Page 31 of The Sandy Page Bookshop

Lucy

What do you think it means?” Reya and Lucy sat at opposite ends of her bed, cross-legged and facing each other. It was the communication position they’d adopted since they were little, whenever one had news that required a huddle. Meeting of the minds, Reya called it.

Lucy stared at the note resting on her bedspread between them. They’d gone over it again and again. “I don’t know. If Jep really loved her, why would he be asking her not to tell?”

“And what is the secret he doesn’t want told?” Reya wondered aloud.

Lucy had recoiled when Reya suggested maybe Ella was pregnant. “How can you even say that?” she’d cried.

“I don’t know. It’s probably the biggest reason for a guy to ask a girl not to tell.”

“She’s not pregnant. The hospital would’ve picked up on that with all the tests they did. My parents would know, and believe me, I would, too.”

“Maybe he did something to her,” Reya said. “Something bad.” At which they exchanged looks. The sad truth was, he had.

“It has to be something from that night,” Lucy concluded. “Because he hasn’t been able to see her or talk to her since the accident. And he’s getting desperate.”

Reya agreed. “But what?”

The only conclusion they could draw was not to tell Lucy’s parents about the note. They wouldn’t know what it meant, either, and it would only serve to incite them.

“I can’t believe your parents are suing him,” Reya whispered, glancing nervously at Lucy’s closed bedroom door.

“Why not?” Lucy prickled. She’d had the same feeling herself, but hearing it come from her best friend’s lips put her on the defense. “It’s for all the medical bills. Everyone does it. Our lawyers said so.”

“I get it. It just seems so personal.” Reya shrugged. “He’s not going to college or anything, like the rest of us. That business is all he’s got.”

“Ella’s not going to college now, either,” Lucy reminded her.

Reya grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Lucy went to her door and peered up and down the hall. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered. In Ella’s room she found the bracelet right where she’d left it, tucked in the back of her jewelry box. She ran back across the hall with it and closed her door again.

“Look.” She set it on the bed. “I found this when I went back to the garage. It was on the floor of the car.”

Reya held it up between them, the tiny emeralds glittering in the windowlight. “I still can’t believe you did that,” she said, but she looked impressed. “Next time wait for me?”

“It wasn’t like I planned it.” But suddenly Lucy had an idea. “Wait. I know how we can find out more. If you’re not too chicken.”

She watched her friend puff up in offense. “I’m no chicken.”

Lucy laughed. “Good. Then let’s meet up with him.”

“Jep?” Reya’s big brown eyes got even bigger. “No way.”

“Why not? It’s the only way we can find out what all this means. And there’s a chance it can help Ella.” She thought back to the hospital visit when Jep showed up. “You didn’t see her, the way she fought when she heard his voice that day.”

“Maybe it was PTSD.”

“No.” Lucy knew her sister. “She wanted to see him. I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t know, Lucy. Your parents will kill you.” Reya was a rule follower, even if she was tough. But Lucy didn’t want to do it alone. “How would we even meet up with him? Go back to the garage? Then his father might see us.”

“No. We’d have to meet somewhere public, but away from our families. Like the beach. What do you say?”

Reya threw her the same exasperated look she always did when she thought something was a really bad idea, but she would still do it. “Fine. But you set it up. And I’m only going for emotional support.”

Lucy tousled her hair. “Look at you! My very own therapy dog.”

The next day at work, Lucy tried to decide how to reach out to Jep.

The most obvious way was to look him up on Snapchat or get his number from someone.

But she was too afraid of the lawsuit to do that: her father had made it very clear they could have zero contact.

It would have to be through someone else. Or a chance meeting.

She was so distracted by her scheming that she accidentally rang up a thirty-two-dollar book as thirty-two hundred dollars.

Brad had to redo the whole transaction on the register.

Luckily, he was in an unusually good mood.

Lucy wondered if it was the new boyfriend.

Brad would never say. For someone who loved to dissect everyone else’s business, he sure was mum about his own.

It didn’t matter. Ethan came in almost as much as Mrs. Shipman did lately.

Each day Ethan showed up just before lunch, always dressed to impress, and the two went out together.

Leah thought it was cute the way they were so shy with each other in front of the rest of them, even though they held hands the second they hit the sidewalk.

Mrs. Shipman called it young love. For an old woman, she sure got things.

Mrs. Shipman was back to her daily visits.

Lucy was glad she felt better; that one day she came in so breathless and pale was worrying.

The energy in the store felt different with her around.

Brad could be so fussy and proper in one breath and then teasing and snarky the next.

Leah was all over the place, fretting over spreadsheets and paint colors.

Mrs. Shipman was kind of like the mother bird they all hadn’t known they needed.

If the bookstore was a nest in a tall tree on a windy day, when she was around their perch felt steadier.

Lucy liked that Luke was back, too. Just that morning he showed up to install the red cubbies in the studio space.

But then Leah was acting all strange. She was probably nervous because they had their first knitting night that evening and the room wasn’t ready yet.

That was the story with everything at the Sandy Page, but at least it kept things interesting.

“Lucy, dear, would you give me a hand?” Mrs. Shipman was struggling to carry a basket of yarn, a bag of knitting supplies slung over each shoulder like a pack mule.

“Let me take that,” Lucy said, relieving her of the big basket. It teemed with balls of yarn, in all kinds of interesting colors. When she set it down in the studio, she couldn’t help but run her hands across the fibers.

“They just beg to be touched, don’t they?”

Mrs. Shipman was blinking at her through her glasses, which Lucy realized in that moment were the same coral red as the new cubbies Luke was drilling noisily into the wall.

“Sorry, ladies. This is the last one,” Luke promised.

Dust rose around them, but Mrs. Shipman didn’t even seem to notice. “Here, honey,” she shouted over the drill. “Feel this one. It’s alpaca wool. Isn’t it lovely?”

She held out a ball of yarn the color of amethyst. When Lucy held it against her skin, it was soft as a kitten.

“I don’t suppose you knit, do you?” she asked.

Lucy shook her head. “No, but my mom used to. She made us sweaters as kids.”

“You and your sister?”

At the mention of Ella, Lucy decided she should probably get back to the storefront to man the register. But something about Mrs. Shipman made talking about her sister less dangerous. “Yes. My mom knit us matching green ponchos one year. And a lot of sweaters and hats.”

Mrs. Shipman’s eyes twinkled behind her glasses.

“Weren’t you both lucky, wrapped up in your mother’s love.

” The way she said it made a warm feeling come over Lucy.

Her mind drifted back to her second grade classroom, to the cotton candy–pink sweater she liked to wear to school.

A brown rail fence ran across the front and a tiny white lamb sat in the corner.

Just thinking of her pink lamb sweater Lucy could almost feel the wool collar brush against her chin.

“Are you going to teach people to knit sweaters?” Lucy asked. She was suddenly in less of a rush to get back to the register.

“Goodness, no. That’s advanced work. Tonight I’ll start with a basic knit stitch.” She sized up Lucy, as if guessing her height and weight. “Would you like to learn?”

“Oh, I’m not so good at crafts.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Shipman waved a hand. “Knitting is an art, and art is for all.”

“Art is for all,” Luke boomed, coming to stand behind them.

He gestured to the cubbies, which were firmly installed against the far wall.

Leah had painted the room in Dove White and the coral cubbies looked like a little sea reef set in the corner.

“Finished and ready for your knitting supplies, Mrs. S,” he said.

“My word!” Mrs. Shipman turned to admire his work. Lucy had to admit with the high ceilings and natural light, the bright cubbies just worked. “Where is Leah? Leah ,” she called, hurrying to the French doors that led into her office. “Hurry!”

Lucy had never heard anyone tell Leah to hurry anywhere in her own store, but Mrs. Shipman had such a nice way about it, hurry she did. As did Brad. Even Ethan, who must have just returned from lunch with him, popped his head in the doorway.

“Well, well, well. The knitting lab is finis,” Brad said. “Let the games begin!”

They all looked at Leah who stood in the doorway, arms crossed uncertainly against her chest. Especially Luke, who seemed to be holding his breath. Was she upset with the outcome?

Leah swiped at a corner of her eye and then Lucy understood. “They’re beautiful,” she said. “Just beautiful.”

Lucy half expected Leah to hug Luke, like she always did when he solved a problem or fixed something broken.

Which was pretty much all the time. But this time she went to the cubbies instead and bent down beside them like one would a small child, running her hands lovingly across their tops.

This seemed to be enough for Luke, whose entire posture relaxed at the sight of it.

“Are they to your liking then?” he asked.

“Better,” she said. “Thank you.”