“What’s that?” she asks with a frown.
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you’ve never read it,” Itell her. “You’re just about the right age too. Are you nine?”
“Ten,” she says proudly.
“Hang on,” I say, holding up a finger and heading over to one of the stacks of books on the floor. “I think I have it.”
“There aren’t a lot of books for kids here,” she tells me.
“I know,” I say, shaking my head as I push pastThe Wind in the Willows, looking for the familiar black spine. “I’m hoping to change that.”
“You are?” Meg asks.
I can tell by her voice that she’s pleased. Maybe she’s a reader. My sourpuss neighbor can’t be such a bad guy if he’s raising a reader.
I lift up a copy ofThe Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobeand right underneath, there it is—A Wrinkle in Time.
Gosh, how I loved this book when I was her age.
“Do you get scared easily?” I ask her, not holding it out to her just yet.
“Is it by Stephen King?” she asks, eyes wide. “I’m not allowed to read Stephen King books yet, except forThe Eyes of the Dragon.”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I tell her, smiling. “But no, this is a sort of fantasy adventure by Madeline L’Engle. It won a Newberry Medal.”
“A fantasy adventure?” she echoes, moving toward me with her eyes on the book like she’s hypnotized.
“It’s one of the best books for kids I’ve ever read,” I tell her honestly as I hold it out. “And the main character is named Meg, short for Margaret.”
“Whoa,” she breathes, taking the book.
There’s a rustle and another sprinkle of glass diamonds scattering on the floor, and then the Christmas tree is backing out of the window, leaving me with a view again, and a harsh, cold breeze.
“Yikes,” Meg says without even looking up from the book.
Her dad comes back in a moment later and heads over to the window with a measuring tape. It looks about the size of a roll of dental floss in his giant hand as he makes short work of measuring the window.
“What’s that?” he asks as he shoves the tape measure back in his pocket.
I turn to see that Meg is already reading the book. She’s clearly enraptured and I’m honestly jealous. I wish I could read it for the first time again myself.
“Oh, just a book I thought she might like,” I say.
“Can we get it, Dad?” Meg asks. “Can we?”
“No charge,” I say quickly.
“We can pay for it,” Roan growls.
“I’m not even set up to take payments yet,” I admit. “Besides, I think it’s been on the shelf a while. The pages are yellowed.”
“If you’re giving books away, you’ll have this place belly up in no time,” he predicts.
But when I glance up at him, those cold blue eyes are twinkling.
It takes me a second to realize it, but I think Roan just made a joke.
“We’ll be right back,” he says. “Come on, Meg.”
