Page 32 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“And?” Anna prompted.

“They combed through the staff list and paid particular attention to any who had left their positions after the… incident. Two weeks later, a cop came back and questioned me about you. That’s how I found out you’d disappeared. I didn’t say anything, of course, but I wasn’t the only one he grilled. I know a lot of time has passed, but, given what happened, I don’t think they’re ever going to let this case go. There, I’ve warned you. Although I know you’ll do exactly what you want, as always. Did you two enjoy your dinner?”

“Very much,” Mitch said quickly.

For once, José remained impassive, which meant he was pleased. He rose, kissed Anna’s hand, gave Mitch another noncommittal nod, and vanished into the kitchen.

Mitch tried to pay the bill but the server refused, telling them dinner was on the house.

Outside, the air had cooled. They walked side by side in the quiet night.

“So, what happened at Les Trois Cousins, that the police were—?”

Anna shot Mitch a look so sharp it stopped him mid-sentence. The kind of look only women seem to be capable of. She hailed a passing taxi, thanked Mitch for the unexpected interlude and climbed into the car.

“Think about what book I should read next,” she called out the window as the taxi pulled away. “I need a new companion!”

Mitch stuffed his hands into his pockets and set off for the station, solitude settling on him like winter rain, cold enough to freeze the soul.

Chapter 15

The Hate U Give

As the days rolled by, customers began to return to the bookshop. Former regulars offered Mitch little more than a nod, made their purchases and departed without lingering. Not a single one bothered to ask any questions, as if it were completely normal for a bookshop to close one evening and reopen five years later. No one had wondered what happened to him, much less defended him. Pretending nothing had happened seemed the best way to keep their consciences clear.

Mitch couldn’t quite name what he was feeling. He tried to convince himself that the past was behind him, but it hung over him each evening, when he closed the shop. Each morning, he’d roll up the metal shutter with a quiet resolve: he wouldn’t let bitterness take hold. It would only make things worse. So he paid more attention to the occasional walk-in customers. He reminded himself that business was steady. During the day he could find reasons to be content – nights were harder.

At night his thoughts returned to Anna. There was no sign of her, and after two weeks he resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be hearing from her again – which didn’t keep him from wondering obsessively what he could possibly have done to drive her away. Was it something he’d said? Had he asked something he shouldn’t? Was he just that boring? And since he hadn’t already tortured himself enough, he decided in the end that she must have thought one evening in the company of an ex-con was plenty.

Once he’d established this, Mitch slowly started to move on. After all, he’d served his time. He hadn’t hurt anyone. And he wasn’t dragging around the remnants of some mysterious situation likely to pique the interest of the police. Anna’s persistent silence had begun to feel humiliating. He’d been stupid to get his hopes up. Occasionally he glanced around to make sure the shop was empty, then allowed himself to swear out loud. Today’s oath of choice: “What an idiot!”

“Customer service hasn’t improved, I see,” said a voice from the doorway.

“Verner?”

“In the flesh, my friend. Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

Mitch stepped out from behind the counter to greet the music teacher.

“You should install a bell,” Verner went on. “You never seem to notice when a customer comes in.”

“True, half the time I don’t, and it’s better that way. Ever since the station closed its waiting room, people come here instead to kill time before their train. The problem is, they hardly ever actually buy anything.”

“Maybe if you didn’t call them idiots, they’d actually make a purchase.”

“Alright, Verner – is there something you want?” Mitch asked coolly.

“To see you, of course. What else? What happened to your leg? You’re limping.”

“Skiing accident.”

“Funny. Really, where have you been? You could’ve sent a postcard.”

Verner seemed utterly sincere – but Mitch knew he was a good actor, and wasn’t about to be fooled.

“What do you mean, where have I been?”

“Was I not clear? And why so hostile?”