BOBBOOKS
I pulled into the store’s snow-plowed parking lot and parked in a vacant space beneath a sign that read
Reserved for Robert Book
There was an employee entrance in back, which I tried but found locked. I knocked a few times but no one answered, so I walked around to the front. A brass shopkeeper’s bell rang as I opened the door.
Entering was a wonderful assault to the senses. The store smelled of lavender, sage, and old leather. Instrumental harpsichord Christmas music filled the air as richly as the fragrances.
It had been many years since I’d entered the old store. It had aged well, and those things that had once seemed outdated and old were now vintage and classic. My father had always had an artistic flair, but only now did I understand that the bookstore was the canvas on which he expressed it. On every vacation we took as a family my father would visit the local bookstores, always talking to the proprietors and coming back with a list of new ideas to implement in his own store.
Even with its struggles, the book business had a rich culture, and my father was one of its guardians as the digital waves of online consumerism crashed around him.
The store’s shelves were all varnished oak and strategically placed like a labyrinth, creating small nooks and crannies. Comfortable, well-worn old chairs were scattered about for people to sit in as they perused their books.
One bookshelf ran along a brick wall covered with English ivy that had grown and established itself in the time I’d been gone. There were book displays made from old wine barrels.
Along one side of the store the shelves went all the way to the ceiling, and there were ladders on brass railings that slid down the length of the wall to reach the upper books.
The place was magical.
Near the front door was a small display shelf with a sign that read robert’s favorites.
Hanging from chains above the shelf was a hand-painted sign on stained, weathered wood.
Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.
—Emerson
My father’s “favorites” were about as eclectic a gathering of literature as might be found anywhere: East of Eden, Cannery Row, The Firm, The Color Purple, The Great Gatsby, Catch-22, The Brothers Karamazov, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and Brave New World.
“Hello.”
I turned to see Wendy, who had just emerged from the back. She was wearing a bright green sweater, bright crimson lipstick, and red leggings. She looked gorgeous, and still a little fragile. “It’s my elf outfit,” she said, anticipating my reaction. “Your father always embraced the holidays on the first of November. This is my homage.”
“I’m sure he appreciates it.”
“I’m sure he does too,” she said. “So did you come to check out your bookstore?”
“When did you know he was leaving it to me?”
“He told me a few months ago.” She put her hands on her hips. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?”
“It’s been about sixteen years.”
“That’s a chunk of time. It’s probably changed a little.”
“It’s changed a lot,” I said. “Or maybe I forgot what it looked like.”
“May I help you with anything?”
“Actually, I came to help you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
“I figured as long as I’m here, I might as well work.”
“You’re not headed back to New York?”
“Not for a while. I’ll probably be staying until the New Year.”
Wendy looked at me as if she were processing what that meant. I couldn’t tell if she was happy with the idea. “You want to work here through the holidays?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
“We could definitely use the help,” she said. “Besides, it’s your store…”
“About that,” I said. “I may be the owner on paper. But you know how things run. I don’t want to get in your way. This is more your store than mine. You built it.”
“Your father built it.”
“With your help,” I said. “So, when I said I came to help, I meant it. You’re the boss. Put me to work.”
She looked at me skeptically. “You’re saying I’m the boss?”
“That’s the deal.”
“All right. We’ll see how that goes.”
“What can I get started on?”
“I just got in a shipment of books, so if you wouldn’t mind watching the front, I can start unpacking.”
“You want me to just stand here?”
“Basically. If someone comes in, you can help them find something. As a side benefit, it keeps shoplifting down.”
“Do we have a lot of theft?”
“Not a lot. But we live on thin margins, and they usually try to return what they stole to us.”
“That’s ironic.”
“What’s ironic is the most stolen book is the Bible. And anything by Kurt Vonnegut.”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“There isn’t one.”
“My father loved Vonnegut.”
Wendy smiled as if I were telling her something she knew better than I did. “I know.”
“So what do we do if someone tries to return something we think they stole?”
She pointed to a small sign taped to the cash register. “No receipt, no returns.”
“Won’t they just take it somewhere else?”
“Yes. But at least we got them out of the store. And most thieves are lazy. They’d rather just take their loot back to where they got it. So, hopefully, they’ll go somewhere else next time.”
I looked over at a young woman perusing a row of books in the self-help section. “She looks like a thief,” I said facetiously.
“Only technically,” Wendy said. “She’s showrooming.”
“What’s showrooming?”
“It means she’s using our store as a showroom. She checks out the books she’s interested in, then after she leaves, she’ll buy them online, where she can get them for less. Sometimes they don’t even wait to leave the store.”
“How can you tell?”
“She keeps taking pictures of books.”
I looked back over at the woman. She was holding her phone up to a book. She saw us looking at her and put her phone down. Wendy turned back to me. “So, in the unlikely event that her perusing turns to purchasing, do you know how to take payment?”
“No.”
“It’s not hard. I’ll show you this afternoon. In the meantime, you can come get me.”
“Is there anything else you need me to do?”
She looked around. “I need to change that table display of Halloween books to holiday books. Do you have any experience with displays?”
“I’m sure I could figure it out.”
She looked unconvinced. “Tell you what—just take the books off the table and stack them on the floor for now, then take the books out of those boxes and put them on the table. I’ll finish up later. If you have any questions, you know where to find me.” She walked to the back of the store.