The scruffier the book, the better.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “A lifetime, she sought out books to add to her shelves. Like some kind of mysterious algorithm, she chose books based on what? I never knew. There was no rhyme or reason. There are books about boat building, and gothic horror — they’re so varied, I sometimes wonder if even she knew why a certain book appealed to her. Sixty-five years spent on this hobby of hers. Finding bookshops that were tucked down narrow alleyways, or great big houses converted into a book lover’s paradise — I’ve seen them all.”
It sounded like bliss to me.
Gerald continued: “Do you believe in magic, Sarah?”
I replied instantly, “In the magic of books? Yes.”
“So did Gloria. If only I could explain how she looked when she found the book she would take home. Her eyes would light up, she’d speak in this beguiling hushed tone, her face full of wonder like a child on Christmas morning. It was like she was finding something priceless each and every time, yet to anyone else they would be nothing but a book destined for the penny bin out front of these small shops.”
It was as though I knew Gloria, understanding the happiness of stumbling across a book as though it were burnished gold. How lucky she’d been to find a man who was obviously besotted by her. But he spoke about Gloria in the past tense and tears pricked my eyes when I realized I’d never get to meet her, another person who lived to find lost and forgotten books and give them a new lease of life.
“I know exactly how she felt,” I said. “There’s a certain pull books have on a person if they listen hard enough.”
Gerald chuckled. “I have found the right place, then,” he said. “You know, Sarah, we visited The Bookshop on the Corner a long time ago. I wonder if you remember…”
Closing my eyes, I thought back for a moment. Surely a couple like that I would remember? I would have recognized a kindred spirit in Gloria. “When?” As soon as the word left my mouth, it came to me. It was winter, and snowing hard outside. The bookshop looked as romantic as ever that day; snow filled the squares of wood on the window pane outside. I had the fire in the reading room stoked up casting an orange hue in the small space. An elderly couple spilled through the door, laughing as they dusted snowflakes from their clothing. It was Gloria I pictured, wearing a cerulean-colored coat, vibrant, and chic. But there was something in her eyes that made her seem timeless, almost ageless.
“Do you recall us?” Gerald asked.
“Yes,” I said, smiling at the memory. “Gloria bought a sci-fi novel — something wacky. You stayed in the reading room sipping tea while we watched the snow fall through the windows and talked about books for hours.” How could I have forgotten them? They came in a few years back. Gloria had a quiet grace about her, but also a zany sense of humor that had me in fits of laughter. When they left, I remembered thinking I hoped I’d have a relationship like theirs one day. They just seemed to fit, perfectly, like two pieces of the same jigsaw.
“What happened to her?” I asked before it dawned on me I could have worded it better.
Gerald sighed, and took a moment before replying: “She passed on, Sarah. Not too long after we came into your bookshop. It was sudden. I woke up one morning, and she was gone. But you know what? She’d just that last night finished the book she was reading. And I think that was a sign especially for me — that she knew what was coming somehow and it was OK. God chose the right moment, at least, in that respect. She would have given Him hell if he’d taken her halfway through a book.” He laughed softly, but it sounded hollow.
“Which book was she reading?” I wanted to read that book, and wonder what she might have thought about that last night when she went to sleep.
“It was The Notebook, by Nicholas Sparks…” Gerald sniffed, and I gripped the phone tighter, hoping he wouldn’t end the call just yet. I wanted to hear more of their story. “You know, I read the book afterwards,” he said, “and it seemed fitting. Right, somehow. I’ve never told anyone this, but sometimes I read passages from The Notebook aloud, pretending she’s there, and is listening, with that glorious Gloria smile on her face. It makes me feel close to her. As though she’s just stepped into the other room for a minute…” His voice trailed off, and it took all my might not to cry down the phone. They’d exuded this radiance, and that kind of shine only came from real, once-in-a-lifetime love.
“I’m so sorry, Gerald. I can only imagine…” Anything I could say would only seem trite in such circumstances, but I tried desperately to think of something to say that would comfort him.
“It’s OK, Sarah. I’m doing better. I know we’ll meet again, so I live for that. I live for her, because it’s what she would want. But it’s time for me to move now. There’s too many memories in this big old house, and I’m too old to be tending gardens, and wandering around waiting for her to come back. Which brings me to the books. I want you to have them. I know they aren’t worth anything money-wise, and even if they were, it’s not about that. I want them to go to someone who understands their value, albeit sentimental.”
I exhaled quietly, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “Are you sure? There’s no way you can take them where you’re going?”
“I’m sure. I’ll keep a few that hold an extra-special memory, but the rest, I would like to ship to you, if you’ll have them.”
Light spilled into the small hallway from the reading room off to the side of the shop. It was a small room with a few high-back chairs that had seen better days, a fireplace and bookshelves around three of the walls. It was a space for customers to read when it was cold, and a room the local book club used for their monthly meetings.
“Gerald, I’d be honored to have them. But I won’t sell them. I’d like to put them in the reading room, the room you used when you visited, and then they can be enjoyed the way they’re meant to be.”
Gerald didn’t speak immediately. I sensed he was crying, and trying to quell the tears before responding. I pictured Gloria’s books arranged along the shelves in the reading room, including the one she bought here all those years ago. They’d have another life, those books, and Gerald could move along with his.
“Thank you, my dear. From the bottom of my heart. Gloria rhapsodized about you and your bookshop all the time. You’ve made an old man very happy.”
“I hope you find comfort in your new place, Gerald. And if you’re ever in town, come by and say hello.”
We finished the call; when I hung up I let the tears flow. And I knew right then, that was what I was missing in my life…a love affair like theirs. I wanted someone who knew books were more than just words on paper. Someone who understood my introspective nature and didn’t try to change me. I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue, ruminating about the fact that there was no one like that in Ashford. I could see the type of man I wanted: quiet, bookish, and introverted, someone who wouldn’t make me feel that reading all day was weird. And someone who’d snuggle right up next to me and read too.
My last thought before heading to Missy’s was that I hoped Gerald would find his way without his glorious Gloria.
***
“Hey!” Missy said, snipping away at a manic pace on a client’s hair as I wandered into her salon. “Busy morning?” she asked, her voice as loud as her clothing.
“I wish,” I said and sat heavily on the pink sofa. The bookshop figures had been dwindling
