Page 8 of The Christmas Book Flood

Several of his colleagues’ hands shot up immediately, murmurs of “I have the time” and similar exclamations sounding.

Anders raised his hand too. He was ahead of schedule on the manuscript he was editing, and his next project—the second novel by Tandri Ebbisson—wasn’t due until mid-January.

There would be some spot checks and a proofread yet on other books, but nothing that would be incredibly time-consuming.

Tatiana’s gaze flicked to him, then down and to the side, her lips curving up.

He glanced over to see Elea had raised her hand as well, as had Helga—no surprise on his assistant.

She could probably have the whole load of orders done before lunch and still get all his work done before she left for the day.

With one hand tied behind her back. And the telephone glued to her shoulder.

“Wonderful,” Valdi said, nodding at all the hands.

“Thank you. Tomorrow we will be opening the office two hours early, and any who are willing can come in then or consider staying late. I of course understand that you have families and obligations, and I do not expect anyone to compromise that important time. But what hours you can spare, we will gladly take, and you will of course be compensated for them. And if you have family members who would be willing to help, the same goes for them. If they come, we’ll happily pay them for their time.

” He picked an envelope up at random. “Our people are hungry for our books for Christmas. Let’s make certain they get them in time. ”

A cheer went up and hands came together in applause. As they fell into a chatter of many conversations afterward, Anders stayed in his corner, especially when he saw Tatiana had aimed his way.

Well, her friend’s and niece’s way. But it was happily his direction too. She soon stood before them, and at this closer distance, he could see that she didn’t just have shadows under her eyes—those eyes were red rimmed, as if she’d been crying.

Had she been crying? Why?

He’d never ask—but Elea apparently didn’t have the same respect for privacy. “You look upset, Aunt Tatta.”

Tatiana waved it away, but her sniffle sounded decidedly clogged, which spurred Helga to slip an arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze.

He tried not to be envious of the easy friendship the two women had, despite the decade gap in their ages.

Tatiana said, “I had a moment of overwhelm when today’s post arrived and I saw all I would be expected to do.

But Uncle Valdi soon proved himself my hero and assured me I wouldn’t be alone.

” Her gaze shifted to Anders. And did her cheeks flush, or was that just his imagination?

“Thank you both for helping—again. I know you have more important things to do—”

“What could be more important than helping families give our books for Christmas?” He offered a smile, praying she would take it as comfort.

Because she really wouldn’t have to tackle that mountain of orders alone.

And if he had to all but live at the office from now until Christmas, he was willing.

Anything to keep the tears from her eyes.

And if doing so meant avoiding his family a bit... well, that was just an added bonus.

Guilt over the thought struck him as Tatiana turned back to her niece and knelt before her.

She’d also confided at the coffeepot that Elea had been devastated at being sent away from her parents for Christmas, and here he was hoping for an excuse to dodge his mother and brothers and sister.

He ought to be ashamed. Never mind that they didn’t understand him.

They were still his family. And after his father’s death, he knew all too well that time was never guaranteed to them.

He ought to focus more on loving them and less on being frustrated by them.

A subject he would have to devote to prayer, because no amount of effort thus far had managed to rid him of the frustration, despite the love that underscored it.

“Are you hungry?” Tatiana was asking Elea.

“I’m sorry we’ll be later leaving than usual.

I don’t know that we’ll have time to make what I was planning for tonight, but we could stop at a restaurant on our way home.

I’ll plan something simple for tomorrow.

And then on Thursdsay, Uncle Valdi said Aunt Beta would bring dinner to us here, and we can have a picnic. Won’t that be fun?”

A picnic at the office wouldn’t sound like fun to many children, but Elea smiled up at her aunt like the sweet thing she was. “Will we go and visit them at their house sometime too? I want to see the banana trees again.”

“Banana trees?” He didn’t mean to put himself into their conversation, but his surprise at that one couldn’t be contained.

Tatiana laughed and straightened. “Yes, they’ve built a greenhouse around a geothermal vent, and it stays tropically warm in there. They’ve been growing bananas for several years—I’m surprised Uncle Valdi hasn’t brought you any.”

Anders’s lips tugged up. “I suppose I’ve never rated so highly.”

Still grinning, she shook her head. “That can’t be it. You’ve probably mentioned not liking them at some point in his hearing.”

How did she know that he didn’t much care for bananas?

He must have mentioned it in both of their hearings.

Or perhaps Helga had shared it offhandedly at some point—she knew his preferences, given that she frequently brought baked goods to share.

Though a glance at the older of the two blondes gave him no clues.

“I may not like to eat them, but I’ll have to finagle an invitation to the greenhouse someday. I’d love to see them growing.”

“No finagling required.” Valdi’s voice came from behind him, and though it was cheerful and his boss’s face was smiling, Anders still felt a flush creep up his neck at being caught inviting himself to the man’s house.

But Valdi knew him well. He chuckled and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“After we get these orders finished, I think a celebration will be in order anyway. I’ll talk to Beta.

I daresay she’ll be amenable to inviting all the volunteers over for our annual Christmas party. ”

“A party!” Elea clapped and bounced a bit on her toes. For the first time since she’d come into the office that morning, the clouds fully cleared from her eyes. Tatiana surely noted it too, given the way her shoulders relaxed.

Valdi laughed. “That’s right, min kaera . Perhaps you can help her plan it.”

The little one’s beaming smile erased any lingering embarrassment in Anders’s chest, despite the fact that her enthusiasm was drawing the attention of all his colleagues within earshot.

That was all right, though. It seemed that having a child around to try to please was enough to put smiles on every face, even with extra hours of work looming.

They’d all be exhausted by the time the last book was sent off in the post, he suspected. But it would be a well-earned exhaustion.

A few minutes later they were all bidding each other farewell.

As Anders left the building, thoughts of Jolabokaflod, of Tatiana and Elea, and of his own family were still swirling through his mind like the snowflakes dancing over the pavement.

Books, stories had brought light back to the little girl’s eyes. That was why he loved them so.

Could he use them to bridge the gap between him and his family too? With the rationing, other gifts were hard to come by these last couple years, and though his family didn’t put much stock in writing or illustrating or editing as a profession, they enjoyed reading as much as most other Icelanders.

Perhaps well-chosen books were the ticket to opening meaningful conversations with them. He certainly knew the Story Society catalogue backward and forward, and he could purchase any titles he wanted at a steep discount.

As he turned onto his street, a smile settled on his lips.

He’d been wracking his brain trying to think up gifts for them that he could actually find, but after the lukewarm reception he’d received when he’d gifted them his own debut book, he’d never considered giving any of them books after that.

He always asked them if they wanted a copy of his, but they always declined, frowns between their brows, as if he’d insulted them somehow.

But he needed to untangle himself from that equation.

He needed to think not about how their opinions had hurt him, but about what they each loved.

Adventure stories, perhaps Viking tales for Dalmar and Ulric and Ram.

An impractical romance for his little sister, Ada, who always had such a thing stashed under her pillow to read when their stern mother wasn’t looking.

Their children’s division had many new stories this year beyond his own that he could give to his nieces and nephews without drawing scowls of disapproval from his brothers.

And for Mother... he’d have to give that one some thought.

She read less than his father had, always claiming to be too busy.

But now that Dalmar and his wife and their children had taken over the main house, she had fewer chores.

Perhaps she’d enjoy one of the stories by a female author.

.. although perhaps not. She didn’t put much stock in these new ideas of fighting the patriarchy.

He pulled open the door to his building, jogged up the stairs, and let himself into his flat, considering all the while.

The answer came to him the moment he put his briefcase down and spotted the early copy of Tandri Ebbisson’s debut novel, By the Stars at Night , sitting on his table.

It would make the perfect gift for his mother—it had adventure, mystery, a dash of romance, and the sort of emphasis on family that she most loved.

She was sure to enjoy it. And perhaps, after she’d read it, they could talk about it.

Perhaps then he could admit to having worked with Tandri on it as his editor.

That he even dared to count the reclusive author as a friend after their many letters—many of which had veered off topic and shared personal details, not just thoughts about the manuscript.

There was no guarantee it would work, of course. But it could . Perhaps it was time to obey the very advice he gave his authors. Don’t just tell the reader what happens. Show them.

He’d been trying to tell his family for years why he’d chosen this life, why it meant so much to him. Time and again he’d broach the subject, and time and again they’d all go away frustrated.

This year, he would show them. Show them what he did every day. Show them why it mattered. Nearly every household in Iceland, after all, had responded to the Book Bulletin at this point—that must include his family. This year, perhaps they’d finally see why it was worthwhile.