Page 10 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

“These must be the captain’s daughters!” Leah said. She was ecstatic. “It’s an old family portrait. It’s been buried under all that garbage. We should hang it up.”

Brad shivered. “Or bury it in the backyard.” He stepped left, then right. “Look! Their spooky eyes follow you.”

“I’m going to hang it up.”

They stored the painting, along with their salvage finds, in a back room with beautiful tray ceilings and faded damask wallpaper that had probably once been the dining room. “We should think about a use for this space,” Leah said, her imagination already pumping.

“Focus,” Brad cautioned.

Despite the headway they made, it became clear that the old house still had problems that paint and furniture could not fix.

“We need more help,” Brad said on a lunch break one day. They were sitting on the front steps, eating chicken salad sandwiches and drinking iced coffee from Chatham Perk.

Leah appreciated Brad’s directness: it was as reliable as the starch in his shirt collars. “I have you. What more do I need?”

“Professional help.” He smiled. “Of the contracting variety. I feel like we’re kind of friends, so I can speak frankly,” he added for good measure. It was true. Crawling into the bowels of an old fireplace together to clean out racoon poop was undeniably bonding.

“Take these steps,” Brad said, pushing down on a board that was curling up and away from its nails.

Leah considered the squishy section of wood rot. “We could make a trip to the lumberyard and replace a few of the boards.”

Brad made a face. “You can slap a painting smock on me or send me up a ladder after cobwebs, but I’m no builder. If someone steps in the wrong spot on these steps, game over.”

“I know, but funds are tight.” Stefan, the house owner, had made it clear in his last email that he was done funding improvements. Leah glanced across the street, between the tidy cottages on the other side, and at the cerulean blue stretch of Chatham Harbor beyond them. Breathe , she told herself.

“Surely you have investors you can turn to?” Brad asked hopefully.

Leah almost choked on her chicken salad.

“No?” Brad’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Is this all on you?”

Somehow she managed to swallow the chicken along with the fresh lump in her throat. “Go big or go home?”

“Oh dear,” Brad exhaled. “You already came home.”

“I have a small severance from work. And my wedding money.”

“Wedding money.” Thankfully, Brad knew better than to ask. “Is it enough?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Brad said nothing.

“Look, I know this must seem crazy, especially to an economics student. But I know books and readers. I also know this town. There’s no bookstore in a ten-mile radius. And hundreds of tourists stroll these sidewalks every day.”

“I get it. Tourist season is only so long, so you need to open fast.”

“That’s not even it,” Leah said. Brad was proving a good sport and a huge help, but she needed him to understand her vision.

Or maybe she still needed to convince herself.

“It’s also this place. This old house is one of the last remaining of its kind.

She was built by a sea captain for his family.

And when they fell on hard times, the daughters united and turned it into an inn to keep it going. ”

“Historic girl power. Impressive.”

“Yes,” Leah agreed. “Later, it became a general store. And after that an art gallery.” She paused.

“When I think of all the stories this house could tell about the people who’ve lived within these walls, it makes me feel like they’re still here.

Counting on us. Opening this store gives the captain’s house a second chance.

” She did not say that it was hers, too.

Brad looked at her sympathetically. “Well, hell.” They finished their lunch in silence. “Let’s do what we can and try and get this haunted house open, I guess.”

“It’s not haunted.”

“Oh, I hear things. Someone is clomping around.”

Leah laughed. “Probably just raccoons.”

“Probably those Harding sisters.” Brad waved heartily at a pair of older women pointing at them from across the street. The women quickly moved on. “One thing is for sure: you’ve got people talking.”

“Yeah, well. Talk like that can go either way in a small town.”

After opening up to Brad, Leah noticed he started showing up earlier and staying later.

He printed out a calendar of to-do items and taped it to the inside of the front door, which they’d painted a chipper coastal blue.

They drove to Harwich and Dennis and Orleans to pick up the furniture finds from their online sleuthing. On those trips, Brad was most chatty.

“So we’ve established your fresh singlehood,” he said, as they headed down Route 28 toward Harwich. “What do you do around here for fun?”

“I don’t have time for fun, Brad.”

He made a small noise. “Pity. These are our young and pretty years. Plus, it’s summer.”

She turned to him. “What’s your excuse?” Brad could be dramatic.

“I live with my grandmother,” he reminded her.

“You must have friends. A love interest?”

“My friends are in Boston. The love interest ended last spring when he graduated and moved to Chicago.” Brad didn’t appear to be reeling from the breakup, but she sensed he was lonely. “It’s hard to meet someone.”

It was one of Leah’s worst fears, that, after Greg, anyone remotely compatible was already married with kids and a Goldendoodle. “I can’t even think about dating yet,” she confided. “And I don’t like my chances out here on the Cape.”

“Oh, please. All those men in their Nantucket reds?” Brad teased.

“All married. Or old. And the ones that aren’t are only here on vacation. No, thanks.” She steered quickly through a roundabout and hit the gas. “The odds are against me.”

“Narrow that pool down to single gay men, and then we’ll talk odds. And don’t forget to throw in a traditional Portuguese grandmother.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t imagine there’s much privacy in that scenario.”

“Privacy isn’t the problem,” Brad said more seriously.

Leah glanced over at him in the passenger seat. “Brad, does your grandma not know you’re gay?”

He swiveled to look at her. “You mean the woman who asks me every day if I’ve met a nice Catholic girl yet? She even asked about you .”

Leah almost swerved. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah, oh my God.”

“But your parents know, right?”

“My parents have known for years. They met my last boyfriend, Arty. They even invited him to visit over Christmas. But when my grandmother joined us for dinner, they cautioned me to introduce him as my roommate.” He looked at Leah.

“I know how it sounds, but it’s not because they’re ashamed. They’re just trying to protect me.”

Despite the mess her life was, Leah had never had to worry that her family would reject her. “Brad, that must take a toll on you.”

“There are times I’ve thought about telling her, but then I see the way she reacts when there’s a gay person on TV or a mention of sexuality on the news.” He made a face. “She turns the channel in disgust. She won’t even read a book with a gay character.”

It was a heartbreaking revelation. “I’m so sorry,” she told him.

“Here.” He reached into the small bag on the floor of the passenger seat. “She baked these this morning.” He unwrapped a small foil package and handed it to her.

Leah peered down at the decadent egg custard pastry. Despite the bad taste his revelation had left in her mouth, it looked delicious.

“Pastel de nata,” Brad said before she could ask.

“How are you not three hundred pounds?” she asked, shoving the still-warm decadence into her mouth.

Brad watched her finish it off. “She’s an excellent baker for a homophobe.”

“Brad.”

“Kidding. I love her.”

Leah glanced over at him. “This tastes like love to me.” She noticed he only had a few bites of his own. “Do you mind…?”

“Just take it,” he said, handing over the rest.

As the week unfolded, things picked up. Stock began arriving in large cardboard boxes from book warehouses in the Midwest. The shelving units Leah had purchased should have been delivered by then.

“I don’t understand,” she said, scrolling through her emails.

“There’s still no tracking on the book-shelves. ”

When she finally got through to the company, the news was not good. The bookshelves were all backordered. “But I have proof of payment,” Leah insisted. “My bank account is down thousands of dollars.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman on the other line said. “We’re experiencing production delays. I can credit your account, though, don’t worry.”

Leah was worried. The sun was low in the sky as she surveyed the storefront.

Book boxes spilled across the floor. She needed shelving units in order to open.

She needed to pay Brad by the end of the week.

There was nothing to suggest this unfinished room was anything other than a bad idea.

Leah sank to her haunches in the middle of the floor, and this time she didn’t try to fight the tears.

She was crying so hard at first she did not hear the rapping sound at the front door.

Leah looked up. In the shadow of the setting sun she could make out a woman outside the door. Leah scooted back against the fireplace hoping she was out of sight, but the woman did not leave. Instead she pressed her face to the glass and peered inside. “Hello? Is it okay if I come in?”

“Damn it.” Leah wiped her face with the edge of her dirty T-shirt and stood. “Sorry, but we’re closed,” she called loudly.

“I have something for you.” The woman held up her hand. Whoever she was, this person was pushy. “Please?” she added.

Leah opened the door just enough to peek out. “Apologies, but we’re not open to the public yet,” she explained. To her dismay, a small white dog popped out behind the woman and started yapping at her. Leah hopped back.

“Oh, don’t mind Alfred. He’s all bluff.”

Alfred did not look like he was bluffing. “Could you please hold him back? I had a bad dog experience as a kid,” Leah added, stepping farther back into the shop.

“Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry,” the woman said, reining Alfred in. “What happened?”

The woman had a neat bob of silvery hair and a figure that was plush in the way of a storybook grandmother; her expression filled with such warmth and concern that suddenly Leah found herself explaining the whole incident through the crack in the door.

“It was an accident. I was in second grade and was visiting my friend when I tripped over her old dog. He got scared and bit my cheek.” One eye on Alfred, she leaned closer, pointing to a small scar on the side of her face. “Seven stitches.”

“How awful for both of you,” the woman cooed sympathetically.

“It wasn’t the dog’s fault, but I’m kind of afraid of them now.”

The woman nodded. “I’ll take Alfred straight home, but before I do I have something for you.” She thrust a folded piece of paper through the door. “My name is Eudora, by the way. Did you know this used to be the penny candy store?”

Leah looked down at the paper then up at Eudora. “Excuse me?”

“This house. My late husband, Milton, grew up here in Chatham. He had such fond memories of when he was a little boy and this place had a penny candy counter. The root beer lollies? Those were his favorite.” She smiled like she was rolling one of the root beer candies across her tongue right then.

“Oh. That’s a sweet story.” Confused, Leah glanced down at the paper. A phone number was written on it. That was all.

“I heard you’re opening a bookstore, and I think it’s wonderful.” Something about the woman was oddly familiar, but Leah couldn’t place her. “This is a special house, and it broke my heart to see it empty all these years. My Milton’s heart, too. Anyway, that’s my friend Luke. You should call him.”

“Luke?” None of this was making sense, not the penny candy memories or the phone number this tiny woman insisted on giving her.

“The phone number. You should call him.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Luke is a carpenter. Well, more of a master craftsman, though he’s too modest to admit it. I overheard some women at the library book club talking about your opening date.” She squinted past Leah, though not unkindly. “You look like you could use some help.”