Your roommate, Bea, is at work right now. Shell be home in a few hours. Why dont you unpack your things, get settled and Ill come back in a little while and we can finish the orientation. I look at the bunk beds and hesitate, wondering which one is mine. You get the bottom bed, Olene says. Bea likes to sleep on the top bunkshe says that the bottom bed makes her feel claustrophobic.
Olene pats me on the arm as she moves to leave the room. Olene, I say. She turns back to me, and Im stricken by how kind her worn face is. Thank you.
Youre welcome. She smiles. Get a little rest and holler if you need anything.
My few belongings fit into one drawer of my bureau with room to spare. In a way, Gertrude House reminds me of the summer camp I attended when I was eleven. I share a room with bunk beds and, from what Olene has said, we follow a very specific schedule that is posted in the main gathering area. From the moment we wake up at five-thirty to lights out at ten-thirty, our day is filled with chores, and group sessions on everything from managing finances to anger management to mastering interview skills.
I sit on the lower bunk and bounce a bit. The springs are firm but giving. This feels like a real bed, not like Cravenvilles hard, institutional slab, with rough, scratchy sheets that smelled of bleach. I lift a fluffy pillow and bury my nose in it. It smells of lavender and I feel tears prick at my eyes. Maybe it wont be so bad here. It couldnt be any worse than jail. Maybe the other girls will learn to like me. Maybe my parents will forget about what the neighbors think and welcome me as their daughter again. And maybe, just maybe, Brynn will forgive me.
I inhale deeply one more time and lower the pillow from my face and thats when I see it. Its blank eyes stare up at me and its smudged plastic face is frozen in a half smile. I pick up the baby doll. Its old and battered and looks like it came out of a Dumpster. Across the dolls bare chest is one word, slashed in black permanent marker, a word that I now know will follow me everywhere, no matter where I go. Killer.
Claire
Bookends is dim and quiet. A sudden Sunday afternoon rainstorm has driven away the stifling August heat and all of the customers. As Claire Kelby unpacks a box of books, Joshua pokes his head up from behind the counter, his yellow hair standing on end. She tamps down the desire to lick her fingers and smooth the flyaway strands. His dark brown eyes look expectantly up at her.
Can I help you, young man? Claire asks her son in mock seriousness.
Im bored, Joshua answers dismally, and kicks his sneakered foot against the front of the counter.
Youve read every single book back there? Claire asks him, and Joshua glances over his shoulder toward the shelves and shelves of books. Looking back at his mother, he nods and tries to bite back a smile.
Uh-huh, Claire says skeptically. Wheres Truman?
Sleeping, Joshua grouches, drawing his eyebrows together. Again, he adds about their six-year-old red-brindled English bulldog.
I dont blame him. Its a rainy day, good napping weather, Claire responds. Do you want to help me? Ive got lots of boxes to open and books to shelve before we close. Or maybe you want to take a nap, too?
Im not tired, Joshua says stubbornly, though his eyes are heavy. Whens Dad going to get here?
Hell be here soon, Claire assures her son, and leans over the counter to place a kiss on his blond head. She looks around the bookstore that has been both a refuge and a yoke. Years ago, the store and its responsibilities had kept her sane. The long hours had kept her mind busy, kept her focused, distracting her from the knowledge that her body, which had served her so well over the years, had ultimately betrayed her. Sometimes this realization struck her suddenly, squeezing so tightly she would have to stop whatever she was doinghelping a customer, unpacking books, answering the phoneand deliberately pry away the fingers of anxiety that clutched at her heart until she could breathe again.
Then, inexplicably, Joshua came to them, as miracles often do, on an ordinary day, well after the acceptance that they would never have a child of their own, biological or otherwise, had settled in. More and more, Bookends seems to snatch away all the time she wants, needs, to be with her son. Hell be heading off to kindergarten soon and she guards whats left of her time with him fiercely, even though she knows hed much rather be playing outside than stay with her in the bookstore.
Claire handled all the business aspects of opening the bookstore nearly twelve years ago. Finding the perfect location on oak-lined Sullivan Street, in the newly revitalized downtown section of Linden Falls, securing the small-business loans, ordering the books and hiring the part-time help. Jonathan, for his part, created the most beautiful bookstore Claire could have ever possibly imagined. The building had originally been a dressmakers shop, owned by an independent woman who had moved to Linden Falls with her aging father in the mid-1800s. It was lovely, with an intricate tin ceiling and walnut woodwork that Jonathan had uncovered beneath years of old paint, varnish and grime. Rifling through the second floor and the attic, Claire and Jonathan found musty bolts of cloth and bushel-size jars of buttons made of mussel shells, bone and pewter hidden beneath a table. Claire loved to imagine the dresses designed over that tablea christening gown edged with lace, tiny seed pearls sewn to the silk bodice of a wedding dress, a black mourning dress made of cashmere.
Joshua tries to heave himself up on top of the counter, his shoes scrabbling against the front panel. Im bored, he repeats as he slides to the floor. When will he be here? he asks again.
Claire steps from behind the counter, reaches down, lifts Joshua into her arms and sets him next to the cash register. He will be here in about she looks at her watch half an hour to pick you up. What do you want to do?
Tell me about my Gotcha Day, he orders. Claire gives him a long, expectant look. Please, he adds.
Okay, Claire agrees, swinging him into her arms. As is often the case lately, she is struck at how big hes getting. She can hardly believe that hes five years old. She presses her nose into his neck and breathes in the comforting scent of the Yardley of London soap he bathed with just that morning. Joshua, in a sudden need for privacy, has started ordering her out of the bathroom when he gets ready for his bath.
Only Truman and Dad can be in here when I take a bath, because were all boys, he explained.
So Claire, after running the bathwater for him, sits on the floor in the hallway, her back resting against the closed bathroom door, and waits, calling through the door every few minutes, You okay in there?
Now she carries Joshua to the plush, comfortable sofa that sits in a corner of the bookstore and they settle in for his favorite story. The story of how Joshua became theirs.
Before we can talk about Gotcha Day, Claire says, we have to talk about the first day we met you. Joshua snuggles more deeply against her and, as she has every day for the past five years, Claire marvels at his sweetness. Five years ago, last July, Dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table trying to figure out what we were going to have for dinner when the phone rang.
It was Dana, Joshua murmurs as he fingers the milky-colored pearl hanging from her ear.
It was Dana, Joshua murmurs as he fingers the milky-colored pearl hanging from her ear.
It was Dana, Claire agrees. And she said that there was a beautiful little boy waiting for us at the hospital.
That was me. That was me waiting at the hospital, Joshua tells Truman, who decides to hobble over to the pair. And that birth lady couldnt take care of me so she left me at the fire station, and the fireman found me just lying there in a basket.
Hey, whos telling this story? Claire asks, and gently pokes him in the ribs.
You are. Joshua wrinkles his upturned nose and tries to look sorry.
Thats okay, we can tell it together, Claire assures him.
And all the firemen didnt know what to do! Joshua exclaims. They just stood there and looked at me and said, Its a baby! Joshua holds his hands out, palms up, a look of animated consternation dancing across his face.
You were a surprise, thats for sure. Claire nods in agreement. The firemen called the police, the police called Dana, Dana took you to the hospital, and Dana called us.
And when you held me in your arms for the first time you cried and cried. Joshua giggles.
I did, Claire concurs. I cried like a baby. You were the most beautiful little boy and At the same time they hear the bookstore door open and Jonathan enters, his work jeans and T-shirt streaked and dusty from his current renovation.
Hey, guys, he calls, shaking the rain from his black curls. Whatre you doing?
Gotcha Day, Claire says, by way of explanation.
Ahh, Jonathan says, a big grin spreading across his face. The best day ever.
Mom cried, Joshua says, hiding his mouth from Claire, as if not seeing his lips meant she couldnt hear him.
I know, Jonathan whispers back. I was there.
Hey, Dad cried, too, Claire protests, looking at her boys with affection. We took you home and after thirty days the judge said, Joshua is now officially a Kelby.
Who was I before? Joshua asks a bit worriedly.
You were a badger with three tails, Jonathan teases.
You were a wish that we made every morning when we woke up and a prayer we said before we went to bed each night, Claire tells him, swallowing back tears the way she always did when she thought about how things could have been very different, if Dana, the social worker, had dialed a phone number that wasnt theirs.
You were a Kelby the first day we saw you, Jonathan says, sitting down on the couch so that Joshua was squeezed between his parents.
A Kelby sandwich, Joshua declares, taking up his favorite game. Im the peanut butter. Youre the bread.
Youre the liverwurst, Jonathan corrects him. The olive loaf, the fried egg with limburger cheese.
No. Joshua laughs. Youre a turkey and dressing sandwich.
Hey, I like turkey and dressing sandwiches, Jonathan protests.
Blech. Joshua sticks out his tongue.
Blech, Claire agrees while Jonathan looks at her over Joshuas head and their eyes lock. They both know what its taken to finally get to this point. The infertility, the wrenching loss of their first foster child. The
heartache and the disappointment they have endured.The past is firmly in the past, where it belongs,their gazes say.We have our little boy and thats all that matters.
Charm
Charm Tullia pushes open the door to Bookends, her textbook list in one hand, her cell phone in the other, in case Gus calls. She wants her stepfather to be able to reach her at anytime. She knows the time will come when she will receive the call that informs her that Gus has fallen, has a fever or worse. The rain has stopped, but she carefully wipes her wet feet on the rug inside the entrance of the bookstore.
Claire greets her warmly, as she has ever since the first time Charm came into Bookends several years ago. Claire always asks how her nursing classes are going and how her stepfather is doing.
Hes not doing very well, Charm tells her. The home care nurse says we might want to think about getting hospice involved soon.
Im so sorry, Claire says with genuine sadness in her voice. Charm lowers her head and begins rummaging through her purse, hiding her eyes that filled with tears at the thought of Gus dying. This is what makes it so hard and so easy for Charm to keep returning to Bookends. Claire Kelby is just so nice.
Is Joshua here today? Charm asks, looking around for the little boy.
You just missed him, Claire says apologetically. Jonathan picked him up and took him home.
Well, tell him hi for me, Charm says, trying to mask her disappointment, and slides her textbook list across the countertop toward Claire. I was able to buy most of my books used through the campus store, except for this one, and it is so expensive, Charm explains, pointing to a title written on the paper. Do you have any ideas?
Ill do some checking around, Claire promises her. When do you graduate? You must be getting close.
In May. I cant wait, Charm says with a smile.
Ill give you a call tomorrow to let you know what I can find out about your book. You take care of yourself, okay, Charm? And remember, you call me if you need anything at all.
Thank you, Charm says again, even though she knows she wont call her for anything beyond finding the book. As much as Charm admires Claire and her family, as much as she enjoys chatting with her, Charm already knows too much about Claires life. If Claire were ever to find out just how much, Charm thinks, she would never see her in the same way again.
After stopping at the grocery store to pick up a few things, Charm drives over the Druid River and into the countryside between Linden Falls and the small town of Cora to check on Gus. Though she doesnt want to admit it, Gus is getting weaker by the day. As she pulls into the driveway, she examines the small three-bedroom farmhouse shes lived in since she was ten. Gus has always kept the house in perfect condition and she has to look closely to see any signs of wear and tear, but they are there. The paint on the black shutters is beginning to fade and crack and the white siding needs a good power wash. The lawn is neatly trimmed but not mowed the way Gus would do it, if he were healthy. For a while Charm tried to mow the lawn in the diagonal pattern Gus preferred, but though he never said anything, she could tell the imperfect lines frustrated him. Finally, Charm called a fourteen-year-old neighbor who lives a half-mile down the road to take over lawn duty. But Gus wont let anyone touch his flower beds. They are still his domain, although with his illness they have suffered for it.
Charm steps from her car, grabs the bags of groceries and walks around to the side entrance. She sees Gus on his knees, his back to her, head bent, and for a moment she thinks he has collapsed. Dropping the grocery bags, she runs toward him. Gus suddenly turns his head as he hears her approach and slowly gets to his feet, shakily lifting his small, portable oxygen tank. Charm, where were you? he croaks. I was worried. His plaid shirt envelops his thin frame and his khaki pants hang loosely on his hips. He painfully pulls off his gardening gloves and drops them to the ground. He has slicked his thick black hair from his face, and beyond the grayness of his skin and his sunken eyes, Charm can see a glimmer of the handsome man he once was. The man her mother decided to keep around longer than any of her many other boyfriends and actually marry. When Charm was little, she proudly watched the two of them together, her beautiful blonde mother and handsome, funny Gus, the firefighter.