Back home, I make a salad using Maggie’s veggies and put together aLost Birdflyer. It’s pretty simple—just a picture of Doris, some quick facts, and my name and number—but it’s not like she’s going to be confused for any other random rose-breasted cockatoo running feral in the north Georgia mountains. I text Shelby for her email and send the flyer over with my thanks for printing it. I know I could ask Cait for help, since she’s a design whiz, but then I would have to tell her I lost my cockatoo. I don’t need to give my sisters any more reason to freak out.
And that’s why I have to call them.
I went too long, and now I know…I’m going to pay.
29.
My sisters pickup the moment I FaceTime them, and I’m already bracing myself.
“Thank God!” Cait wails. “No texts! No nothing! We thought you fell off the mountain! We thought you died in a mountain murder cult!”
“Phone signal is spotty,” I begin weakly. Which isn’t true, but it’s not like she’s just going to show up and call me on it. “And I don’t always get notifications since that last update. But I’m fine!”
“We didn’t know that!” She throws up her hands. “Jemma said you might’ve gotten abducted by Bigfoot. Or eaten by bears.”
“There is a startling lack of Bigfoot around here, although there are several helpful books on the subject in the video store. And I haven’t seen a bear yet. It’s the turkeys that worry me.”
Cait’s in her home office, and Jemma is in her Instagram-ready studio apartment, surrounded by dying plants in cute little pots. I want to hug my sisters so badly it hurts.
“So what’s kept you so busy that you had us about to file a missing person report?” Cait asks. Her eyes are elsewhere, and Iknow that she’s probably using this time to zoom through her never-ending inbox.
“Let’s see. I’ve got someone building shelves for the bookstore. I joined the Chamber of Commerce. And I went to Walmart and started getting the apartment up to my standards….”
“So you bought a coffee maker,” Cait fills in, and I point at her and wink.
Jemma leans in. “Have you met anybody?”
“So many people! The couple who owns the inn, the entire Chamber of Commerce, the folks at the bar, the daughter and granddaughter of our grandmother’s best friend. Everyone has been very welcoming.”
“That’s not what I mean. Have you met any cute guys? Or girls?”
“Or local cryptids?” Cait adds.
“There aren’t a ton of young people in town,” I say, realizing how far I’m having to go not to lie to people when I’m avoiding the truth these days. “Or cryptids. We’re too far south for Mothman, unfortunately.”
“But you’re really opening a bookstore?” Cait asks. She finally focuses on me. “I bet you’re neglecting all the important stuff. You’re going to need a logo and a website. A color palette. A brand. What’re you going to call it?”
I take a deep breath. I’ve been going back and forth on this very topic in my head. Upscale or homey? Whimsical or serious? What kind of bookstore do I want? But the answer I’ve come up with is the simplest one.
“The Arcadia Falls Bookshop and Boiled P-Nut Emporium,” I say.
After a long pause, they both burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, Rhea, you cannot call it that. I won’t let you,”Jemma wheezes. “How would I even tell people? That’s mortifying.”
“More important, how would I fit all that on a business card?” Cait asks.
Judging by the reflections in her eyes and the click of her keyboard, I can tell that she’s already trying.
“Maybe Downtown Books? Or Mountain Books and Peanuts?” she suggests.
“Or even just drop the part about the peanuts.” Jemma’s nose wrinkles up. “Maybe drop the peanuts entirely.”
“The peanuts are nonnegotiable. The town would riot,” I tell my sisters, using my Big Sister Voice. “For the past decade, the peanuts have been the real moneymaker. So maybe if people keep coming in for peanuts, they’ll get comfortable enough to come in for more.”
“Booknuts,” Jemma mumbles to herself. “Shells ’n’ Shelves. B’s and P’s. Wait. No.” She grins, eyes alight. “Nuts for Books!”
And honestly, my jaw drops.
