The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,65
the doorway and looked back once more at the father she loved. And then she danced. And though she could not see him, her father was watching.
And he smiled.
How could I have been so wrong? Not just about my father, but about everything? I had lived my life as a victim of false narratives demonizing those who loved me most, blaming them for my choices. There was nothing left to defend. My life was one big lie.
All I could do was weep. It seemed that that was all I had done for most of the day, but there was something deeper about these tears, as if they had been squeezed from the very core of my being. I lay back in my father’s bed as wave after wave of sadness washed over me. All I could say was, “I’m so sorry, Daddy.” I fell asleep clutching the book to my chest.
CHAPTER fifty–two
Books have that strange quality, that being of the frailest and tenderest matter, they outlast brass, iron, and marble.
—William Drummond
THURSDAY, CHRISTMAS EVE
I woke the next morning with the sun streaming through the blinds in my father’s room. I looked around, temporarily forgetting where I was. The closet was open, as was the safe. My father’s book lay on the floor. I was fully dressed.
I looked down at my watch. It was five minutes after nine. I was late for work. At least Wendy’s there to open the store, I thought. Then I remembered that I’d fired her. I jumped out of bed and hurriedly got dressed, grabbing a brush to comb my hair on the way in to the bookstore.
It was nearly nine thirty when I arrived. There was a line of almost twenty people standing out in the cold, two of whom were my Christmas employees Teddy, from the day before, and Marcia, whom I’d met only once.
I parked in my spot. I had never gotten a key to the back door—I’d never needed one, since Wendy was always here first—so I had to walk around to the front, past the disgruntled crowd, apologizing the whole way. “I’m here, I’m so sorry. I’m here.”
“There’s a line here,” a gruff voice shouted at me.
“I own the place!” I shouted back.
“Then why are you late?”
“Bob was never late,” someone else said.
“New management,” the gruff voice said sarcastically.
“Where’s Wendy?” a woman asked as I fumbled through my keys. “She’s not answering her phone.”
“She’s not coming in today,” I said as I unlocked the door, the crowd pressing in around me. “Back up, please.”
“But I talked to her yesterday,” the woman said. “She said she’d be here.”
“Well, she won’t. Something came up.”
“Wendy’s not here?” another customer asked.
This created a ripple effect in the line not unlike the telephone game. “Did she say Wendy’s not going to be here?” “Wendy quit?” “Wendy’s sick?” “What does she have?” “Is she in the hospital?”
I walked into the store. It was dark and cold, not the usual ambience I’d grown accustomed to. I realized that I had never even turned on the lights before. It was an older building, and the switches weren’t where any normal human would expect them. As people began crowding into the dark store, I shouted, “Does anyone know how to turn on the lights?”
“I’ll get them,” Teddy said, brushing by me, using his phone as a flashlight. He walked to the back.
“I thought you were the owner,” someone behind me said.
“She’s no Bob,” someone else said.
No, I’m not, I said to myself.
The lights went on. By that point I was ready to kick everyone out, but I think they probably would have just looted the store. Teddy walked out from the back. “The alarm wasn’t set last night.”
“I know the alarm wasn’t set.”
“No worries,” he said. “We weren’t robbed.”
“Would you turn on some Christmas music, please?” I asked.
“Will do, boss,” he said.
A tall woman wearing a fur-lined, plaid trapper hat buttoned beneath her chin walked up to me. Her cheeks were red as though she’d spent too much time outdoors. “Wendy set aside some books for me.”
I looked around the counter. I couldn’t see them. “I’ll find them. What’s your name?”
“Maria.”
“Maria what?”
“Wendy knew.”
“I’m not Wendy!” I shouted.
She looked at me for a moment, then said, “Clearly.”
Someone just shoot me.
The next six hours passed by like an eternity. We had more than a hundred customers, all rushing to grab last-minute gifts before heading to their gatherings. It seemed that everyone had somewhere to be except me.