“Oh, he’s my guy for sure, but sometimes the things he says.”
“That is an interesting phrase for sure. So were you asking or telling when he overheard you?”
Marcus’s voice was teasing enough to make her smile. “I was fighting with my ex.”
“Because you care about who he’s sleeping with?”
“God, no. It’s about my kids.” She explained about their unusual parenting plan. “Gentry and Xander are too young to have to deal with Harris having his girlfriends spend the night. The ‘only if engaged or married’ rule exists for a reason. But he can’t see past his dick to figure out—”
She pressed her lips together as she realized what she’d just said. “Sorry. That came out more graphic than our relationship calls for.”
“I’m pretty hard to offend,” he said easily. “And you’re right to protect your kids from that kind of stuff. They already grow up too fast.”
“Thanks for understanding. Do you have children?”
“I never got that lucky.” His voice sounded wistful. “How old are yours?”
“Eight and eleven.”
“Great ages.”
“They are. I was worried about how they’d deal with the divorce, but they’re doing great. They get to stay in the house, so they’re never without their stuff. Harris is being a pain about Shawna, but other than that, he’s a good dad. Very involved. We’re doing well by them and that makes me happy.”
Ramon flew overhead and headed for the open front door. Marcus took a step in that direction.
“Is he okay going outside?”
“He won’t go far,” she said. “He loves me and he loves the bookstore. If he went out it’s because he saw someone he likes heading in this direction.” She smiled. “It’s kind of funny. Even if someone isn’t planning to come in, once they see Ramon, they feel obligated to hang out with him for a while. That often translates into them buying a coffee or remembering a book they wanted to read. He’s very good for my bottom line.”
“Interesting bird.” He pointed toward the center of the store. “We need to talk about the wall.”
She groaned. “I really don’t want to.”
“Unless you want to keep tempting fate and risk the roof coming down, you’re going to have to reinforce the supports.”
They crossed through the New Fiction section and came to stop by a twelve-foot-wide-by-twenty-foot-tall brick wall. Nearly every brick was covered with what looked like graffiti. Some had writing or numbers, some had doodles or symbols. Marcus walked around to the side, where he stared at the two-foot-deep wall.
“Post office boxes?” he asked, sounding doubtful. “That’s what you told me.”
She made an X over her heart. “At least a couple hundred of them.”
“Filled with diaries?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She laughed. “It’s a thing. You were never tempted by our Diary Days?”
“Not even a little.”
“No pressing secrets you want to write down?”
“And keep in your bookstore? No.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“It started with a more noble purpose,” she said. “My stepfather’s parents owned the store back in the 1970s. During the bicentennial, time capsules became very popular. Around the same time, old buildings were being torn down and replaced with more modern structures. A couple of post offices were demolished, and his folks bought the banks of small PO Boxes. They had someone saw off the front doors of them, then mounted them on the wall.”
She pointed up at the imposing wall. “Everyone in town was invited to write up something for the time capsule. It was supposed to be about what life was like at the time and people’s hopes for the future.”
