Careful? Pshaw. I’m in fine form tonight, so Dane and I head outside to see if Jonathan’s getting accosted by overzealous fans. There are a ton of those, but no author. When we return, Miguel’s squinting at the computer on the counter. It’s a big box, even deeper than our television, and he keeps leaning toward the screen and then away from it. He used to use reading glasses, but I haven’t seen him with a pair…well, come to think of it, since the last time I saw him reading a book, which was around when Amelia first got sick. He did peek atI, Edwardbefore we drove over, but that doesn’t really count. Like withMissing Person,he can probably recite half the novel from memory.
“No email from Jonathan. Not from his publicist or agent, either,” he tells Brenna.
“That may be, but the crowd’s getting restless,” she responds. “We should let them get settled.”
“I guess we don’t have a choice,” says Miguel, looking at the doors. “I just hope he gets here soon.”
There’s a buzz in the air as people stream in and take their seats. I can tell Miguel’s too nervous to attempt to socialize, so I work the room for him, letting customers rub my head and pat my back and tell me what a sweet, well-behaved dog I am. As I mingle, I try to see if anyone smells like they could use a Puerto Rican pal. There are lots of nice people, yet no one seems right for Miguel.
The store grows quiet, but JMB still hasn’t appeared. Finally, Miguel goes up to the podium. A bead of sweat rolls down one side of his face; another immediately appears on the other side. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. “Thank you all for being here tonight. I apologize that we’re running late, but I’m sure Jonathan will arrive shortly.”
“I hope so. At fifty bucks a pop, I could’ve gone to see the Rolling Stones,” an older man calls from the back row.
“Um, I assure you that would have cost more—and it definitely wouldn’t have come with a signature from Jonathan Middleton-Biggs,” Miguel tells him.
“Apparently neither does this,” the man volleys back.
Miguel attempts to smile, but it’s no use. “He should be here,” he says, and though he’s not addressing the crowd, the microphone picks it up and sends his voice echoing through the room.
“What happens if hedoesn’tshow?” asks a teenager with raccoon rings around his eyes.
“I just cannot imagine that happening. Jonathan offered to do this event,” Miguel tells him. “So, he’ll be here. It’s simply a question of when.”
“I have to get home to my sitter soon,” says one woman.
“My shift starts in an hour,” says a man a few seats over from her.
“Everyone, hold tight,” Brenna calls from behind the seating area. “I’ll grab some wine from the back.”
“Is that even legal?” Dane asks Riley in a low voice.
“Private event—as long as she doesn’t serve anyone underage, it’s fine,” she tells him quietly. “Let’s just hope there’s enough for this crowd. WhereisJMB, anyway?”
“Please do your best to stay comfortable,” Miguel says into the mic. “We should begin any minute now.”
We do not begin.
Soon the wine’s gone and people get up from their seats to mill around. No one’s buying books, though, or even browsing; they’re just complaining. Some are even speculating that JMB never planned to come to the store in the first place.
Now, of course he did—I heard that conversation myself. Jonathan’s been super famous ever since some woman named Oprah told everyone to read his second book. So, it did take his assistant some time to convince Miguel he wasn’t being pranked, that Jonathan really did plan to visit the store and sign every last ticket holder’s novel. The assistant swore he wanted to help and get readers to buy more books at Lakeside. Which is even more important to Miguel than getting a chance to shake his favorite author’s hand.
Riley pulls him away from the podium. “Boss, he’s an hour late. Something must have happened,” she whispers.
“¡Claro!But I’m not sure what I can do. I can’t refund everyone right here and now,” he whispers back.
Dane’s slunk over to the register where they’re standing.“Dude, don’t refund yet—rain check. Tell them you’ll have a do-over in the very near future, and that you’ll throw in a free book at that event.”
Miguel gives him the same look he gives me when I try to steal food off the counter. “I can’t afford that. I’ll…offer a discount on anything they buy tonight.”
“No one’s buying,” says Riley glumly. “I actually had someone ask for their money back forI, Edward.”
“The next time they come in, then.”
She nods. “Okay.”
But it isn’t okay at all. Miguel’s practically lifeless as he tells them about the discount and vows to be in touch soon with a rain date.
The customers stream out. Then Miguel sends the staff home, even though Riley offers to close up shop for him. Once the store’s empty, Miguel sits beside me on the tile and runs his hand down my back again and again, which means he’s really trying to soothe himself, notme.
