.”

Nora caught a familiar aroma in the air. “Is that your buttermilk fried chicken or am I dreaming?”

“Two thighs and a side of green beans. It was supposed to be Sheldon’s supper, but he isn’t hungry. I knew you wouldn’t turn me down.” June jerked her thumb at the display window. “And I’ll pitch in tomorrow night on one condition. I want my own ham and sausage pie. I’m never sharing with Hester again. Pineapple has no business on a pizza.”

“I’ll buy whatever kind of pizza you want,” Nora said as she flipped over the OPEN sign.

Across the street, a sudden movement caught her eye. A solitary figure in black dropped to all fours on the sidewalk. When she didn’t get up, Nora told June that someone was in trouble and dashed outside to help.

Night had barely fallen, and the sky was a deep, vibrant indigo. Shadows were gathering in the mountains rising above the town, but they hadn’t taken over yet. There was enough light for Nora to recognize Bren Leopold’s purple-tipped hair and surly expression.

“Are you okay?” Nora asked, squatting down next to the young woman.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the sidewalk, Bren moaned, “I’m . . . sick.”

Nora looked to June for guidance. June had worked at an assisted living community for years and knew how to handle situations like this. Crouching right behind Nora, she spoke to Bren in a soft and soothing voice. “It’s okay, baby. Where does it hurt?”

Bren squeezed her eyes shut. She bit her bottom lip as if trying to hold back a scream. Her right arm slid over her belly and she groaned.

“Don’t fight it, honey. If something needs to come out, let it out,” June said. “Your body knows what to do.”

As if she’d been waiting for permission, Bren turned her head and vomited into the grass. She retched and retched, crying as she expelled everything in her stomach. When she finally stopped, Nora offered her a napkin.

Eventually, Bren was able to sit up. She wouldn’t look at Nora or June but stared at the sidewalk instead.

“Should we call your mom?” Nora asked.

“No.”

Nora and June exchanged worried glances. They couldn’t leave Bren alone. She might be sick again, and she didn’t know anyone in town.

“Can we help you up?” June extended her hand. “Walk you to wherever you’re going?”

Bren finally looked at them. Her eyes shone with anger. “Don’t touch me! Just leave me alone!”

Nora grabbed June’s hand and the two friends backpedaled.

“We’ll watch from inside the store,” Nora told Bren. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Get away from me,” Bren snarled.

Inside Miracle Books, Nora and June stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the young woman in black stumble off into the encroaching darkness.

“What the hell just happened?” asked June.

“I don’t know,” said Nora. “But I don’t like it.”