of the pain of losing a child. And we cannot begin to describe the relief in finding out he’s coming home,” said the Lerners in a joint statement.
Over a decade ago, Lerner made headlines when he beat the high school state record for the five hundred–meter freestyle. A year before he went missing, Lerner married local woman Emma Blair. When contacted, Blair had no comment.
I finish reading the article and I read it again. And then again. And then again. I snap out of it only when Tina calls my name.
“Good mornin’, Emma,” she says to me as she comes in through the back just before ten. With her thick Boston accent, my name sounds more like “Emmer” than “Emma.”
She pronounces “library” as “libry,” calls water fountains “bubblahs,” and leaves work on time so she’s not late for “suppah.”
Boston accents are warm and cozy and wonderful to me. When I hear people make fun of them on TV, I always wonder if they’ve ever been here. So many people in Massachusetts don’t even speak with a Boston accent, and the ones who do would never pahk they-ah cah in Hahvahd Yahd.
There’s nowhere to park in Harvard Yard.
“Good morning, Tina,” I say.
Tina is the sort of employee you search high and low for. She’s an empty-nested stay-at-home mom who loves books more than anyone I’ve ever met. She is sweet to everyone, but firm with people who are unkind. She misses her kids, who are all in college, and works here to busy her mind. I don’t think she or her husband needs the money she makes. It’s not that I’ve asked, it’s just that she uses at least a quarter of her paycheck every week to buy books with her discount.
When I start to get overwhelmed by all that there is to do running this store, it is Tina who I count on.
The other thing that I like about her is that she has absolutely no interest in being my friend. We work together. I am her boss. We are kind to each other and occasionally share a laugh in the stockroom. That’s the beginning and the end of it.
When I first started managing people, I had a hard time setting boundaries and expectations. I wanted everyone to like me. I wanted the people here to feel like they were part of a family—because that is what this store has always been to me. Family. But business doesn’t work like that. And I don’t need my employees to like me. I need them to respect me and do their jobs well.
I’ve learned that lesson the hard way a few times, but at least I can say I’ve learned it. Now, I have a group of employees who might sometimes go home and complain about me but take pride in their jobs and run a great bookstore.
Today I am especially grateful that my employees are not my friends. I know that Tina reads the Beacon. I’m sure she read the article. But I know she will not ask me a single thing.
When the Acton Ladies Reading Society comes in at eleven to start their book group, I begin to get anxious.
Jesse’s plane lands in four hours.
Jesse, my Jesse, will be home today.
I dropped him off at LAX three years and seven months ago and I will be at the airfield this afternoon when he lands.
I am not good at my job for the hours between noon and two. I am scatterbrained, unfocused, and impatient.
I ring up a woman for $16.87 and when she hands me a twenty-dollar bill, I give her $16.87 back.
A man calls asking if we have any copies of Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close and I tell him, “Yes, we carry all of Jonathan Lethem’s books.”
When I see Mark, the only one of my employees whom I would say classifies as a book snob, come to relieve me, I am the very definition of relieved.
It’s time to go.
I can go.
I can get out of here.
As I gather my things and take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror, I regret, for a moment, that I’m not better friends with Tina. It would be nice to look at someone and say, “OK, how do I look?” And have them say, “You look great. It’s all gonna be fine.”
I consider calling Marie when I get to my car. She might be the perfect person to give me whatever sort of pep talk a person needs before they go meet