Page 29 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

It occurred to Leah that the only two people she still knew in town, two of the nicest in fact, had suddenly distanced themselves from her. Was it possible there was more wrong with her life than she’d thought?

It was late in the day when she finally took a lunch break. Her phone had been turned off, and she realized when she turned it back on that she had two missed calls. Leah’s stomach flip-flopped when she saw the notifications: Greg had called twice.

It had been a while since she’d thought of him, and she took that as a good sign. His voicemail did not elaborate, just asked her to return his call. She figured she might as well get it over with.

Greg picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Leah. What’s up?”

“You asked me to call,” she reminded him.

“Right. Yes.” Greg sounded off. All their communications had been awkward since the breakup, but today it was more pronounced. “There’s something I want to share with you. Before you hear it from someone else.”

For better or worse, their Boston friends had remained with him when she left, so Leah wasn’t sure who Greg thought she’d hear something from. “Shoot,” she said.

“So, I know how this might look since we broke up not that long ago…”

“Just spit it out, please.”

“Rebekah and I are seeing each other again. In fact, she may be moving in.”

Leah inhaled sharply. It was exactly what she’d felt in her bones and feared in her heart leading up to the breakup. To hear it out loud confirmed all her suspicions of the past, giving rise to the ghosts who’d haunted her since. Perhaps it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. A lot.

“I see,” she managed to say. She closed the door to her office and sank into her chair. Why was Greg telling her this? He was an idiot, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I want you to know that it wasn’t something we planned. I had no designs on Rebekah when you and I were still together, I swear. It just sort of happened, afterward.”

Leah had heard enough. “Greg, why are you even calling me about this?”

There was a pause. “Because you still have furniture here, and Rebekah wants to bring her own stuff. I wanted to give you a chance to have it, before I donate it to Goodwill.”

Leah’s mind tumbled back to what furniture he could be referring to. She’d taken everything that was hers.

“The slipcovered sofa,” Greg said gently.

“You have got to be kidding me.” To be fair, they’d bought it together, but Leah was the one who had convinced him it would look good in their apartment.

It had been good to sink into at the end of a long day.

She’d almost fought him for it when she left.

But Greg reminded her she had no way to lug it back to the Cape nor the space at her dad’s cottage, so she’d reluctantly left it behind.

“Rebekah doesn’t like the color,” he said sheepishly.

“Unbelievable.” Leah stood up from her desk chair and paced the narrow office space.

“You wanted to hang on to that couch. Now you want me to—what?—come back to Boston to retrieve it, somehow, because your new old girlfriend doesn’t like that shade of white?

” Hearing Greg’s voice and learning that he and Rebekah were moving in together—the very thing she’d suspected all this time—was a gut-wrenching blow.

But the sofa was welcome absurdity. “Goodbye, Greg.” She’d barely ended the call and was still fuming, when Lucy knocked on the door. “You’ve got a visitor.” Leah groaned.

She followed Lucy back out to the storefront, only it wasn’t Luke back to work on the cubbies.

Mrs. Shipman stood at the register, both hands on the counter like she was holding on for dear life.

Her color was pallid, and as Leah rushed up to her, she could see her forehead was a sheen of perspiration.

“Mrs. Shipman! Are you okay?”

Eudora turned, eyes heavy, but smiling. A little color returned to her cheeks. “Yes, don’t mind me. It’s hot out. And it was a long walk.” Her little dog growled softly. “Alfred makes us stop at every mailbox.”

From the looks of her it was more than a warm day and a long walk.

“I think you should sit.” Leah helped her to one of the chairs and sent Lucy for a glass of cold lemonade.

Leah knelt beside her, wondering if she should call an ambulance.

Trying to remember the steps for CPR. God, she did not want to have to do CPR.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I’m wondering if you need medical attention. ”

“No, no.” Mrs. Shipman reached for her hand and lowered her voice. “It’s just a little panic attack,” she admitted quietly. “It’s silly, really. Makes my daughter, Caroline, worry, too. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Leah said, hoping to sound reassuring. It was hard to imagine Mrs. Shipman, who was such a strong and reassuring counsel to so many, suffered panic attacks. “It’s not silly at all.”

Lucy returned with a glass of lemonade. “We had a tea party today,” she told Mrs. Shipman. “So there’s tons of leftover lemonade. Don’t worry, the weird red floaty things are strawberries.”

At this Eudora brightened. “A tea party?”

“For story time,” Lucy went on. “It was Leah’s idea, but I ran it.

” She sat across from Mrs. Shipman in the opposite leather chair.

“Decent crowd. Though I think there were more stuffed bears than kids.” She glanced over her shoulder and then turned back to Mrs. Shipman.

“Brad had a rough morning. He’s not exactly kid-friendly . ”

Leah was watching in disbelief. Aside from the children who came in, this was the most she’d heard Lucy talk since the day she hired her.

“Well, isn’t that wonderful?” Eudora took a deep sip of lemonade. “And I like the strawberries. Nice touch.”

Lucy grinned.

Leah was relieved to see that she was looking better, and her breathing seemed to have calmed. Whether it was Lucy or the lemonade, who knew, but at least it didn’t appear she’d be calling 911 that morning. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you. And you, too, Lucy.” She looked up at Leah. “I had to come in today, for two reasons.”

“Lucy, why don’t you check on the register?” Whatever it was she was going to say, Leah had a feeling it was of a private nature. When Lucy was gone, Mrs. Shipman went on.

“I’m sorry for hanging up the phone like that. It was deplorable.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Leah told her. “It goes with the week I’m having.”

“No, it was rude and uncalled for. I think it’s because I was scared.”

“Scared?”

Mrs. Shipman nodded. “I’ll tell you why, but only because of the second thing I’m about to say.” She swallowed hard. “I would like to take you up on your offer. About the knitting club. I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“Oh! That’s great.” Leah was thrilled to hear this. Suddenly the store felt a little brighter, her plans for the studio a bit more hopeful. “We would love to have you.”

“The reason I was scared was because this club is something I would really like to do. But then I remembered my panic attacks. You see, I’ve had a little trouble with anxiety since I retired and my husband died.” She stared at her shoes. “I’ve missed out on a lot of things.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Leah said, feeling every ounce of it.

Mrs. Shipman looked up at her. “I don’t want to miss out on this.”

On the slow drive home, Leah took the scenic route.

She coasted past Chatham Lighthouse and the crowd at the beach parking lot.

Past Chatham Beach and Tennis Club. Over the wooden drawbridge at Mitchell River, where her tires thunked happily along the planks and up Stage Harbor.

The evening was balmy and beautiful; she rolled down her window and turned on the radio.

As she’d feared, Greg had moved in with Rebekah.

The bookshop was in flux. So far, she had two hired staff, one largely unpaid carpenter who was barely speaking to her, and, as of this afternoon, a much-needed volunteer with a crippling anxiety disorder.

Taylor Swift’s “You’re on Your Own, Kid” came on.

Leah smiled sadly and turned up the volume.