She really didn’t have time to focus on her dream of owning a bookstore, which had finally come true only a few months before he died and their life fell apart.
But every time she was tempted to sell Rainy Day, something held her back. Maybe her deep love of books, or sheer stubbornness, that determination to cling to her dream of keeping the bookstore doors open in a town that otherwise wouldn’t have access to books except their small underfunded library.
“Your grandmother hasn’t changed,” Rosie admitted. “If anything, her time running the store has only reinforced her beliefs. I actually heard her say to a customer once that buying was optional and they were free to spend as much time as they wanted browsing, reading the books and admiring the dust.”
Emma laughed. “Sounds like Grandma.”
Rosie gave a rueful smile in response. She loved her mother dearly. For all her quirks, Sylvia was kind, compassionate, fierce. She couldn’t help that a paltry thing like making money wasn’t her first priority.
Emma, on the other hand, would be brilliant at running the bookstore. Rosie was sure of it.
“You have a business degree and plenty of experience managing people. As far as I’m concerned, you’re perfect. I’m so grateful you agreed to help.”
Rosie had no idea why Emma had finally acquiesced this time, when she had asked her to come home many times over the years since Olive’s birth. She suspected her daughter hadbeen ready for a change, especially as the lease on the apartment she shared with two other single moms had been ending soon.
“I won’t be perfect for anything if I can’t wake up in time for work.” Emma turned to her daughter with a chiding look. “New rule, kid. You can’t turn off my phone alarm, okay? Even if you think I need more sleep.”
“Okay,” Olive said cheerfully, taking another bite of pancakes.
“Looks like Grandma made you breakfast.”
“Mickey pancakes. Except I already ate the ears.”
“I hope that’s okay.” Rosie tried to keep the anxious note from her voice but was afraid it filtered through anyway. Perhaps after Emma and Olive had been here a few weeks and settled in, Rosie might relax, lose some of this fear of making a wrong move and sending her daughter running away again.
“Why wouldn’t it be okay? I always eat the ears first. That way Mickey can’t hear me chewing the rest of him.”
“I meant the pancakes. I know you’re vegetarian.”
Emma lifted an eyebrow, the pierced metal post there reflecting sunlight. “Unless you have a special pancake recipe these days that uses beef tallow or pork drippings, they should be fine.”
“No beef or pork. Plain old pancake mix.”
“Then we’re good. I appreciate you feeding her.”
“It was my pleasure.” Rosie hoped her daughter knew she was determined to do everything possible to make sure the two of them were comfortable in her home.
“I tried to pick up things at the grocery store I thought you might like. I even bought a vegetarian cookbook and I’ve been looking up recipes online for things I thought you might like.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” Emma said. She looked slightly less frazzled now as she settled into a chair across from her daughter, sipping her coffee.
“Is your room comfortable? I did my best to update it. I’ve been slowly working on it since Christmas but after I talked to you last week, I had Bryce put a few other projects on the back burner to finish up here.”
Emma’s mouth tightened momentarily. What had Rosie said?
“It’s nice,” Emma assured her. “I really appreciate having two connected bedrooms and the Jack-and-Jill bathroom in between them. The rooms are perfect for now. If I end up staying in town longer than a few months while Grandma recovers, I’ll probably look for my own place.”
So manyifs. Rosie could only keep her fingers and toes crossed and do all she could to keep her daughter comfortable here.
“You know there’s no need for that. You should save your rent money. I have plenty of room, especially with Mom insisting on staying in her own place.”
Rosie was not sure who was more stubborn, her daughter or her mother. Sylvia had lived in the tiny self-contained guest cottage in Rosie’s backyard for ten years, since she uprooted her life in Portland after Gary’s death and moved here to help them through their grief.
Her mother did her own thing and always had. Why else would she currently be recovering from a broken ankle sustained while roller skating at seventy-two years old?
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Emma said.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a pancake?”
