The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,66

happy about all the business, but I wasn’t. I felt disassociated from it all, with the holiday, the spirit, even the store. I was unworthy to stand in this place. Wendy was right—I killed everything I touched. I was misery personified.

It was ten minutes after three. Teddy had locked the front door, and I was helping our last customer—a young, frantic woman who had run in just a few minutes before closing to pick up a couple of books. They were gifts for her children. Her credit card kept being declined. After several attempts I finally said, “I’m sorry. This card isn’t going through. Do you have another card? Or cash?”

The woman looked flustered. “No. There should still be some money on there.”

I tried the card again, only to have it be declined again. I could sense her embarrassment. I exhaled slowly. “Just take them.”

“What?”

“Just take the books. They’re on me. Merry Christmas.”

She looked at me in disbelief. “Really?” To my surprise, tears welled up in her eyes. “I’ve been out of work for two months. You don’t know how much this helps. Thank you. God bless you.”

“You’re welcome.” I let her out of the store, then relocked the door after her.

Behind me someone said, “That was mighty decent.”

I turned around. Teddy was standing there. “Her card wasn’t working.”

“I saw what happened. You could tell she didn’t have the money and you helped her out. You’re a good person.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like anything but a good person. “Thank you.”

“Boss, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to head out.”

“You can go.”

“Thanks. Wait, forgot something.” He ran out of the room, then came back wearing his pack. “Hey, I don’t know if I ask you or Wendy, but are you hiring after Christmas? I’d like to work here. I love its vibe, you know? It’s a cool place.”

He just stood there looking at me hopefully.

“Thanks, Teddy. I don’t know if we’re hiring yet. Check with me next week.”

“Okay. Thanks. Peace out. Merry Christmas.” He walked out of the store.

I walked over and turned off the Christmas music and the front window lights. The light outside had already diminished, and the snow was falling hard, coating the world in a silent blue-white batting.

In the silence and stillness of the moment, I looked around the store. For the first time I saw it. My father was all around me. In the books, the shelves, the million details he had created over the decades of care. The bookstore was sacred ground, not just to him, but to the people who loved him. It was my father’s temple, the consolidation of his wisdom, wit, and spirit—the totality of his ponderings in a world that the rest of us were trying to make sense of.

Inexplicably, my father had made sense of it all. Somehow, through the tragedy and loss and pain, he never wavered from his optimism. With all the world’s cruelty and hypocrisy, he never gave up hope in humanity. Not even in his daughter. No, especially not in his daughter. In the face of my anger and bitterness, his love never quit.

No wonder so many people loved him. And the bookstore was his gathering place for those he loved—a keep and a bulwark against the storms and waves of despair and ignorance. It’s no wonder Wendy had fought to keep the bookstore alive. She was keeping him alive.

I took the money out of the register and put it in the safe. Then I locked up the store and walked out alone.

CHAPTER fifty–three

I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.

—Gustave Flaubert

For nearly half an hour I sat in my car with tears streaming down my cheeks. I was grateful for the snow falling, blanketing me, further insulating me from the world I feared. Everything Wendy had said about me was true. I was pathetic. I deserved to be alone. And, like she said, I would someday die alone. I had blamed the world for my unhappiness, but there was no one to blame but myself. Dylan had reached out in love, and I had used that love to punish him for daring to care.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to be held accountable. The only one I could think would do it was Grace.

* * *

I made my way downtown through deserted streets back to her