“Momma?”
“Two months,” her mother said while she gazed up at the starry sky. “I have two months left, Starling.”
“The doctor said you’re getting better,” Claudia assured.
“No.” Her mother’s voice was slow and dreamy. “It’s written in the stars.”
Claudia dragged her mother back inside and wrote the incident off as some fevered delusion, but sure enough, two months later, she and her father were burying her. Since then, Claudia has been chasing answers. What did her mother see that night in the stars? And if Claudia had believed her, could she have done something to save her mother’s life?
Ten years later and she still doesn’t know.
As she reads, she feels the heavy glare of the old woman. Sensing she needs to make a purchase, she looks for the price of the book in its usual spot—penciled in the upper right-hand corner—but it’s blank.
“How much for this one? There’s no price inside.”
“Hm. Bring it here.”
Claudia walks the thin space between shelves and stops before the counter, handing over the little black book. Immediately, she wants it back. That book is meant to be hers. She hates every second that it’s not in her hands. The old woman holds her tiny spectacles far away from her face while she examines it. She grunts and turns the book upside down as if she can shake answers out of it.
“Mr. Aimes would’ve probably charged a penny or two for a book like that,” Claudia says. More like four or five pennies, but in Claudia’s defense, she used the wordprobably. It’s not a lie; it’sprobable.
“Well, Mr. Aimes is not here.”
“Right.” Claudia tucks her chin and looks down at her black shoes. “I’m terribly sorry about your brother, Mrs. Schottstaedt. He was a lovely man.”
“You don’t have to lie, dear. He was a curmudgeon by the age of ten, but we loved him anyway.”
Claudia gives her a soft smile. “Well, curmudgeon or not, he ran this shop, which is my favorite place in the world.”
The old woman laughs and looks around at the dusty, dank store. “If this is your favorite place, you’ve got a whole lot more of the world to see.”
She bristles against that comment because it’s so true that it stings. She’s always longed to travel, to study, to wander and wonder. But she’s never had the courage to leave, or a direction in which to go. And in truth, she’s scared. Her home is a devil she knows—the world is a devil she doesn’t. She’s always forced gratitude upon herself, even in the worst of times, because she knows that life can get so much worse than this.
But when she looks at that black book in Mrs. Schottstaedt’s weathered hands, and when she thinks about Cygnus, she wonders: If life can get worse, can’t it also get better?
She grows more excited and determined by the minute. Something about this book makes her feel as if her whole life is about to change.
“If you’d like to throw out a starting price, we could go from there,” Claudia says cheerfully. Mr. Aimes used to lower the price after a bit of sweet talk. Perhaps Mrs. Schottstaedt will do the same.
After turning over every page, Mrs. Schottstaedt closes the book in defeat. “Sorry, dear. I don’t think my brother had any intention of selling this one. It must’ve made its way onto the floor by mistake.”
“Or maybe Mr. Aimes changed his mind about selling it?” Claudia suggests hopefully.
The woman tilts her head to the side and gives her a pitiful look. “I don’t think so.”
“He must’ve intentionally put it on the shelf and forgot to price it. He’d grown quite forgetful in recent months,” she counters.
“Yes, but—”
“And it seems the bookstore belongs to you now, yes? Surelyyouhave no qualms about selling it to me.”
Mrs. Schottstaedt gives a throaty laugh that turns into a cough. “You’re mouthy. Does that ever get you into trouble?”
She tucks her hair behind her ears and shrugs. “Usually it gets meoutof trouble.”
They both laugh. There’s a glimmer of recognition in the old woman’s eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Claudia Jolicoeur.”
