The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,25

meet the two evening-shift employees. Cammy was in her early twenties, an English major at the University of Utah. Cyndee was twenty-five, a business major with a Mandarin minor who was currently taking a break from school.

As I drove home, I thought about the books my father had collected. I wondered why he had never mentioned them to me. Considering how little we talked, I guess it wasn’t high on his priority list.

I stopped to get groceries. The things I bought showed a little more commitment to staying; more oatmeal and granola, mayonnaise, Raisin Bran, a full gallon of skim milk, and a large bag of healthy popcorn. I put the groceries away then sat down on the couch to read. I was tired from standing on my feet all day, which was a good thing. At the publishing house I was getting used to spending the day on my rear.

As I reheated the fried rice from the day before, I thought about Wendy and the bookstore. I wondered if she planned to stay or was already scheming her exit. Or what she’d do if I ended up selling the place. Wendy was a bit of an enigma to me. She was smart, ambitious, and pretty, yet it seemed like she had no life outside of the bookstore. I didn’t want to be the instrument that ended it all.

CHAPTER thirteen

I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.

—Anne Frank

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 3

I woke early the next morning. I went for my run then got ready for work. It felt good to have a routine again. I picked up a cappuccino on the way to work and arrived at the bookstore about a quarter after nine. Christmas music was playing, and there were new pleasant fragrances wafting through the store. Wassail and pine.

Wendy must have arrived extra early, as the store was noticeably more decorated than it was when I had left last night. The Christmas tree next to the front counter was up and decorated, strung with lights and baubles, each bearing a picture of a classic book: Gone with the Wind, Ulysses, The Old Man and the Sea.

As I hung my coat on the rack next to the cash register, Wendy walked in from the back. “You’re late.”

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing or testing me on the whole “boss” thing, but either way, I fell in line. “Sorry. I’ll be on time tomorrow. What’s on the docket?”

“I just got another shipment of books,” she said. “If you’ll take the front, I’ll check in the arrivals. We’ll shelve them after lunch.”

“You got it,” I said. “The store looks nice.”

“Thank you.”

It was a quiet morning. Around noon a woman walked up to me at the counter. “Excuse me. Do you know who wrote The Diary of Anne Frank?”

She was looking at me so expectantly I decided she wasn’t joking. “That would be… Anne Frank.”

“Right. Of course. Do you know if she ever wrote a sequel?”

Now I was really wondering. I finally just said no.

“No, you don’t know, or no, she never wrote one?”

“Have you read the book?”

“Yes. It was beautifully written. That’s why I wanted to know if she’d written anything else.”

I sighed “No. She wrote only the one book.”

“That’s a shame she didn’t pursue her writing. She could have had a promising career. Thanks anyway.”

I went in back and found Wendy. “You won’t believe what someone just asked me.”

“I’ve worked here for seventeen years. I’ll believe anything. Try me.”

“She asked if Anne Frank had written a sequel.”

She grinned. “I’ve been asked that before.” She looked up. “I think the most bizarre question was from a woman who asked if we had a book on avids.”

“On what?”

“Avids,” Wendy said. “The woman said, ‘My husband is an avid hunter, and I thought he’d like a book on them for Father’s Day.’ ”

“Tell me she was joking.”

“For her sake I hoped she was, but she wasn’t.”

I shook my head. “Are people just dumb?”

“I think everyone’s dumb. Just in different ways. Einstein used to get lost on the way home.”

It was another busy day, and I could sense from our customers the growing anticipation of the holidays, like water rolling to a boil. The ambience Wendy created certainly helped. If you weren’t in the Christmas spirit when you arrived at our shop, you would be by the time you left.

Businesswise, Wendy said we were doing well. I still hadn’t gone through the store’s financials—something I was as ill