Page 33 of The Sandy Page Bookshop
Eudora
All the time, Eudora overheard her grandkids talking about their Snapchat streaks like bragging rights.
Well, she had a streak of her own going: for five days in a row she’d made it to the bookstore.
And on the fifth, she’d driven her car and taught a class!
Taught was a bit of a stretch, but she’d introduced herself and demonstrated the stitch for the evening. That was something.
As expected, the group of attending knitters had been eclectic.
Creative people always were. Among them was one strange attendee, a Mr. Willet Smith.
He showed up with a bag of what did not turn out to be knitting materials but vegetables.
At the end, he thanked her for an enjoyable evening, handed a tomato to each guest, and left. Still, Eudora had survived all of it.
The class, if she could call it that, did not give her a panic attack.
Nor did it make her feel sweaty and nauseous.
The driving Lucy home part had been nerve-wracking, but even that she managed.
What had commandeered her thoughts since that night was the sweet girl whose last name she now knew: Lucy Hart.
When Eudora saw the last name on the mailbox she was struck instantly with sadness.
Though, at first, she could not say why.
Lucy was a delightful girl, the house was quaint and cute.
There was no reason for the dark feeling that came over her driving home from Lucy’s.
But the mood stayed with her, distracting her to the point she forgot her fear on the rotary and that ugly intersection off of Main and Stage Harbor.
It stayed with her right to her own front door when she turned the key in her lock and greeted Alfred in the living room.
And then she remembered why the name was so familiar.
“Hart!” she said to Alfred. “That’s the family from the news.”
The Hart family had been all over the local news at the start of summer.
There was no way to live in a small community like Chatham and not know what had happened.
Even for someone like Eudora who kept to herself.
The accident was a terrible one, featured for a few days on the local TV stations.
The story filled the front page of the newspaper, first as a breaking item, and later as announcements for fundraisers by the Congregational Church and the Chatham Fire & Rescue to help the family address growing medical bills.
Eudora could not begin to imagine the costs amassed, or the personal suffering, but what haunted her most were the details given about Ella Hart: eighteen years old, valedictorian, Tufts University admitted.
As a former guidance counselor these pieces of information painted a picture of a young woman poised to embark on a big, bright future. All of it was simply heartbreaking.
It brought into sharp focus Lucy’s reserved nature.
No wonder she didn’t want to talk about her sister.
The Sandy Page was probably the only reprieve she had from her family’s tragedy.
Eudora was quite certain neither Leah nor Brad was aware of any of it.
Which begged the question: Would it be in Lucy’s best interest to tell them, or not?
Even in retirement, Eudora could never quite turn off the counseling drive.
And given all she’d just learned, Lucy Hart was probably in need of some counsel.
Eudora was exhausted. From the knitting club’s inaugural meeting that night.
From driving her car not just to the store as planned, but adjusting her plans to drive several miles across town to ferry Lucy safely home in the dark.
From all the thoughts racing around her head about the people in that shop: Leah and her entrepreneurial ideas, that now involved her.
Lucy and her sad family situation. Even Brad, who showed all the signs of young love with his new beau.
How was it possible that one little bookshop in one little old house could contain all that hubbub?
“Come on, Alfred,” Eudora said, getting the dog’s leash from the hook on the wall.
The little dog spun in circles of joy, elated that they were going out at this late hour on an actual walk!
It didn’t even occur to her to let him out in the backyard, the easy thing to do.
After all the excitement she’d endured, what was a moonlit walk through the neighborhood?