Finding Jessie: A Mystery Romance (4 page)

He paused, deciding whether to tell her more. “After her, there was a scientist for less than two weeks—we never made it to the bedroom, but we are still friends to this day. She’s my comic relief, my sisterly sidekick for those trips to IKEA and occasional fake dates when either of us needs an escort for some charity event. She’s also my buddy for the peace movement meetings. We usually sit together at them.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. A platonic best friend?”

He nodded. “Yes. She’s a great friend, but we have no romantic spark and she’s a die-hard neat freak who nags me about the way I live.”

Jessie laughed. “I take it you aren’t very tidy.”

“That’s right. And then, after Linda, I took one other serious stab at a possible marriage partner, a long-term relationship that didn’t work out. She was, at first, supportive of my civil rights activities, but later, as the months wore on, grew tired of my attendance ritual at peace vigils and similar events. I’ve never missed a peace meeting in ten years and hopefully, never will. She also did not approve of a couple of dear friends of mine, of whom I think the world, but they are Socialists, which in her mind meant Communists.”

“What a shame.”

 “Not that she would have known the difference. Nor was she tolerant of anyone with political or religious views that did not conform to her own.” He shrugged.

“Narrow-minded woman,” she interjected and nodded for him to go on.

“Exactly. She closed her mind to them—my dear friends—without ever getting to know them. So now, there’s just me, living day to day, selling fine old books, going to estate sales, and once in a great while, I rescue longtime non-conformist friends from jail or write wills and set up living trusts, things like that. Mostly, I spend a great deal of my time at home among my books—
they
are my friends. I like music, too. All kinds. And fireplaces on a rainy or snowy night.”

He stopped talking, afraid he had said way too much.

“I like those things, too.”

Jessie removed her hand from his and put a slender finger to her chin, thinking. Her face was flushed and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she considered all that he’d said. A brief, but not uncomfortable silence stretched as they regarded each other with greater interest.

“I’m impressed that you haven’t fled from the table yet,” he observed. “Why haven’t you gotten out of here while the getting is good?”

“Sam…You undervalue your true worth. You’re a wonderful man.”

He felt himself blush. “In that case…may I please see you again?”

“Of course. I do not have one-lunch stands!”

Sam laughed. He had laughed more in the two hours that he had known her than he had in six months.

“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 at your destination.”

“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.