Love by the Book (28 page)

He furrowed his brow. “How very specific of you. Let me see what I've got.” He moved toward the classics section, running a hand through his unruly hair and tutting again. “Right. Well, there's this . . . and this . . . and this.” He collected three books in his arms and shoved them toward me. “
The Invisible Man
's quite good, though I do think Wells can be a bit silly at times.
Dracula
is fairly self-explanatory. And then there's
What Maisie Knew
, which is what I'd recommend. James is an expert at dysfunction, and poor little Maisie's parents are truly loathsome. It's good fun.”

“I'm just impressed that you knew three books that had been published in
1897
off the top of your head like that.”

“I do own this bookshop, you know. I'm not a total philistine.”

I took his advice and chose the Henry James. I was fishing around in my bag for my wallet when he spotted my suitcase.

“Going somewhere?”

I nodded. “I'm going home. To Maine.” The word “home” slightly stuck in my throat.

He looked at me sharply. “For good?”

“I don't think so. My sister is going through—” To my horror, I started to tear up. “My sister is—” I began again, only to find my throat tightening. It had been a terrible ten days. It was nearly impossible to find a flight home at such short notice, and the few seats that were available had been astronomical. I'd finally grabbed a place on a Delta flight after a last-minute cancellation, but it had been a nail-biting wait. Every night, I'd listened to Meg cry on the phone, knowing it would still be days before I got to her. I've never felt so helpless in my life. And now it appeared that all of the strain of the past week and a half was about to be unleashed in the most awkward place possible. A tear slipped down my cheek and my shoulders started to shake.

“Oh God. Oh dear.” The bookseller was looking at me like I might spontaneously combust. I expected him to phone in the bomb squad at any minute.

“Sorry, it's just . . .” I tried to pull myself together, but something had been shaken loose and it was proving hard to push back down into place. Stupid, traitorous tears: there was no stopping them now. Oh God. Oh gross.

The bookseller stood stock-still for a minute, looking as if he'd been mildly electrocuted, and then took me by the elbow and guided me into a chair. “Right. I'll get you a cup of tea,” he said, hurrying to the back of the shop. He returned a few minutes later holding a chipped enamel mug and a few tissues.

“Here you are,” he said, gingerly handing me the cup of tea. He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder as my sobs grew louder. I couldn't tell who was more mortified in that moment, him or me.

He kneeled down in front of my chair. “Now, what's all this about your sister? She's not ill, is she?” There was genuine concern etched on his face, which only made me cry harder.

After a few excruciating minutes, I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “Her wife left her,” I said. “And I wasn't there to help her and it took me forever to get a flight and she's been all on her own and now I'm going home and everyone there hates me and I'm probably going to have to see my ex-husband and he probably hates me the most but he's being all nice about everything, which makes it a million times worse and my parents . . . my parents . . .” I started up again and the bookseller silently passed me a tissue.

Eventually I managed to calm myself down. “Sorry, this definitely doesn't come under your purview,” I said with a weak smile.

“Nonsense. Every good bookseller is always armed with tea and tissues. These shops are hotbeds of emotional activity, you know,” he said with a wry smile.

I laughed. “Well, thanks. Sorry I'm kind of a mess.”

He shook his head. “It's no wonder you're a bit overwhelmed. I'm sure it will be all right. Surely no one could really hate you?” He placed his hand gently on my shoulder. Our eyes met and a jolt passed through me; I could tell by his eyes that he'd felt it, too. He pulled his hand away and jumped to his feet. “Well,” he said, staring firmly at the floor, “you'd better be off or you'll miss your flight.”

I wiped the errant mascara from under my eyes and got to my feet. “Of course. Sorry, I shouldn't have kept you so long.”

He shook his head. “Please, don't mention it. The foliage is meant to be lovely at this time of year.”

“It is.” I'd forgotten about the leaves turning color, and suddenly felt a deep longing to be in my parents' backyard beneath the multicolored maples. “Well, thanks again for . . . everything.”

The mortification had crept back in and the two of us started backing away slowly, nodding and smiling at each other like a pair of bobblehead dolls.

I was nearly out the door when I heard him shout out. “Hang on!” he called. “Just one moment!” I turned back and he pressed a book into my hands. “I think you might like this,” he said.

I stared dumbly at the cover, my feet glued in place.
The Age of
Innocence
by Edith Wharton.

I looked at him blankly but he just shooed me out the door. “Off you go!” he called, waving me away.

I lugged my suitcase down the stairs of the tube station, turning over our conversation in my mind. I had no idea what the hell had just happened in there, but I did know that I had two industrial-strength sleeping pills for the plane that would ensure I wouldn't think about it until I was far, far away.

 • • • 

An hour-long tube journey, seven-hour plane ride and forty-five-minute wait at customs later, I was charging through the arrivals gate toward a waving Meghan. I vaulted over a baggage trolley and enveloped her in a hug.

“I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get here,” I said, squeezing her tightly. “Everything's going to be okay. I know it's still raw, but believe me when I say that one day you'll look back on this and be thankful that she left. I never liked Sue, anyway—always going on and on about saving lives and boring us all to death with—”

“Lauren, stop.” Meghan pulled away from me and I noticed that she wasn't nearly as pale or puffy-eyed as I'd expected. She looked almost . . . happy. “A lot has happened in the last nine hours,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . Sue came back this morning.”

I was indignant. “Oh, come on! You mean I just flew
3,500
miles into the belly of my emotional past and you guys are all hunky-dory now? What about the big blowout? She thinks she can disappear for
ten days
and then just waltz back in like nothing happened?”

“She didn't just waltz back in!” Meghan put her arm around me and started guiding me toward the parking lot. “Look, I'll explain on the drive home.”

I shook her off. “This wasn't just some elaborate scheme to get me to come home, was it?”

Meghan rolled her eyes. “No, you narcissist. I promise you that my emotional distress was completely genuine at the time.” She pulled me in for a hug. “I'm so glad you're home, and I can't tell you how much it means to me that you came. It's just—” she started to laugh—“your timing is a little off.”

I tried to remain indignant, but the sound of Meghan laughing was such a relief that I felt my anger melting away.

“Timing has never been my specialty,” I said. “I'm still pissed at Sue, though. Just for the record.”

“Duly noted. Now let's get you home,” she said, taking my suitcase in one hand and me in the other.

I woke up to the sight of the Beatles poster hanging on the wall next to my bed. An alarm clock in the shape of a cartoon rabbit was perched on the nightstand:
6:56
a.m.

I could hear my parents talking downstairs. As they got older, they'd become more and more like wombats, napping by day and waking in the early hours, usually before dawn. I knew from years of experience that it was pointless trying to go back to sleep: once they were up, you were up, and you might as well go down and enjoy the coffee.

I pulled on a pair of track pants and a T-shirt from my high school soccer days and padded downstairs.

My dad spotted me first. “Good morning, sunshine. What time did you get in last night? We tried to stay up but both of us fell asleep.”

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I got in around one thirty. Didn't want to wake you so I just snuck in and went straight to bed. Hi, Mom.”

My mom got up from the kitchen table and gave me a hug. I sank into her familiar warmth and realized suddenly how much I'd missed them.

“Lulu! I'm so glad you're home. Look at you, you're so thin! What have they been feeding you in England? I thought it was all fish and chips and—what do you call it—spotted dick over there!”

“It's not all that bad, Mom. And I have never once seen a spotted dick, if that's any consolation.”

I heard my dad stifle a laugh behind me. My mom swatted him with a dish towel.

“Well, let me get you some breakfast. What do you want? I've got pancakes, eggs, toast, English muffins . . . and I sent your father out to get doughnuts earlier on, so there's a half-dozen in the pantry.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee and looked at the clock on the microwave:
7:1
3
a.m. “What the hell time does the doughnut place open?”

“Language, Lulu. And it's one of those twenty-four-hour ones in the Market Basket.”

Market Basket. I made a silent promise to myself to visit an American grocery store when I was home. Aisle upon aisle of snack-food nirvana, heaps of produce buffed and waxed to a high shine: a consumerist promised land, and very different from the three limp lettuce leaves and half a loaf of thin-sliced white bread to be found in my local Co-op back in London.

I sat down with my coffee and my parents sat opposite me, the pages of the
Portland Daily Sun
spread out between us. My dad put his hand over mine and gave me a sad smile.

“We missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Both of you. I'm sorry it's been so long.”

My dad shook his head. “No need to explain, sunshine.”

“Has Meghan told you about Sue?”

He nodded. “They came around yesterday. I have to say, Sue looked like hell.”

“Good. She should look like hell after what she put Meghan through.” She and I had had a long conversation on the drive home last night, and while I could see that Meghan was determined to take Sue back and to work on their marriage, I couldn't bring myself to forgive Sue for what she'd done. To me, she was still dead meat.

My dad shrugged. “Marriage is tough, Lu. You never know what happens behind closed doors. And your sister . . . well, she can be stubborn as an old mule.”

“How can you say that? Sue was the one who left!”

My mother piped up. “Your father is right, Lauren. It's none of our beeswax what happened between those two. I was as mad as anyone when I heard that Sue had left, and Lord knows Meggy was heartbroken, poor thing, but if she wants to take her back, that's her decision.”

“I still think Sue sucks,” I said sullenly. Seven hours at home and I was already reverting to my teenaged self.

My dad patted me on the hand. “You're gonna have to buck up, buckaroo, because they're both coming over for dinner tonight.”

The rest of the day was spent unpacking, doing laundry and catching up on American television. My mom and I got sucked into a
Property Wars
marathon and, before I knew it, Meghan was pulling up in the drive, a pale-looking Sue sitting in the passenger seat.

“Oh, shoot!” my mom exclaimed, leaping off the couch and running toward the kitchen. “I forgot to defrost the chicken!”

My dad opened the door for them and enveloped them both in a bear hug. “C'mere, Lu!” he called to me. “I want to get all my girls together in one hug!”

I skulked over to them and allowed myself to be wrapped up in the embrace. Once released from my dad's vice-grip, Meghan gave me a hug and pointed me toward Sue, who was looking suitably nervous. “Say hi to Sue,” she said, giving me a shove.

“Hey,” I mumbled.

“Hi, Lauren! Great to see you!” She tried to pull me in for a hug but I kept my arms tucked neatly by my sides. Meghan gave me a sharp poke in the back.

My mom returned from the kitchen looking slightly harried. She wrapped her arms around Meghan and Sue in another double hug. “Hello, girls. Now, what would you like to drink? The chicken is still frozen solid so dinner might be a while.”

My dad shuffled off toward the kitchen. “I'll get the menu for the Chinese place!” he called.

Dinner was a slightly stilted affair. I sat as far away from Sue as I could get, and every time she reached out for another spring roll, I dove across the table and snatched it before her fork could get there. I ate all of the Kung Pao chicken because I knew it was her favorite. Meghan continually kicked me under the table and my mom kept whispering to me sharply about manners, but I was filled with righteous indignation. I didn't care if this bunch of saps were going to sit around and pretend like nothing happened. For me, this was war. And by the end of it, I would be the bloated,
MSG-
laden victor.

I was polishing off the last of the crab rangoons when Sue grabbed me by the elbow and steered me toward the study. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” she said. “Alone?” I looked at her properly for the first time that evening and was pleased to see that Dad was right: she did look like hell.

I shrugged. “I guess,” I said. I looked over at Meg, who was glaring at me and mouthing
BE NICE
. I stuck my tongue out at her and reluctantly followed Sue into the study.

Sue shut the door behind us. “Look, I know you're pissed at me, but I love your sister.”