I do not like this one bit.
“There was a reason Miriam was worried.” He laughs bitterly. “Here I was, so caught up in a mirage disguised as love that I forgot all about making money and keeping the store alive.”
Did he just say “love”?
But he keeps jabbering as he walks into the kitchen. I limp behind him, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.
He opens the trash. “If I hadn’t gone to Chicago in the first place—if I’d said no to going back to her house—” One by one, the books thud as he drops them into the bin. “If I’d just stayed home, I might be in the same position, but I wouldn’tbe this miserable. Ignorance may be for willful idiots, but it sure beats the truth. And the worst part?”
I thought he’d already unpeeled that, but it appears there are multiple layers to this odorous onion.
He turns and startles slightly as he sees me. “Harold, if I hadn’t dragged you to Chicago, you probably wouldn’t have passed out, and you certainly wouldn’t be as sick as you are right now. I had no business letting you run around with a tweenager. I failed you.”
He’s as wrong as he’s ever been. I’m clear that my happiness isn’t the objective here, but Amelia Mae is the best thing that’s happened to me since my Amelia passed. And as much as I fault myself for overfocusing on her, that made it easier for Miguel to spend time with Fiona. No, he didn’t fail me; I failedhim.I should have figured out how to explain to him that love isn’t just the answer.
It’s the whole point.
He slides down the back of the cupboard so he’s sitting next to me. His entire body radiates pain, and not the kind I’m in. “I wasted all that time,” he says.
He puts his fists to his eyes and clenches his jaw, and instead of letting the tears out, he’s fighting to keep them in. “I blew it. Year after year, I blew it. Amelia told me to branch out, to read other things. I acted like she was telling me to go binge pulp, but she was talking about her own books. Iknewshe was, even if she didn’t come out and say it. But I was too afraid that I wouldn’t like them, that they would somehow impact the way I felt about her, so I just avoided them altogether. I’m as awful as her parents.”
You’re not.You’re nothing like those horrible people. You made a mistake; their harm was on purpose.
I rub my head against his leg, and he places his hand on my back. And at last, a sob escapes his mouth.
Then he says the thing that finally—finally—makes me understand why he’s so distraught.
“All that time, I could have been reading Amelia’s novels instead of JMB’s or Fiona’s or whatever they are. It didn’t matter if they were good or not, or if it turned out I hated romance. Those books, they werehers;they were part of her heart. I’m a fool, Harold, the very worst kind. I prioritized a stranger’s words over the woman right in front of me, who I loved more than everything in the whole world times a million. Now I can’t do a thing about it because it’s too late. And I will have to live with that for the rest of my lonely life.”
He watches me for a moment, then pushes himself onto his feet. “Come on, dog. It’s time to get some sleep,” he says, lifting me from the kitchen floor. He walks me to the living room and gently places me back in my bed. “Rest up. I’m going to clean myself up, then start making calls to get the bookstore ready to close. I’ll call Dane to give him a heads-up, and he can tell Riley, since I highly doubt that she wants to hear from me. Then I’ll let the others know, and give Kathy notice in the next day or two.”
Not that I can protest, but I don’t want to sleep. I need to help him see that he’s got this all wrong; the rest of his life doesn’t have to be lonely, and in fact, it’s not supposed to be. I’m here, at least for now. So is Fiona, if only he’d call her and apologize. He has Riley and Dane and Miriam and their family in Puerto Rico. Yes, Amelia was his reason, but she would have wanted him to find a new one. To do all the living and loving he can while he has a chance.
But he’s already stepping over the stupid baby gate and heading upstairs withoutme.
What will I do? WhatcanI do when I’m in such sorry shape? Just as Miguel claims to be, I’m truly out of ideas.
So, I close my eyes and ask for help, in any form it decides to arrive.
Thirty-Six
I swear I’m not trying to mope, but I also don’t know how to mask how I’m feeling, the way so many humans seem to be able to. It’s not just my sorry state; now that Miguel has decided the store is closing and he’s destined to be alone, everything seems unappealing. I couldn’t even bring myself to finish my special food this morning.
Really, I don’t think Amelia understood what she was asking for. Maybe she overestimated his capacity for love, to say nothing of my intelligence.
“¿Y tú también,Harold?” Miguel says, throwing himself on the sofa. He’s stripped down to his underwear, although I’m not sure if this is a sustained cry for help or the result of his decision to barely use air-conditioning to save cash.
Me, too,I think, lifting my head momentarily to acknowledge I’ve heard him.
“Come on up here, dog. You look miserable down there.”
I eye him from my bed. Surely this is a trap; I’m never allowed on the sofa.
“Come on,” he says, patting the spot beside him. “I’ll giveyou a lift. Besides, it’s not like we’re expecting company. Miriam won’t be back for a few days.”
Yes, and that’s part of the problem—she’s possibly the only person who could talk sense into him right now! Still, I rise cautiously and let him lift me onto the cushion. Then I circle for a moment, trying to find the right angle, before curling up just far enough away that he and I aren’t touching.
“You sure you’re okay?” he says, reaching out to pet my head. “I hope those medications are doing what they’re supposed to.”
