The Printed Letter Bookshop Page 4

Claire stood on the porch. Something about the uneven floorboards or the smell brought her first house to mind, and that first summer after she and Brian married. They both worked full days, then sanded, painted, and caulked every inch of that house most nights, falling into each other’s arms, tangled and speckled with paint, in the early hours of each morning.

  “I’ve never been so tired,” he often whined as he pulled her close.

  “Too tired?” she’d ask with feigned innocence.

  “Never . . .”

  Claire bent down to pull the key from under the mat and added Find new hiding spot for key to her list.

  She opened the front door and walked through the living room toward the kitchen. It had dropped well below freezing through the morning, so she wanted to check the thermostat. She pushed at the kitchen’s swinging door while registering a bright light. Her own panic and another’s scream hit her simultaneously.

  She clamped her hand over her mouth. After two breaths, she spoke through her fingers. “What are you doing here? I didn’t see your car.”

  Janet held one hand pressed to her chest and used the other to point out the back door. “I came to check the thermostat . . . Now I’m making tea. What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing.”

  “We shouldn’t be here. It’s the new owner’s problem now. Unless Maddie didn’t have a will, and then it goes to probate. Did she have one?” Janet pulled down two mugs.

  “I have no idea.”

  “If she didn’t it’ll go to her brother in the end, as her only living relative, and that means we’re trespassing and, considering her sweet family, we’ll end up in jail. Last cup of tea before we go?”

  Claire tried to bank her smile. Janet often made reality sound droll. “Sure. How do you know all that legal stuff?” She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “You learn a lot in a divorce.” Janet poured out two cups and grabbed a box of chocolates from the refrigerator. “These are only a week old. Some neighbor sent them. Ridiculous. Who sends chocolate to a dying woman? And she’d stopped eating a full week before that.” Janet’s buoyancy fell. “But the neighbor couldn’t have known that.”

  Claire kept her face blank. She hadn’t known that either. “Will the shop go to her brother too?”

  Janet nodded. “If there’s no will, everything is his. Without kids, all the property goes to siblings and parents. She only had the one brother left.”

  “Then, if you’re right, we’re both out of jobs. He’ll sell it.”

  “Do you think if we offered to run it, he’d keep it as an investment?”

  Claire shifted her gaze from Janet’s now hopeful one. She shook her head. “The shop has been deep in the red the past eight months. We’ve been dipping heavily into the store’s savings account and Maddie’s personal accounts too.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I did.” Claire pulled back at Janet’s tone. “Who do you think gave me permission to do that?”

  Janet stopped. She dragged her top lip through her teeth. “I thought that was the one thing doing well.”

  “No, at least not in the year I’ve been there . . . Do you really want to discuss this now?”

  Janet nodded again.

  Claire sighed. “Maddie paid us a lot. She ran promotions. She gave away books. But none of that is as important as the fact that the mortgage rate is high and we haven’t kept up with customer service like we should.”

  “We have parties and signings all the time.”

  “Not in the past couple years. I trolled through the calendars and the accounts for the last five years to make sense of it. While indies are experiencing a renaissance, it’s because of hard work. Maddie was probably slowing down long before without realizing it. You came on board as things really dipped, so you wouldn’t have known. Did you realize that in 2017 the shop hosted fifty events, with an average of forty-one customers and 63 percent of them buying? That’s all well above industry average. In 2018, the shop only hosted sixteen events.”

  “I get the point.”

  “Break it down more, and those thirty-four fewer events last year also averaged twenty-seven people per event and twenty-three dollars in average sales for purchasers, but only 18 percent made purchases. If those people still bought books, then we sent about five hundred people and over fifty thousand dollars elsewhere. And the events we’ve held this year have only averaged—”

  “Stop already.” Janet clamped her hands over her ears. “Stop with the numbers.”

  “I’m sorry . . . You asked.”

  “So we deserve this.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Claire put down her cup and stood. “I should go. This isn’t helping, and I’ve got to get home and figure out dinner.” She looked around the kitchen. It was perfectly tidy and she briefly wondered who had handled that, who had handled all the details of Maddie’s last days and after. Then her gaze landed on Janet again and she knew. “I’m sorry, Janet. Are you going to be okay?”

  Janet looked at her watch and in the process sloshed tea over the side of her mug. She grabbed for a rag. In one deft motion she wiped the table and deposited the mug in the empty dishwasher. “I need to go too. I’m running late to get downtown for dinner.” She turned at the sink. “You go and I’ll lock up.”

  Claire laid Maddie’s house key on the table. “This was under the front mat. It probably shouldn’t be now. It’s too predictable.”

  “I’ll put it with the others. I’ve got one and there’s another hidden under the flowerpot in the back garden, if you ever need it.”

  “Happy birthday, again.” Claire stepped away. “Have fun tonight.”

  As she drove the few miles home, she realized what else was missing at Maddie’s home, and her own. Christmas lights.

  They usually came out, along with everything else, the day after Thanksgiving—and it was her favorite day of the year. This year it had passed unnoticed. Brittany played in a field hockey tournament Thanksgiving weekend and Brian worked most of it too, and Matt was only concerned with basketball, Xbox, and food. No one, including Claire, had noticed the oversight.

  Her phone rang through her car as she pulled into the garage. Brian.

  “Hi, hon. Are you on your way home? We forgot to decorate for Christmas last week. Can you believe that? Want to do it tonight?”

  “I wish. My flight got delayed, and I won’t land until midnight.”

  “I’ll wait up.”

  “Don’t do that. It could be almost two by the time I get there. Was today okay?”

  Claire closed her eyes, thankful he’d remembered, disappointed he wasn’t beside her. But those wishes, or discussions, were not for garages and airports. “It was okay. Hard, but okay. But about the Christmas decorations?”

  Nasal-toned boarding announcements overpowered Brian’s reply.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “We’ll get it done this weekend. I promise. I have to go. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” She clicked off and rushed through the back door. “Hey, kids . . . I’m home. Sorry I’m so late.”

  The house felt quiet. Too quiet. It was already dark, and the absence of glasses and dishes in the sink meant the kids hadn’t come home after school for a snack.

  She pulled her phone out of her handbag and found two text messages.

  Matt’s was to the point: Eating at Ryan’s after practice today.

  Brittany’s was much the same: Dinner at Chipotle for team fundraiser then studying at Sara’s. Home by 10.

  “Welcome home and Merry Christmas.” Claire leaned against the counter. Everyone was busy, involved with plans, life, work, friends. In a little over a year and a half, they’d made Winsome their home and found their places within it. Everyone was happy. Thriving. That should make any mom happy.

  Claire pulled a single chicken breast out of the freezer.

  Chapter 3

  Madeline

  A tap on my doorjamb prece
ded the shadow to my right. “I thought you had a funeral today.”

  I shrugged. “Do you ever want more than this?”

  Kayla spread her hands across the back of the chair facing my desk and stretched her back. “More than working eighty-hour weeks and being so tired you can barely eat, much less do anything else? No. This is Nirvana.”

  “I’m serious.” My tone caught her attention.

  “Once I pay off all my loans and help my sister through school, I’ll lift my head and let you know. Right now I can’t afford that question. I take it you do want more?”

  “Rarely. Sometimes. Not often.” I smirked. “Maybe only today.”

  “Funerals can do that.”

  I rocked back in my chair. It bounced on the downswing. “My aunt was more a mystery than I thought. I mean . . . everyone loved her. She owned a bookstore, volunteered a lot, had tons of friends, and was really involved in everything around her. That’s what I remember from spending time with her. But other things, other memories don’t reconcile with that . . . I don’t know. I’m thinking too much.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  I bounced upright. “The church was packed today. Standing room only. That says something, right? You can’t fool a whole town.”

  “What are you saying, Madeline?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe it was merely a case of irreconcilable differences.”

  “I’m up to my ears in those. Duncan has me working the Pencer divorce.”

  A noise outside my office redirected our attention.

  Kayla turned back to me with a lowered voice. “By the way, Schwartz was looking for you this morning about the Cunningham brief.”

  I tapped my calendar. “I have another week. It goes to court on the fifteenth.”

  She raised a brow. “It got moved up.”

  “Are you kidding me? What’d you tell him?” I reached for the file.

  “That you were at a funeral. It may buy you through tomorrow if you play up the emotional angle.”

  “I will not.”

  “Then tell him you simply didn’t get it done.” She stretched her arms above her head. Her eyebrows stretched up too.

  “I can’t do that, not now. Drew’s gunning for that partnership . . . He didn’t used to put in the hours I’ve noted lately.”

  “True, but one can overdo it. Balls get dropped.” She cast her eye to the file clutched in my hand.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” I tilted my head to the door. “Is Schwartz in?”

  “Left for court at noon. I don’t think he’s coming back today.”

  “I’ll have it done by tomorrow then. What’s another late night?”

  “Nothing new.” She waved a hand at me as she walked out. “See you later.”

  The office was quiet. Those of us who worked late did it alone and hoped no one called us out. Duncan, Schwartz and Baring’s expectations as a firm required late hours, but as individuals, Duncan, Schwartz, and Baring frowned upon them. Anything past a sixty-hour week evidenced a lack of “work-life balance”—regardless that the workload obliterated any hope for one.

  Six hours and three Kind bars later, I closed the file, flipped the lights, and headed to the elevator. Drew’s lights were still on. I walked carefully, willing my heels not to make a sound against the marble. I failed.

  “Madeline?” he called from his office the instant I thought I was clear. I backtracked and peered in.

  “Wasn’t your aunt’s funeral today?”

  “This morning. My parents flew back to New York, so I came in this afternoon.” He stared at me. While we dated, that look had always made me uncomfortable. It was assessing—there was no other word for it. Now it unnerved me. I shrugged, unsure what to say or do. “I didn’t know her well.”

  My words sounded flippant, almost callous. I didn’t want to be that, never that. Besides, they weren’t true—not really. On some level I did know Aunt Maddie, and despite my confusion, I’d always hoped she was what she had appeared that summer—that there was integrity and coherence within her, kindness and truth too. All those people this morning confirmed it. And Dad . . . It was my fault. Had he confirmed it too?

  “You must be exhausted.” Drew’s soft words stopped my internal whirling.

  “You too. You used to not believe in such long hours.” I meant to lighten the tone and change the subject. His eyes clouded.

  “Yes . . . Survival of the fittest and all that.” His mouth curved. He had this sardonic expression that hovered at the edge of insulting. The partners were never sure about him—neither was I.

  I pressed in an attempt to be sure. “A partnership on the line does bring out one’s true colors.”

  He opened his mouth to reply when my phone rang. I raised a finger to him while I dug in my bag.

  He waved me away. “You go. I need to get back to work.”

  I spun myself from his doorway and tapped to answer the call. “Madeline Cullen.”

  “Madeline, Greg Frankel here. I don’t know if you remember me, but we talked a couple months ago.”

  “I remember.” I headed to the elevators. I was not likely to forget one of the strangest calls I ever received—a lawyer, Aunt Maddie’s lawyer, calling to introduce himself. That’s it. We haven’t met and I wanted to say hi.

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose, willing this day to end. “Are you calling to say hi again? Because it’s not a good day. Were you at the funeral? And it’s past eleven o’clock.”

  “No—is it? Wow, I lost track of time, but yes, I was there this morning. I saw you and hoped to catch you, but the church was packed . . . I had no idea so many people would be there. I should have—your aunt was a wonderful lady, a first-class act. But of course you know that. She deserved that send-off, despite the fact no one spoke and I couldn’t get a seat. I was in the back left corner, and by the time I—”

  “Is there something we need to discuss?” I cut into his meandering.

  “Your aunt’s will. I’m the executor of her estate.”

  “It can’t be too complex. Have someone in your firm check it over, if you’re unsure, then file it. I guarantee no one will contest it. Her only surviving family is my father, and he’s already flown back to New York. You can email him the details.” I lowered my phone to disconnect the call as I tapped the elevator button with my free hand.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the will. It’s perfectly sound, filed, and your father is not mentioned.” Greg’s voice turned abrupt, and I sensed that I had mis-assessed him. Something deep, authoritative, and surprising came across the line. “I’m referring to the terms within the will, not the document itself. She left you . . . Well, she left you everything.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “Madeline Cullen Carter left you her house, her bookshop, her car, a storage unit in Waukegan, and four thousand in cash and investments, as well as all her jewelry and personal effects.”

  “I don’t want it.” I pulled my phone from my ear again as if distance could make it disappear.

  “You don’t want what?” His voice sounded small and far away. I pushed the phone into my ear.

  “Anything. Everything. Give it all to someone else.”

  Frankel chuckled.

  I’d thought he was young, straight out of law school, when he first called. Now I wondered. “I don’t find this funny.”

  He stopped. “Excuse me. I thought you were kidding . . . You of all people know it doesn’t work like that.”

  “She must have other beneficiaries, other stipulations. There have to be options.”

  “None.”

  “How is that possible?”

  If one could hear a smile, I heard a grin. “It’s very simple. You see—”

  “I don’t mean how a document like that was drafted. I mean why did she do it? How could you let her?” As soon as my final question flew, I cringed. He had no say in the matter, and I sounded young and naive acting as though he did. I hated sounding
young and naive.

  “You have no idea how much you meant to her, do you?” His voice was soft and full of a second, unspoken question. How could you not know that?

  I slumped against the elevator wall. “What do you need from me?”

  “I’d like to meet. Sure, I can send you all the paperwork, but your aunt liked face-to-face meetings and so do I. While there are no other beneficiaries or stipulations, there are several notes she left. It’s an unusual file. We could meet at her house, your house now, in Winsome.”

  “No . . . Things are too busy for that right now. Can you come here?”

  “I’d be happy to . . . Tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”

  “No . . . I . . .” My days were packed. Three days until the partnership announcement, and every hour mattered. But this distraction needed to be dealt with too. It needed to disappear.

  “Eight a.m. is fine. I’ll be here.”

  * * *

  Janet

  I am tempted to stay at Maddie’s house after Claire leaves. It feels more like home than my own house does these days. We lived there twenty-nine years as a family, but now . . . it’s too empty. After all, in all those twenty-nine years I never lived there alone.

  I tap my phone again—to feel the connection.

  Happy Birthday, Mom! Five weeks till the baby. It’s busy here.

  Five weeks until my first grandchild . . . I hadn’t been sure. Chase isn’t very good with the details, and Laura and I don’t speak anymore. They never got a landline after their marriage, so I call his cell phone. I suppose I could call hers and get updates, but the prospect of hearing those stiff, cutting tones in yet another family member is too much. It’s easier to pretend her voice might still fill with laughter and love when I call.

  I leave my car at Maddie’s and walk the couple miles back to the shop. It’s a miserable day and a miserable walk—exactly right for how I feel. I let myself in through the back door. I’m only delaying the inevitable, but I can’t go home yet. Home is overstuffed with memories, and I’m not strong enough to withstand them today. It’s also too large a house for one person. I rattle around in it. I need to sell it, but I loathe giving the kids yet another reason to despise me. Selling their childhood home might be the last straw—if I haven’t broken that camel’s back already. But there’s no worry at present; real estate isn’t moving well in Winsome, and I refuse to lower the price. I suppose I’m playing both sides of the fence. My Realtor suggested we pull it off the market and list it fresh in the spring. Maybe she’s right. A new beginning in spring.