Burning (Brotherhood of the Blade Trilogy #1) (26 page)

“That was far too much about me. Your turn, Jessie. Tit for tat?”

“
Sure,” she replied. She leaned forward at the table, as if opening her life to him. He was moved by that small action, which was exaggerated to the point that it was nearly theatrical. She had told her personal story before. It was obvious.

“
I had my own little bookstore in Manhattan for years. It was a children’s used bookstore, full of well-loved copies of
Goodnight Moon, Where the Wild Things Are, The Velveteen Rabbit
,
The Little Prince
and such other stories and books that have enchanted children for decades. Across from an elementary school, I had a 3:30 reading club Mondays through Fridays. Because it was free, and I had snacks, lots of kids would show up. It might have been the only bookstore where kids could come without their parents. I still miss the regulars from our reading club, which sometimes turned into a homework help club. Such sweet and funny kids. They were my little darlings.”

Sam asked, “What happened to your bookstore?”

“September 11th. That’s what happened.”

Somewhere in Sam’s head, behind the growing attraction or perhaps, an infatuation, another red flag went off. She had again mentioned September eleventh.
Again?

He listened carefully, and then pushed his doubt to the back burner. Time would hopefully reveal all.

She was saying, “My store had to be condemned because the walls cracked and the roof threatened to cave in when the Twin Towers collapsed. I didn’t rent that store. I owned it. But now, it’s gone.”

“
But your books? You still buy and sell?”

“
Only at the flea markets where you don’t have to have a sales tax license.”

“
Yeah, those forms are annoying. I hate them.”

“
I’m also sort of in-between places to live, so I don’t have an address where the government can mail things to me. I have my book stock in my motorhome.”

“
You’re…homeless?” He was daunted that he had actually said that aloud. She was certainly Bohemian looking, but she looked and smelled very clean.

She smiled. “I don’t call it being homeless. For the last twelve years, I grew to think of myself as a gypsy, a vagabond, even…a
seeker
.”

“
I like that word,” Sam said. “Please continue, seeker.”

“
I travel from town to town all over New England in my motorhome, buying books at yard sales or estate sales and selling them at flea markets, or parking lots, or roadsides…wherever I can get away with setting up my tables before the police get wise to my impromptu outdoor bookstore and chase me off. When I get old and tired of the New England winters, I may go down to Arizona and warm up my bones for a while.”

“
You say that like it’s soon!” Sam said.

“
I may be tempted before old age to hit the sunshine states. I hear there’s a place called Quartzsite, Arizona, where you can just park your RV rig wherever you want for free and sell your wares without anyone from the government bothering you.”

“
Sounds like a bohemian rumor,” he said. “Do you miss having a home, Jessie?” It disturbed Sam that she was a nomad.

She hesitated. “Of course. I do miss having a real kitchen with an oven where I can bake. Especially cinnamon rolls and casseroles. I love doing that sort of thing. When I’m not busy reading. Or adding to my cupcake recipes.”

Now the angel on his shoulder perked up again.
Have mercy. She cooks and bakes, too!

“
Children?” Sam asked.

“
None. My tubes are tied.”

At Sam’s surprised look, she explained, “Please don’t misunderstand. I do love children. I love reading to them and talking to them, especially when I had my kids’ bookstore in Manhattan.”

“Why did you do it? Tie your tubes?”

Sam! That’s a really personal question!
said the angel on his shoulder. He cringed inwardly for asking her that, but it was too late to take it back.

Jessie looked stricken. “When my husband was alive, it was enough that we had each other. But after he died, well, I really like my peace and quiet. If I wanted the patter of little feet, I would just get a couple of kittens. My nomadic lifestyle is too unsettled for cats, but maybe someday I will be that cat lady down the street, the one who is teetering on the edge of being raided by the health department.”

He smiled. “I have cats.”

“
What kind?”

“
Tiger-striped cats. Two. So, you have no aspirations for establishing roots?”

She faltered for a moment, as if he had asked her something difficult. “I guess that’s what I gave up by becoming a traveler. Not a home, because I never lived in a home that was mine. They were all rented apartments—none of them could have even passed for decent. I miss that sense of community that I used to feel from doing work for causes I believed in, and talking to the people who thought the way I did. That was home to me. The
people
. Strangers become your family. It’s been enough for me. Mostly. I guess I might settle down if I felt struck by a place, like I couldn’t bear to leave it or the person who brought me there.”

He nodded, waiting for her to continue. When she did not, he said, “Do you get lonely on the road? I would. I think of my house as a companion.”

“I’ve never had that. When you’re an RV-er, it is too hard to figure out where the community is that you want to participate in, and how long you will stay. That sense of belonging isn’t there when your house is on wheels. Your entire existence could change at any moment. Even though you like other people, you can easily leave them, too, because your spirit is restless, always looking for the place that you can feel you’ve finally arrived.

“
I take it that you haven’t found it yet. That place that speaks to your soul.”

She shrugged. “Clichéd, I know, but maybe it’s really about the journey and not the destination.”

“I’ve often thought that,” he agreed.

She gave him an introspective look. “While I look for the place that speaks to my soul, I am not opposed to taking up residence on a friend’s couch. In fact, I often barter couch space for my cooking skills, which are quite something, I’m told.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said cautiously. He knew she wanted an invitation to couch surf, but he wasn’t ready for anything like that. They barely knew each other and some of what she had told him did not add up. In fact, a lot of it.

She traced a slender index finger around the empty coffee cup and the waitress came to refill it once more. Sam shook his head when she offered more coffee. He was caffeinated to the max. His middle-aged heart was really thumping fast and he hoped it was the cups of coffee and not some pie-in-the-sky dream building steam about himself and Jessie. He wanted to know her, but he did not want another heartbreak to happen.

Maybe you aren’t the confirmed bachelor you think you are
, said the angel on his shoulder.

“
How long will you stay in Port Sapphire?” Sam asked.

She looked into his eyes for long moments, her eyes searching his. “That all depends on whether I am meant to stay or go.”

“Perhaps you could stay,” he said bravely. He was reluctant to see her go, but he wasn’t quite ready to offer his couch. She was so vulnerable, though. His heart tugged every time he looked at her eyes, which were sad behind all of the smiles aimed in his direction. What had happened to this beautiful woman that had left her so alone in the world? She seemed friendless and without one tie to anyone, which was almost incomprehensible to him, because she was a treasure.

Jessie finished the rest of her coffee and said, “Look at the time! We’ve been here for hours. The parking lot where I am parked closes after sundown. I guess it’s the neighborhood—waterfront area and all that.”

“Sometimes it gets a little rough, but mostly, it’s safe here. Just mind your own business and you’re safe. Well, of course, I’m a big guy.”

“
In a good way,” she countered. She grinned and paid the server with cash. Sam left a generous tip.

Sam, you’re at a turning point in your life,
the angel whispered in his ear.

I know
, he replied in thought.
I’m not sure what to do about it.

Before she got away, Sam asked, “Did you still want to come to my house so I can repair your book?”

She looked ridiculously pleased. Like over-the-moon happy at his invitation. “Yes! Would you mind? That would make me feel so much better about how much this book cost us.
You
.”

“
It was worth many times the price,” Sam countered.

“
What do you mean?”

“
If not for that book, I wouldn’t have met you, Jessie,” he said, hedging his bets.

Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve so much
, said the angel on his shoulder.

“
You’re so nice, Sam,” she said softly.

“
I’m just me. I don’t have any business cards with me. They’re in my desk at home. Let me give you my address.” Sam wrote his home address and phone numbers on a paper napkin and walked her to her motorhome, which was parked near his car on the same street. All of the other cars parked at the meters near the estate sale were gone. The parking attendant was antsy to lock the gate and let them know so.

“
We’ll just be a few more minutes,” Sam said. “Don’t lock up the lot chain until we go.” He paid for both their parking fees and gave the attendant a small tip that made him smile and walk away to light a cigarette and wait for them to leave.

She unlocked the driver’s side door and let him peek inside. The vehicle was jam-packed with boxes and plastic milk crates which appeared to be filled with children’s books.

“I hit a big book sale in Canada less than a week ago, so I am not quite organized enough to have company inside right now.”

“
I was just going to tell you the same thing about my house.” Sam hesitated. “I’ll see you at my house, though. Right, Jessie?”

“
Right!” She waved the napkin with the map he’d drawn on it, as well as his name and phone number. “I’ve got your address. I’ll find it on my own, if I lose you in traffic.”

“
All right. See you there.” Sam got into his ancient Volvo station wagon, a car that needed a paint job, but still ran like fine clockwork, turned over the motor and drove slowly to his house. He did lose sight of her motorhome in all of the traffic—probably several red lights separated them by the time he reached his home.

Quickly, he ran up the steps and unlocked his door. The Twins, two tiger cats, meowed plaintively upon his arrival.

“Not now, Twins,” he told them. “I’ll feed you in a few minutes.”

Sam walked around the piles and piles of books and climbed up the right side of the stairway to the second floor because the left side of the stairs was also piled with stacks of books. The cats followed him as he hurriedly used the bathroom. While he washed his hands and face, shaved, and brushed his teeth, they wound around his legs, meowing. Just as he returned his rinsed toothbrush to the glass on the sink, he heard the doorbell downstairs. He gave one last look at himself in the mirror and horrified, pulled up his almost-forgotten zipper.

“Coming,” he called as he rushed downstairs, trying not to trip on the piles of books that were stacked on every step.

He opened the door and welcomed her inside. He asked if he could take her wrap. She now wore a heavy coat sweater, instead of the denim work shirt. She still wore the same white, ribbed tank undershirt. He smiled as he took her coat sweater from her and laid it on the arm of the worn blue sofa in the living room. He averted his eyes from the enticing shape of her breasts.

“I can light a fire,” he said carefully looking at her eyes and not letting them trail downward. “Are you chilly?”

“
No, I’m fine,” she said. “It’s much warmer in here than in my motorhome.”

“
You parked your rig all right?”

Jessie explained that she had a hard time finding parking in his neighborhood for her motorhome.

He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“
I wasn’t thinking. Where did you park?”

“
E Street, in the train station pay lot.”

His mouth opened a bit. “That’s a half-mile away.”

“I ate a big lunch and I needed the exercise. I just jogged right over here.”

“
I couldn’t have jogged after all we ate.”

“
I have a good metabolism and I jog a lot when I get stir crazy from living in a motorhome.”

“
I just walk every day of the year, even when it’s snowing out. No jogging, ever,” he admitted.

“
Walking is the perfect exercise,” she said. “That and swimming.”