You’ll get over me. People say love is choosing to be together, choosing the other person every single day. It’s showing up for each other. Well, we’re not going to show up anymore, are we? You’ll stop loving me. Choose to love Helen. I mean it. Be happy.
I wore myAlice in Wonderlanddress for my first day at the Prose Garden. The same shade of sky blue as Alice’s dress, it matched my mood of feeling lost in Wonderland; this wasn’tmyworld, with its too-big houses, strange characters, and enough wealth to have all the roses on the island painted red—but I found it baffling and intriguing and delightful.
Though early in the day, people already strolled through Nantucket’s cobblestone streets, swinging their beach and designer bags. A breeze ruffled the trees’ leaves, carrying the ocean’s tang, and the morning sun made me feel warm without overheating. I still couldn’t get over the town’s charm; I didn’t think I’d ever be numb to the quaint storefronts. Flowers spilled from window boxes and beautifully lettered signs announced bakeshops and antique stores.
Jane had told me most of the buildings on Nantucket had gray shingles not due to paint, but since natural cedar eventually weatheredinto a calming gray. But the bookstore—tucked between two tall redbrick buildings on a side lane off Main Street—had white shingles. A rose-covered trellis led to the entrance. My nerves jangled as I walked beneath it. I’d worked at the public library long enough to have confidence in my bookish knowledge, but new jobs—new starts—were always scary.
I pushed open the door, and my tension sluiced away.
Light, air, and faint classical music filled the store. My shoulders relaxed. I breathed easier in rooms full of books, as if the paper retained the capacity of the trees they’d once been. So many books filled this room, more than in my own or my parents’ or our living room, even though we had a wall of built-in shelves. The shop had alleys of books, towering cases of books. You could get lost here. You could be found.
A woman sat behind the front desk, reading a jacketless hardcover. I smiled with an excessive amount of brightness. “Hi. I’m Abigail Schoenberg. I’m here for the summer?”
“Oh, perf.” She unfolded with unexpected grace to her feet. “Liz!” she hollered toward the back, then smiled. “I’m Maggie. Let’s get you set up.”
Maggie was the daughter of the family friend of the acquaintance of my hometown librarian’s sister-in-law (all real connections). She wore a white-and-pink polka-dot dress and a headband, and her partner, Liz, had short purple hair and wore all black. A peanut-butter-and-jelly couple, Mom would call them. Perfectly paired opposites. They had three full-time staff, and hired more during the summer. The other seasonal employees were returning college students; I’d been lucky to get a spot.
It took only ten minutes to decide I adored Maggie and her noisy cheerfulness. She showed me how to run the register, how to checkthe shelves for what needed to be pulled and what restocked, how to read the maps for which books belonged on the display tables. One table featured World War II novels, their covers showcasing women with short bobs and long coats.O’ma.I’d spent half the night thinking about her photo. What had her life been like here and at Golden Doors?
Maggie trained me as people flowed through the store, effortlessly switching from instructive mode to helpful bookseller. Most of the time she seemed to know exactly what the customer wanted before they did. Once, someone said, “I heard about this book on NPR,” and without any other details, Maggie plucked a book from behind her, and it was theright one.
“How—what—I’m speechless,” I said.
Maggie laughed. “It’s the book du jour right now. Also, this is as close as I’ll ever get to magical powers, so I need to revel in it whenever I can.”
She won over even the most difficult of customers. A twentysomething woman dismissed Maggie at first, then finally admitted she was a fantasy reader looking for a new author.
“N. K. Jemisin?”
“Read her.”
“Sharon Shinn?”
“Read her.”
“Kate Elliott?”
“Read her.”
“Nnedi Okorafor?”
“Read her.”
Yet with each rejection, Maggie became more and more excited. “Katherine Addison,” she said.“The Goblin Emperor.”
The woman paused. Tilted her head. “Hm. No. I don’t think I have.”
After the customer departed, novel in hand, Maggie collapsed in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace and small café. She fanned herself with a magazine. I couldn’t decide if it was an affectation or not. I perched on the arm of the chair across from her. “I’m impressed.”
“I know.” Maggie dropped the magazine to a side table and waved her other arm grandiosely. “As the keepers of knowledge, it is our sacred duty to unite texts and readers.”
Liz looked up from the computer on the other side of the room. She took care of inventory and finances, and had built their website, where she maintained the blog and user outreach. Maggie handled more of the store’s in-person interactions. “You’re so weird.”
“I’m brilliant. A wizard. She’ll love the book. And remember the lady from last month who said her son didn’t read, and I convinced her to buyPawn of Prophecyand she came back three days later and bought the entire series?Andthe Malloreon?”
“She’s been dining out on that story for weeks now,” Liz told me.
“Because it’s wonderful. Like me. So, Abby, this is your first time on Nantucket?”
