Page 96 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

Sandy arrived early to work, but Moira had still beaten her there. The guppy sat on the stool behind the counter, staring at the computer through her windshields for glasses. “Buongiorno.”

Sandy growled at her.

“Can I get your approval on some things?”

“What things?”

Windshield Face started going as if she’d been wound up. “I’m working on another newsletter, and some flyers. See?” She twisted the screen Sandy’s way.

The flyers were impressive, but she refused to offer praise, or even approval. “Okay,” Sandy said in short.

Moira’s enthusiasm shrank. “I wanted to see if you could give me more of a budget.”

“I didn’t know you had one.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of it. I was hoping for five hundred euros, so I can run some ads on the social media sites, maybe put something in the English paper. Print out a stack of flyers. Our printer’s the worst. I want to do color. Get them out all over the city. What do you think?”

“I think I need more coffee.” Sandy started toward the steps to her office.

“Yeah, I understand,” Moira called out to her. “If you’re wanting to stay frugal, I could cover the cost?”

Sandy pivoted and took a big step toward Moira. Why did Moira care so much? “Yes, frugal is right. And no, I don’t have five hundred euros that you can waste printing color copies of your silly flyers. Let me save you the time, as I thought I’d done before. Don’t bother. There is no supercharging this dinosaur of a store. No one reads books anymore; therefore, no one needs a store of them; therefore, no one wants a book club. Besides, George says Bianca hates her own book, so even the author doesn’t want to attend.”

Now that felt like a victory, a mighty general climbing back on her horse after defeating the enemy. But Moira’s silence ruined everything, penetrating through the steel walls around Sandy’s ticker.

In a move that even surprised Sandy, she let the posture of the general inside her slacken, and said, “Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to say that.” Ugh, she hated apologizing.

“I know she was frustrated about some of the reviews, but why does she hate the book?”

Sandy looked up to the ceiling, wishing it would fall on her. “I don’t know. Yes, the reviews. And it hasn’t sold like she’d hoped. I think she regrets trying to be a writer.”

Concern, a classic mark of weakness, reared its ugly head behind Moira’s windshields. “That’s so sad. It’s such a good book.”

Sandy gestured toward the books no one was buying. “They’re all good books. That’s why they get published. But books, along with book clubs, are dead, Moira. And that’s why I’m moving to Lisbon.” She couldn’t help herself.

“What?” Moira covered her mouth.

“You might as well know. I’m selling the bookstore. Or shutting it down. You wanna buy it? I’ll give it to you for cheap.”

“You’re not serious. I know you.” Again, why did Moira care?

Sandy couldn’t help but keep going. “You don’t think I’m serious? Do you know me as someone who jokes around?”

Moira shook her head, and the pitiful look on her face kicked at the fading embers of Sandy’s dying heart. “I’m sorry,” Sandy said. “I didn’t want to tell you yet, but you’re just . . . You won’t let up with the Megawatter crap and all your efforts to promote the book club. I shouldn’t have let you start it in the first place.”

“How long do I have?” The guppy sure could throw a pity party.

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked into it yet. I just decided.”

Moira nodded and closed out the screen with her flyer. “Okay, I guess I’ll cancel. I didn’t realize Bianca hated her book. I was just trying to help.”

“And now you see what helping does, right?”

Moira shook her head, and a tear fell from her eye.

“Nope,” Sandy said, “we’re not doing this again. I’ve already seen enough tears out of you to last till I come back to haunt you from my grave.” Sandy thought herself funny, but Moira ignored her.

“Do you mind if I take a sick day?”