Читать книгу The Little Bookshop On The Seine - Rebecca Raisin, Rebecca Raisin - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“You what?” Missy shrieked and her eyebrows shot up so high I thought she’d fall over backwards. A handful of customers at the Gingerbread Café glanced over to see what all the fuss was about. I blushed ruby red, and squirmed. Missy shot the nosey parkers a look that said mind your own business.

I bit my lip, and threw my palms up. “It just kind of happened, and I said yes. Yes. It was as easy as that!” I shrugged apologetically. I was plain old Sarah Smith; introvert, bookworm, shy to a fault. Not a fan of change, a subscriber to the steady rhythm of routine. I found comfort in the familiar. The girls buoyed me up, and I could be myself, but my radical plan would definitely shock them, because it was so unlike me.

“I cannot for the life of me imagine you saying yes to such a thing on the spot like that, but you know,” she stopped to fluff her auburn curls, “I think it’s a great idea, sugar. You’ve been skating along lately, without your usual sparkle.” She crossed her legs, pulling at the hem of her leopard print mini skirt. “But, sheesh, this has come out of left field…you’re leaving?” Missy’s face contorted as she grappled with the idea of the bookshop exchange. Being my secret keeper, and my go-to person in times of need, the idea I’d done something so swiftly without asking for advice was a lot for her to reconcile.

“One hot chocolate, and one gingerbread latte. Pray tell, what’s all this screeching ‘bout?” CeeCee asked, and plonked down on the old sofa across from us, putting her feet on the ottoman. “Lil,” she hollered. “Come sit, there’s somethin’ goin’ on over here.” She clasped her hands over the spread of her midsection, and gave me a pointed stare, her sweet brown forehead furrowing.

“Well…” I tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, waiting for Lil to join us.

Lil waddled over, her baby bump so big she balanced a tray laden with chocolate truffles and gingerbread men on it. She handed us each a plate and sat next to CeeCee.

“So,” Lil said, gazing at me curiosity in her big blue eyes. “What’s the story?”

I rubbed my face, and took a deep breath. “I’ve agreed to exchange bookshops with Sophie in Paris. It all happened so quickly…she Skyped yesterday, and I said yes, without much thought.”

There was an audible intake of breath from the girls. For the first time ever they were rendered speechless. Usually they’d chatter away and talk over the top of one another. I threw my head back and laughed. “Girls, I’m not going to Antarctica, or climbing Mount Everest. I’m going to Paris.”

Lil cleared her throat, and composed herself first. “Wow, Sarah, just…wow. In a million years I would never have imagined you’d leave your shop. You love your shop. Your books are your babies.” Her bright blue eyes were wide with astonishment as she emphasized each point. Pregnancy suited Lil, her complexion was rosier than normal, and her blonde hair seemed to grow overnight, falling down her back in effortless shiny waves. Her face though, paled at my announcement. Did she think I was making the wrong choice?

Lil hurried on: “It’s not that I don’t think it’s a good idea. I just…” her words fell away.

“Ain’t nothing gonna change here. Youth is fleeting, I’ll tell you that for free. There comes a time where you either fish or cut bait, cherry blossom…go on and do what you gotta.” CeeCee, the warm-hearted mother hen of our group, said.

Customers milled by the counter, waiting to order, but the girls were still too shell shocked to notice. I pointed them out to Lil. “Won’t be a minute,” she said, smiling to them, her cheeks now pink from disbelief.

“What does that incredible hunk of a man…?” CeeCee’s eyes glazed over, as she lost her train of thought. “Mmhm, Mr Rippling Abs, if I was forty years younger…” her voice petered off and we all stifled giggles.

“Cee!” Lil said, faux scandalized. “Can you focus?” We giggled into our hands. CeeCee had pet names for all of our partners, and always threw in the same line about being forty years younger. She was at the pointy end of her sixties, and spritely as a teenager despite her plump frame.

CeeCee was looking past us, lost inside her daydream. Her head snapped back. “What? Just ‘cause I’m an old woman that don’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty! My eyesight still works plenty fine! And when I see that boy, and the way he struts up that street like he owns it, all smoldering-eyed, strong-jawed perfection, I just can’t quit starin’. Then there’s that sculpted body o’ his, I say to myself, I says, ‘now Cee, when it comes prayin’ time tonight, you remember to thank the Lord for that fine specimen o’ a man, it’s the least you can do’.”

I almost spat out a mouthful of coffee, and tried my hardest to swallow it down without choking. Missy cackled like a witch and Lil gave Cee an astonished stare.

“I think,” Lil said to me, trying to keep her belly-grabbing laughter in check. “You might want to tone down the bodice rippers you’re lending to Cee. They may be affecting her health.”

We lost our tenuous grip on our composure and laughter burbled out of us. “I don’t know, Lil,” I said. “I think she has a point. He’s definitely not ugly.”

Lil nodded. “Can’t argue there.”

“And then there’s you,” Missy said, surveying my face. “You even look French, Sarah – like a French ingénue with your beautiful black, bobbed hair, and big fathomless eyes.” Missy had a thing about boosting people up, she only saw the good in a person and threw compliments around like confetti. Even if she thought Paris was a crazy idea, she would’ve supported me, it was just her way.

“Imagine you two in Paris, a couple of gorgeous love birds strolling along. That man is so in love with you, I bet he proposes…you’ll be walking along, your hair wet by rain, he’ll be gazing at you with those mesmerizing eyes of his…” Missy got lost in her imagination.

I laughed. “Admit it, you’ve been reading the books I gave Cee?”

Missy guffawed. “Yeah, who knew I’d become so addicted? But honestly, I think despite your outwardly quiet demeanor, there’s a firecracker inside of you just bursting to get out. This will do you good, finding yourself in a place as romantic as Paris. And that man is the perfect match for you.”

I smiled at Missy, unsure of what to say to such thing. It was too soon to even contemplate marriage, but I did wonder about the future. Ridge with his uber drive and ambition to succeed was at odds with my more gentle attitude. I was happy enough to float through life, book in hand, caught up in a fictional world. But was that my problem? The reason sometimes I couldn’t sleep? There were times I worried that I wasn’t trying hard enough to live in the real world. Everyone I knew had a goal, whether it was having children or expanding their businesses. And yet there I was, muddled by it all, so afraid that if I left the familiar I wouldn’t be able to handle it on my own. I’d slept walked safely through life and it was time to wake up, and smell the…croissants.

“Ridge does his own thing, and it’s time for me to find out what I want from life, other than reading, as much as I love it.”

I wasn’t sure if Ridge was completely comfortable in Ashford. He was a New Yorker through and through, and thrived on the hustle and bustle of big city living. He was competitive and determined, speeding from one story to the next. Here, if you rushed anywhere people would think you were being chased by a killer plague of zombies, or something.

“You’ve come a long way from the girl who used to try her hardest to be invisible,” Missy said, softly, remembering the old me, the one I was trying hard to shed. I’d had a range of issues growing up, all linked back to an incident in childhood, that like tumbleweed, rolled along gaining momentum until I was lost inside myself. The fallout from it still echoed. But it’d been these girls who pulled me from the safety of my books, and into the real world despite my protests.

“Ain’t that the truth. We sure are proud o’ you.” CeeCee hefted her bulk from the sofa. “Let me serve these customers ‘fore a protest starts.”

“Good for you. If this is what you want, we support you a hundred percent.” Lil had rolled into the dip in the sofa, in CeeCee’s absence. She righted herself and pulled a cushion onto her lap, rubbing her big pregnant belly absently. In a wistful tone she said, “It’ll be so weird glancing over at the bookshop and seeing someone else there.” Her voice caught.

Missy plucked a tissue from the table and dabbed at her heavily made up eyes. “I haven’t had a crying jag for the longest time, and I’m not gonna start again now. So hear me out, I’m gonna say it real fast…You leaving will be like a piece of our heart is missing, but that’s because we love you. We know you’ll flourish over there. Just don’t stay there forever, OK?”

I gave her a grateful smile and moved to hug her.

“Golly,” Lil said, her eyes shiny with tears. “Pass me a tissue!”

CeeCee trundled back. “Oh, glory be, I leave y’all for one minute and come back to a blubber fest!”

We settled back down, and stared at one another, before bursting into laughter.

“So,” Missy piped up. “When are you leaving?”

I averted my eyes. “In two days.” It was too soon, but maybe that was for the best. Less time to panic I’d made a mistake.

“Two days?” Missy said, her jaw dropping. We’d been best friends for the last decade – I’d miss her fiercely, and her baby Angel, whose first birthday was on Christmas Day.

“I know it’s short notice, but Sophie needs to get away urgently. Manu left her for the girl next door. Can you imagine?” I said. “They’re parading around in front of her, it’s just too horrible to comprehend.” The girls knew all about Sophie, I’d drop her into conversation regularly. To us, her life was exotic and utterly glamorous – a world away from our sleepy town.

“Oh what a pig he is.” Missy said, frowning. “Does Sophie know how small this place is, though?” she asked carefully. “I mean…swapping Paris for Ashford? We love it here, but will she?” In the background the fire crackled and spat, a comforting familiar soundtrack to so many of our conversations.

I toyed with the handle on my mug. “She knows all about Ashford. Her only stipulation was that there weren’t a host of single men lining the streets looking for ‘The One’.”

Our peals of laughter rang out. “Well then,” CeeCee said, her brown face crinkling into a smile. “She’s picked the right town. Single men so sparse around here, it’s a wonder babies are still bein’ made.”

I giggled. While it was such a cliché, a small town with no single men, it was true for Ashford. The younger folk usually moved away to attend college or get jobs in bigger cities, and work here was hard to find. Each year the town population shrank.

Missy put her mug on the coffee table and stood. “I’m going to pretend you’re just going away for the weekend…”

I tried to laugh it off, but it sounded hollow. It would be the toughest thing ever to leave my friends, they were like my security blanket, but the excitement of finally visiting the city I’d coveted for so long brought a fresh wave of butterflies. My eyes flicked to Lil’s belly, as she put a hand to the sofa to ease her way upright. “Lil…” my voice fell away.

“What?” she said, searching my face. “Oh,” seeing the direction of my gaze she looked down at her belly. “Don’t you go getting sad on account of the jellybean…we’ll be Skyping you every other day,” her voice wobbled.

I stepped towards her and placed a hand on the bump, and was rewarded with a little kick. “See?” Lil said. “That’s the jellybean saying it’s OK to go!”

I kept silent, not trusting myself to speak without crying. I’d miss the jellybean’s birth, Lil and Damon’s first wedding anniversary, and baby Angel’s first birthday. Celebrations that meant a lot to me.

***

“Mom, seriously, it’s only Paris. I’m not trekking up the Himalayas, or base jumping in the Grand Canyon. I’m going to another bookshop. I’ll sip French wine, and eat macarons in every color of the rainbow. Wander down avenues where Edith Piaf once sang. I’ll meander around the flea markets near the 18^th arrondissement…” I’d grabbed every French travel guide in the bookshop, and soaked up the text, my heart hammering with all the beauty I’d find.

“But, darling. You’ll be all alone. All by yourself.”

“I get it, Mom. You don’t need to emphasize it.” It was hard to listen to the doubt in her voice. She acted as if I wasn’t capable of traveling on my own, like I’d come home dead or something. “I’m sure I’ll make friends, and Ridge can meet me there. And so what if I’m alone? I’ll have more time to see what I want to see.”

“Sarah, it’s a jungle out there. I’m only telling you so you know. Anything can happen to you. You’re not the kind of girl who waltzes off into the sunset…”

A jungle out there. Like I’d get swallowed up whole. “What if you go back to that dark place again, Sarah? You’re doing great here. You’ve got the best group of friends, a busy life…”

“Mom, my life is the opposite of busy. It’s practically on standstill. I’m not going backwards, I’m going forwards. This will surely spur me on. I’m not seven anymore. All that’s in the past, well in the past.”

She clucked her tongue the way mom’s do. “I don’t want you retreating again, that’s all.”

“I won’t. Don’t you see? This is a huge step forward for me. No one can accuse me of living in the shadows if I go to Paris.” When I was seven, we went to a trade fair on the outskirts of Ashford, and somehow or other, I wandered off and got lost. I’d taken a walk into the nearby woods, and had gone too far. When darkness descended I’d felt real ice cold fear that I’d die out there, being seven, every noise was amplified, every shadow a predator. A whole team of people with torches searched for me. They didn’t find me until close to midnight. After that, nightmares plagued me, and I was scared to leave my parents’. A side effect was developing a nervous stutter, and as you can imagine school life became impossible. Kids mimicked me, and teased me until one day I faded away, and dived into the world of fiction.

Books had been my only friends. My confidence had taken the almightiest of hits, and had never really recovered. That girl, the one who wanted to die of embarrassment was sometimes just under the surface. Years of speech therapy fixed my stutter, and by the time I was a teen I’d learned to be invisible. I didn’t socialize, and didn’t have the first clue how to change that. Once you’ve cut yourself off from people, it’s so hard to find a way back in. My mom was certain I had developed depression, or agoraphobia, or a host of other medical conditions but it was fear, and the effects of bullying that left such a scar on my psyche. But that changed when I opened my bookshop, and Missy stepped into my life, and brightened it. Really that was a million years ago, and the friendship with the girls, and falling in love had boosted my self-confidence.

Mom sat across from me, the chipped and faded Formica table between us. Nothing in Mom’s kitchen had changed since I was a little girl. The spice rack was the same, the shelf displaying fancy plates still gathered dust, just like always. The silver kettle, dented, a boil-on-stove type, sat rotund, waiting. It didn’t take a genius to see who I took after, change wasn’t in either of our vocabs, yet here I was.

“Mom, my books have taken me around the world, but it’s time I stepped from the pages, so I can see it for myself.” I clasped my hands and leaned my elbows on the table. “It’s a few months, and then I’ll be safely home, and I’m sure I can pick up exactly where I left off because nothing ever changes around here.”

Dad was out back in the apple orchard, having given me a bear hug and his blessing. He was a man of few words, but his actions always showed me he cared. Mom’s black hair was streaked with more gray these days, and real fear was reflected in her eyes. She wrung her hands, a frown appearing, as if I’d told her I was going off to war.

“I just don’t know how you’ll cope.” Her lip wobbled. She was worried, her only child heading off into the sunset.

My parents were salt of the earth types. The only time they traveled was to sell the apples that grew abundantly out back. They worked hard, read a lot, and were quiet church going folk, who lived softly in this world.

“Mom, I’ll be fine. It’s time I tried something new, that’s all.”

She shook her head, miffed. My mom was a lot like me with the if it’s not broke don’t fix it kind of mentality, so I knew she thought traveling was something frivolous, a folly. And dangerous to boot.

“What if something happens to you?”

“I hope it does, Mom. I hope I come back with a new vigor for life. I’m tired of being the same person, half-living, all this waiting for something to happen…I have to make it happen.” The more I tried to convince her, the more I believed it myself.

The only sound was the tick of the clock on the wall, one that had been there since I was a skinny five-year-old. Eventually she said, “Is this because of Ridge? You feel like you have to go chase your dreams somewhere else? Following in his footsteps?”

I held in an exasperated sigh. “It’s not that I’m mimicking his life, or wanting to change my values set on his. I want to experience somewhere other than Ashford. Just for a little while.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, OK. But I’m going to worry about you until you’re back on home soil.”

“Try not to worry.” I gave her hand a reassuring pat. “Try and be happy for me.”

With an unsteady smile she said, “I am, darling. It’s just Paris is so far away, and flooded with people. I’ve seen the TV shows, I know there’s crime. Bag snatching, people smuggling, have you seen the movie Taken? I’m sure that was set in Paris…”

I hid a smile. Ashford was so small, no one was brave enough to commit any crimes. Here and there, a teenager would shoplift, and that was about it. The rest of the world seemed so fast, so downright hazardous to the quieter folk in our small town. “Mom, I’m not going to worry about being snatched off the street, or any of the million things that could happen. I’ll be careful, OK?”

Falling into bed, the night before I was to leave, I dialed Ridge.

“Baby,” his voice was soft with sleep. “We keep missing each other.”

“It’s our thing. Where are you?” I pulled the comforter up, and curled onto my side, wishing he was here, with his arms wrapped around me, his body pressed against mine. I closed my eyes against the empty feeling.

“At some sad little hotel at the airport. The empty spot on the mattress beside me a reminder how far away I am from you.”

I hugged a pillow to my chest, no matter how much I tried to cuddle it during the night, the pillow was just a cold and aloof stand-in, until Ridge returned and held me tight. “And you’ll be even farther away soon.”

He sighed. “Yep. I fly out in a few hours. As always, when I’m in the quiet away from you, I wonder what I’m doing…is it worth it? Doesn’t feel like it.”

I smiled, sleepily. “What can I say? It’s your job, and you love it. You’d get bored staying in one spot too long.”

“I don’t think I would, Sarah. I’d have you.”

It was a sweet notion, and my heart swelled, but Ridge thrived on the adventure of his job. The unknown of what he’d find. If he stayed in Ashford for any length of time, I’m sure he’d get itchy feet, and yearn to travel once more. His job suited him, he was as dynamic as his stories.

“You’ll see me soon,” I said. “Hopefully you can get your story wrapped in a week.”

A groan traveled down the line. “I hope so. That’ll be almost a month I haven’t seen you, the longest yet.” He continued, “Sorry I didn’t call last night. I had to sub a story, and it was woefully late when I got back. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should have, I like hearing your voice, and then I would have closed my eyes and dreamed of you.” Without any more preamble, I said, “Ridge, Sophie and I are doing a bookshop exchange. I’m going to Paris! Tomorrow…”

I heard the bed creak, he must have sat up abruptly. “What?” The word came out short and sharp.

Probably a lot for him to take in at a quarter to midnight. “Yes, it’s sudden, and unlike me, but spontaneity is good, right?” That’s what I kept trying to tell myself at any rate. Maybe it was a characteristic that could be learned.

“Sarah…you’re leaving tomorrow? And you’re telling me now?”

I frowned. “Well, I’ve been trying to call you…”

“Sorry,” he said with a groan. “It’s just a shock. Your bookshop…you said you’d never leave it. I’ve asked you so many times to join me on an assignment and you’ve always said no.”

“That’s different, Ridge. You’re working, and dashing here and there. I’d be in your way. Besides we always said we’d go to Paris one day, and this is our chance. I trust Sophie with my bookshop, she knows how I feel about it better than anyone because she feels the same about hers.”

His voice softened. “Of course. I’m a jerk…you took me by surprise, that’s all. Let’s start this conversation again. You’re leaving tomorrow. And what…you take over Sophie’s shop as soon as you get there?”

Outside, stars twinkled in the blue-black night. “That’s the plan. I’ll leave a list of instructions for Sophie. Missy’s going to drive me to the airport, and I’ll get on my first ever plane!” I felt like a child on Christmas Eve. Without the anchor of my friends, my town, who would I be?

He blew out a breath. “How can you…ah…do you need…”

I smiled. It was always awkward when we discussed money. Ridge, ever the hero, wanted to help out when I had financial woes, but I wouldn’t allow it. “Sophie is paying me a small wage, because she claims her shop will be so busy, there won’t be a minute for me rest, let alone read. In return, she will treat her visit to Ashford like a holiday, and enjoy the deadly quiet that is my bookshop these days. She will live at my place, and drive my car, and vice versa.”

“So, after Indonesia, I’ll join you there?” The question in his voice took me by surprise.

I rolled onto my back, and ran a hand through my hair. “Of course! We’re going to stroll to the Arc de Triomphe. Meander through the Louvre. Read in the Luxembourg Gardens…” There was so much to see and do in the short time Ridge would be there, and I knew our desire to be wrapped around each other would take over. But part of me delighted in the fact that I’d have months to meander through Paris, and discover who I was when I was out of my comfort zone. It was all at once thrilling, and scary, in an electrifying way.

He let out a guttural moan. “You, me, and a bottle of Cote De Rhone. In the birthplace of French panties.”

I giggled at the lusty hint in his voice. “And French kissing.”

He gasped. “How am I going to wait so long to see you? Remind me again why I’m in some fusty hotel a million miles away from you?”

I laughed. “Because you’re a workaholic. As much as I love reading you love writing, so what can I say?” What a pair we made. When Ridge worked, head bent over his laptop, I snuggled next to him on the sofa, happy to read the day away, content in being close to him, the silence a comfort as we both did what we loved best.

I’d had sporadic relationships in the past, where the guys in question didn’t understand my voracious need to read. Some called it a waste, or said I lived in a perpetual daydream. Others that my bookworm state made me almost catatonic. The clamor of the death knell rang out loud and clear in my mind when they’d talked like that and I’d sworn off men unless I found a guy who loved me for who I was, foibles and all.

Ridge was happy to snuggle alongside me, and do his own thing, and also spent a fair amount of time with his nose pressed in a book, so I thanked my lucky stars for that.

“True,” he said. “But lately…that buzz, it’s waning. Work takes me from you, it’s sort of like this annoying kid brother I have to humor.”

“Well, how about when you get to Paris, you just say no when the next big story gets waved in front of you?” He wouldn’t though. It was too hard to resist – a new place, a fresh twist, the way he’d spin the story. I respected him for the way he worked, his ethics. Intrinsically, he wanted to do the right thing, report honestly, when so many others concocted a headline that would sell, not a headline with the truth. Ridge had integrity, and was building a name for himself because of it.

“I promise, Sarah. When I get to Paris, it’s you and me, for a few weeks at least. Enough time that you’ll get sick of me, and push me to go back to work.”

“Yeah right, Romeo. Just try me.”

I wanted to clutch his hand while we strolled along the cobbled streets of Paris, the wind whipping my hair around, while Ridge whispered sweet nothings to me. The river Seine flowing languidly beside us as we walked without purpose, perhaps stumbling into the warmth of a bistro, where sensual French chatter would wash over me making me feel like I was living inside my own dreams.

“Oh I plan to try everything, at least once.”

I smiled into the quiet of the night. “Good…I need a tour guide after all, and you’re the man for the job.” Ridge had spent a few summers in Paris, working for a French newspaper. He spoke the language fluently, and knew a lot about the city.

“Tour guide?” he said huskily. “You’re not going to see much except the inside of the bedroom, for the first few days at least.”

My lips parted in anticipation. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Fly safe, and call me when you arrive?” he said.

“You too. Be careful in Indonesia.”

“I love you, Sarah Smith.”

“And I you, Ridge Warner.”

***

Before dawn draped its golden orange ribbons across the sky, I was at my bookshop, enjoying the quiet, relishing the long goodbye. The lull before the town awoke. Soft yellow lamp light spilled through the shop, the novels basked sleepily in the warm glow.

Leaving my books would be like leaving a piece of me behind, just the thought made me catch my breath, as though I’d done something audacious even considering it. I ran my fingers over their covers, murmuring farewells. How many would be missing when I returned? Their voyage into someone’s home, someone’s life, completed without me. There’d be no time to wish them well.

There was a slight rustle, a whisper-quiet mewling. I pivoted, hoping to catch a book moving, but I was too late. The stacks stood solemnly, fat with pride and perhaps a touch of melancholy. Did they sense I was leaving? I wanted to lock the front door, and let them all languish until I returned…

Would Sophie’s shop be this alive? With stacks of leather bound books peeking from a wooden shelf so high, I’d need a ladder to investigate? Or hidden hutches piled with old letters and diaries, penned by some of the writers who’d escaped from their lives and scribbled away there, their words flowing in such a famous place. Would I arrive and hear whispers from the past? The murmur of authors long since gone from this world? Their ghostlike presence hovering in the place they wrote their very last masterpiece. The place they were happiest – a haven for word lovers.

I wanted that…that feeling of being wholly alive, surrounded by likeminded souls. Bibliophiles who re-read a book because it was so damn good – it had become a friend, one you turned to for comfort. The intimacy, the quiet, where words washed over you and made you smile again.

And to befriend other bookworms whose lives were left in tatters after falling in love with a fictional character. Unable to eat or sleep, and sad that you’d never met him, because he wasn’t real, except in your mind. But you still looked for him in faces of people on the street anyway, you’d recognize him anywhere. It would take weeks, sometimes years to stop yearning for that character who’d virtually jumped from the page and smothered you with kisses. Would I find people like that in the bookshop on the Left Bank where the cherry trees stood?

With a nervous flutter in my belly, I said goodbye to my books, and silently wished them well, hoping that if a customer stumbled upon them while I was absent they’d be cherished.