A resounding click followed by a steady dial tone is the last thing I hear.
5THE VOICE
I pound on the brass call bell by the bookstore’s cash register after work, wondering where the man from last night is. I need answers. Craning my neck in all directions, I finally see him make his way over from a slender door in a back corner.
He looks perturbed, but then sees it’s me. “I know you didn’t finish itthatfast.” He’s in the same well-fitting jeans and a dark green button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
His nearness unnerves me, makes me want to touch my hair and face, roll the toe of my boot on the ground like a sheepish child. Especially when he seems bristled like this. “What?”
He points at the book in my hand—The Bell Jarfrom last night.
“Oh, not exactly.”
He circles around from behind the register. “No returns or exchanges. You didn’t pay, remember?”
I try to smile but it falters. “You said you didn’t recall stocking this book.”
“That’s right.”
“So, do you know who did?” I follow him to a back shelf as I wait for him to respond, hovering anxiously.
“I’ve been managing the store since my grandfather had to start dialysis,” he tells me. “He opened it in 1955. But he hasn’t been able to do much around here since the kidney disease set in.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say quickly, too preoccupied to appreciate what he’s telling me, how personal it is. I’ve seen the old man in here numerous times before, his face long and lined, but I don’t really make the connection. “What about your father? Could he have stocked it?”
He sets the book he’s holding down and turns to face me. “That would be impossible, I’m afraid. My father died six years ago. Car accident.”
I feel like an ass. My cheeks burn with shame. “Shit. Sorry.”
He shrugs. “He lived a good life. No regrets.”
I nod, a little taken aback by how well he seems to have processed his loss. It occurs to me that I don’t know what healthy grief looks like, just the crushing weight of guilt and the acidic burn of a secret so deeply buried, it’s practically congenital. “Okay. Umm, well… There wouldn’t be any other Ormans floating around, would there? Someone else you could ask?”
He pushes his sleeves even farther up the thick, bare clubs of his forearms. “Just me, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint you.”
I cringe at the edge in his tone. I must seem so rude barging in like this, asking a thousand questions. “Not at all,” I blurt. “I mean, I’m not disappointed.You’renot disappointing. Anything but, really.”Jesus, Jude, stop talking.
He gives me a sidelong glance, and I see the crook of a smile. “I’m Levi, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand.
I hesitate, the waiting flat of his hand an open pocket for me to slide into.Jude, I remind myself.You are Jude Clark.It’s all Roger ever knew of me. All he ever wanted to know. He inquired once after my family, and I told him my parents were dead. He didn’t ask any more questions after that. Not how they died or when. He almost seemed relieved not to have to meet them. And I saw it as a blessing in disguise. Maybe that’s the reason we worked for as long as we did. Because he had no desire to know who I really was, and I had no desire to tell him. But the truth is, I’m not Jude Clark. I never have been. And I’m suddenly tired of pretending to be.
Until the invitation with my real name scrawled in gold, itdidn’t occur to me that I’d grown weary of this self-imposed exile. A decision I made to seal off what happened along with who it happened to like baby shoes in a time capsule. But maybe it was penance, time served for a secret offense, a bargain struck in the night—one life for another. And another. And another… Since they didn’t walk away, I couldn’t let myself either. And now a stranger has breached the hold, making me question everything.
“Judeth,” I reply, giving his warm palm a hearty squeeze, liking the feel of it more than I anticipated.
“You have family here?”
It’s a simple enough question, but it’s personal, and it puts me on edge. I have no easy answer for it. “Not really,” I say, batting it away. “No.”
He nods, taking that in. “You from Seattle or…?”
I clear my throat, refusing to answer. “Do you recall if anyone came into the store before me?”
He gets the message and crosses his arms over his chest. “You came just before close. It was a long day. Plenty of people were in before you.”
“Right. Of course. Just… Did you notice anyone out of the ordinary? Anyone strange or…strange?”
He squints. “You have someone in mind?”
