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A long title for somebody who was about to wreck my parents’ lifelong dream.
“I don’t suppose you considered that showing up after closing time was a dangerous thing to do,” I said, jamming the card into my pocket.
He gave me a stiff look and tugged his jacket back into place. Now that he knew I would not hit him, he seemed to regain his composure. “I’m simply doing myjob. I have a key and the right to be here.”
“And I have a crowbar and was scared somebody was breaking in,” I replied.
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, color flooding his cheeks. I didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or anger. “Perhaps I should have come during business hours, but the bank sent a letter, Ms…?”
“Ellis,” I said absently as I processed what he’d said. A letter. And my parents hadn’t told me. This night was just getting better and better. Needing somewhere to focus my ire, I went for the obvious target. “Did this letter say you’d be showing up here after hours tonight?”
He pressed his lips together.
“I’ll take that as ano.”
“Regardless, the building is being sold.” He reached into his jacket again, watching me warily. “I have a copy.”
I gripped the crowbar as if it’d steady me, the bottom of my stomach dropping out as his words hit.
Sold.
This was the second time he mentioned that. It couldn’t be real. Why hadn’t my parents said anything?
He held out an envelope. “This is a copy. The original was sent a week ago with a signature confirming delivery.”
As soon as I took the letter from him, Gilbert Gold practically ran out of the store, perhaps still concerned that I kept holding onto my crowbar. If he'd hung around another minute, he would have seen it fall from my numb fingers, along with the letter.
The building wasdefinitelybeing sold.
My parents could lose their store, livelihood, and eventually their home. They had worked no other jobs. They had nothing to fall back on. The bookstore was their life.
Dazed, I slid to the floor, staring around me at the lovingly arranged book displays, the shelves, and the aisles that were so carefully maintained. The indie author section I’d convinced my parents to add last year. The little tables and chairs in the kids’ section where I’d done my homework every day after school growing up.
My whole life was wrapped up in this place.
My parents’ dreams, their savings…their everything.
And now, what would happen?
* * *
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
I’d waited until I got home to call him, using the time on the subway to calm my shattered nerves, although I could have ridden every damn mile of the New York City subway system and still wouldn’t have been calm enough for this talk.
“Now, Jess…” he sighed. “I didn’t want to worry you. It's something your mother and I have to deal with. You’ve got your own life, your own problems.”
“Dad!”
“No.” Voice firm, he continued. “We both appreciate you giving us a couple of nights each week to help with the store, but that’s all you can do. This isn’t the first time the bank has tried to push us out over the last forty years. We’ll figure something out, sweetheart. We always do.”
We talked for a few more minutes, and Mom came on the line. She rattled on about the off-Broadway play she’d talked Dad into seeing. I knew she’d worry, so I let her coax a couple of laughs out of me, but even when the call ended, I was still troubled.
That letter had been pretty damn clear.
It wasn’tsuggestingthe possibility of a sale.
The entire building was being sold, and my parents, along with the other tenants, would have to move.