Page 27 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Eudora

It had been a terrible couple of days, especially after she’d been doing so well.

Not only had she made it to the bookshop, but she’d gone inside.

And talked to Leah. And, miracle of miracles, she had actually felt at peace being there.

The first visit was a challenge, but as soon as she was back home tucked into her living room with a glass of iced tea and Alfred and her knitting needles, Eudora’s thoughts kept returning to the cheerful space she’d just left.

To Leah Powell’s nice conversation with her.

Even the mention of her guidance counseling days had not set off her anxiety and sent her into a tailspin as it did other times.

That night when she talked to her daughter, Caroline, on the phone, she’d told her, “Guess what? I connected with an old student today. And I’m going to see her again. ”

Caroline had sounded so relieved, it made Eudora realize how much her daughter must worry.

The last thing she wanted was to be a burden.

Caroline already had her hands full with her kids, Edward and Macy, and her job and her home.

Eudora was her mother—not the other way around.

That was the problem with her anxiety; it robbed the ones she loved, not just herself.

When she had her next session with Maeve, the following day, Eudora did not request a telehealth appointment.

Instead, she left the house early and showed up in person.

Sure, she’d had some moments of panic on the drive over, especially as she drew farther and farther from her home.

But she employed some of the calming measures Maeve had taught her, and sank into Maeve’s comfy armchair right on time, if a bit rattled.

The next day Eudora went back to the shop.

And the next day, too. She felt a little silly, all those repeated visits.

The staff didn’t seem to mind at all though.

Brad and Lucy and Leah—they were all so nice.

On the fourth day, Leah asked her advice.

“I noticed knitting needs sticking out of your bag,” she said.

“So I’m guessing you knit. I could really use your help with pattern books, if you don’t mind. ”

Eudora had been thrilled to offer her assistance.

She’d even been invited into Leah’s back office, which was just the coziest little room with a sparkling chandelier and the old damask pattern wallpaper.

Eudora’s heart caught in her throat. She and Milton had dined in that very room with that very wallpaper at the inn’s little restaurant.

On a crisp autumn evening when the tourists had gone and the menu bowed to hearty French dishes, they would make a reservation and dress up for dinner, taking a table for two by the window.

Right where Leah’s desk now sat. Leah had no way of knowing this, of course, so it was Eudora’s little secret.

How happy she was to scroll through knitting book offerings as succulent memories of beef bourguignon drifted through her mind.

The books Leah had in mind were all wrong—too beginner for customers looking for patterns.

Eudora helped her pick three appropriate titles.

When she left that day, Leah pressed a bag of the Candy Manor saltwater taffy into her hands. “You really saved me today with your expertise. Thank you!”

Eudora sailed home afloat with a sense she had not entertained in too long: purpose, she realized later.

When she awoke the next day, she figured she’d take Alfred to the bookshop again.

This time maybe they’d try to go a little farther from home.

Maybe across the street to where people looked out at Chatham Harbor.

Those crowds normally made her heart rattle against her rib cage and her palms sweat.

But the bookshop was right there—she could turn and look at it—like a life raft in a body of water.

Only Eudora didn’t make it out her own door.

That morning she had one of her episodes in the kitchen.

She could not say what started it. But it was a bad one, and it did not pass.

It stayed with her on and off all day, to her great disappointment.

Just looking at her walking shoes by the door caused her heart to pound.

Poor Alfred did not get a walk and had to go potty in the backyard, something they both disliked.

She finally sent Maeve a message, asking for a session.

At bedtime she took one of her Valium pills, which filled her with shame, even though she knew it shouldn’t.

Two days later, the sense of panic had dissipated.

She’d met with Maeve, online this time, and practiced all her breathing and visualization exercises.

That day she didn’t need a single Valium.

But she was afraid now. What if the panic hit her in the middle of the way to the store?

What if it was as bad as the most recent one?

Feeling defeated, Eudora found herself giving in to the anxiety. She decided to stay in.

Midmorning the phone rang. Eudora’s phone almost never rang, except for Caroline, and she never called during the day.

“Hello?” she said warily.

“Hello, Mrs. Shipman?” It was a woman. “This is Leah, from the Sandy Page. How are you?”

“Oh, hello! I’m fine, thank you,” Eudora lied. But hearing Leah’s voice did have a buoying effect.

“Those knitting books you helped me order just came in. And it got me thinking.”

“Oh?” Eudora sensed a question coming. Leah wanted something from her, she could tell. And her curiosity was almost overshadowed by a wave of worry. Almost.

“I have a lot of local customers who are creative, and I have plenty of space here at the shop. So, I was thinking about starting a weekly group.” She paused.

“People could bring in whatever they’re working on, like knitting, and meet in one of my rooms to work together.

I love the idea of having a community space for artists.

” Leah was talking excitedly and so quickly it was hard to keep up.

She paused for a breath. “You seem to enjoy my shop, and you know Chatham as well as any local. So I’m wondering what you think? ”

Eudora sucked in her own breath. “What I think?” It had been so long since anyone had asked her opinion about anything, let alone asking her assistance in making a decision that sounded rather important.

The responsibility of it began to prickle Eudora’s nerves.

But there was the shop, which she did enjoy.

And the warmth in Leah’s voice. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan!” Eudora said, ignoring the clanging bells in her head.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Since so many people have already come in asking about knitting books, I think I’ll start with that.”

“Makes sense. A lot of people enjoy knitting.” Eudora wondered which room Leah would use in the house.

Maybe the formal sitting room with that beautiful limestone fireplace.

Eudora had once danced in that room at a New Year’s Eve party.

She was so lost in memory that Leah’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“So that’s the real reason I’m calling. If I get generate enough interest, might you be willing to lead a weekly knitting group?”

Eudora could not have predicted this. She was a good knitter.

And she adored the shop. It had helped to get out of her house each day.

But this time she could not ignore the alarm bells.

A weekly commitment was out of the question.

Being in charge of something was, too. It was simply not possible and sweet Leah Powell had no idea what she was asking of her.

“I’m sorry, dear. But I’m afraid I can’t.” Eudora could feel her throat tightening with despair. Leah was asking for her help. Her daughter, Caroline, and her therapist, Maeve, were in her ear, cheering her to say yes. And her Milton—beloved Milton—she swore she could feel him in that house.

But she could not listen to any of the voices who loved her. Nor to Leah, who she could tell was about to say more. Drowning in shame, Eudora cut her off. “It’s just not possible.” Then she hung up the phone, sat in the chair by the window, and cried.