“When you go to buy a book, if you want a recommendation, do you ask for a contemporary mystery, written in the last two years, by an American writer?”
“Yes?”
Cassidy snorted. “Well, that’s not how most people work. Most people come in here, and they say they want something a little funny, a little sad. Something about families, but not something where someone dies. It’s easier if we organize them this way.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense!”
They passed a shelf called ‘We Didn’t Know Where Else To Put These.’
“It will.” She turned another corner, and suddenly, they were back where they started. A cyclist went by, followed by a woman with a stroller. They didn’t so much as glance through the window. Martin felt like he’d been on a kind of quest that had lasted a thousand years, only to return home and find that no time had passed at all.
“So the first thing to do is tidy up the kid’s section.” She pointed to the picture book table. “The Mommy and Me group will be here at nine-thirty.”
“Mommy and me?”
“Yes, and then the knitting circle will be here at noon.”
“Knitting circle?” Martin checked around again. “Like people? Here? Knitting?”
“Sure! Didn’t Mrs. Green tell you?”
“Tell me about what?” Here it was. He’d expected a quiet day of recommending classics and wheezing on the layer of dust that coated everything. It had all seemed too easy, and now he would find out why.
“Oh. Well. A used bookstore is only so popular. Most people just get their stuff online these days. So Mrs. Green figured out that if we get people to come for other things, they might stick around and buy a book or two. It’s Mommy and Me at nine-thirty, knitting circle at noon, and the feminist poetry circle at three on Saturdays.”
That didn’t sound too bad.
“Do I have to learn to knit?” He was pleased he could find humor over the increasing rattle of his heart.
Cassidy laughed, curly hair bouncing on her shoulders. “It couldn’t hurt.”
No, it was bad.
* * *
It turned out to be only moderately awful. The Mommy and Me group was the loudest. Eight moms and their little kids invaded just after the store opened. The chaos of a dozen small people flinging books about as they tried to find the perfect story must have been reflected on Martin’s face, because Cassidy sent him to the back with instructions on how to run the coffee maker.
It took him a few attempts to find his way out of the stacks of books, and he tried to let himself into a locked closet, but eventually he found a little kitchen area.
The coffee maker there might have been as old as the bookstore itself, and after he’d filled it with water and coffee grounds, nothing happened. He pressed the Start button a few times, but the coffee maker just sat there. He finally unplugged it, counted to twenty, and plugged it in again. It had always worked for the history department’s photocopier, and it appeared coffee makers operated on similar principles. A red light on the front flashed, and there was a faint smell like something burning, but then the machine finally gurgled to life.
“I think your coffee maker is dying,” he said as he returned to the front of the store.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t mention the coffee maker to Mrs. Green.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a touchy subject. Just don’t.”
The knitting circle was the nosiest group; they gossiped more than they knit. They were also notable because their membership included Mrs. Green, Martin’s new employer. Like she had at his interview, the first impression she made upon arrival was one of vibrant color. Bright clothes and brighter scarves fluttered from her body. A sparkling pink and blue butterfly clip accented her fine white hair.
“Oh! Dr. Lindsey!” She clapped her hands, drawing his attention to the bright blue nail polish on her fingertips. “How are you doing this morning?”
The three ladies who had already arrived with their bags of knitting perked up as she addressed him. The attention made him itchy.
“Fine, thank you.” He glanced around for Cassidy. He’d been there three hours and already he knew she would be critical to him surviving this day.
“Come and meet everyone.” Mrs. Green linked her arm through his and drew him forward. She introduced him as ‘Dr. Lindsey’ to each of the women who had gathered, and each shook his hand like they were meeting a foreign dignitary. Every handshake made Martin’s palm sweat a little more.
