Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

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The shop bell jangled Natalie to the present. With her mother gone, the past felt different in ways she hadn’t expected.

“Morning, guys,” she said, getting up to give Cleo and Bertie brief hugs. She felt them both scrutinizing her and waved off their concern.

“Is your grandfather up?” asked Cleo, taking their coats to the back office.

“Not yet,” Natalie said.

“How’s he doing?”

Natalie flashed on the moment she’d told him good night. The sadness in his eyes. “He was really worn out last night. I’ll go check on him in a bit.”

Bertie gave her a long look. “You’re a wreck.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Natalie spread some papers on the table. “I’ve been going through Mom’s files. I actually did find her will.” It wasn’t much of a will, as far as she could tell. It had been drawn up from a boilerplate the year Natalie was born. According to the document, Grandy was her designated guardian. “It hasn’t been updated since she signed it, but I suppose it’s valid. I’m going to have to set up a meeting with a lawyer to figure out what it all means.” A lawyer. What lawyer? She didn’t have one. As far as she knew, neither did her mother.

Cleo went over the updated bookkeeping files, which only confirmed what Natalie already knew. “I wish we had better news, but your mom was struggling.”

Natalie nodded. “She was always struggling. I didn’t realize how much, though. She never told me she was covering so many of Grandy’s expenses after his broken hip. Unless there’s some secret source of El Dorado, I’m afraid we’ll have to close the shop and sell everything. Liquidate the inventory and put the building on the market.” A frisson of dread went through her. “I’ll try to explain it to Grandy.”

Cleo and Bertie exchanged a look.

“There’s so much to sort out,” she conceded. “I can stay for a day or two, but I’m going to need to get back to Archangel. Will you be able to handle things for the time being?”

“Of course,” Cleo said.

“Grandy, too? He tells me he’s fine on his own.” Natalie looked from one to the other. “What do you think?”

“He does all right in the new downstairs apartment. Your mom was planning to do more work on the place—fix the back railing, install grab bars in the bathroom, that sort of thing. He usually gets dinner from the corner deli and they deliver it. He and Charlie still hang out together almost every day, same as they’ve always done.”

“I’m nervous about telling him we have to close the shop,” Natalie confessed. “It’s going to be the hardest conversation of my life. How on earth will I explain it?”

“How about you make a plan and then tell him?” Bertie suggested. “You don’t have to do it all today.”

She sent him a wavering smile. “Thanks. You’re right. So . . . Business as usual today? How do we even do that?” Her chest felt tight with apprehension and grief.

A moment later, the bell over the door sounded off again, and in bounced a little girl, bright-eyed and fresh-faced. Yellow straw braids, big blue eyes. The first customer of the day.

Cleo gave her a nudge. “You just do it,” she whispered.

Cleo and Bertie slipped away to the back office, leaving Natalie at the counter. Although she’d stood in this spot many times, having helped at the shop all through high school and every summer in college, the moment felt surreal, as if she’d been unstuck in time. Everyone—her mother and Grandy included—had assumed she would join the Lost and Found Bookshop team after college. It had been a difficult conversation, telling them she was taking a different path.

“I thought you loved the shop,” her mother had said.

“I do. But, Mom, I don’t love the struggle.”

Her mother had looked genuinely mystified. “The struggle? Oh, the administrative chores, you mean. It’s not so bad. You get used to it.”

“You’re amazing,” Natalie had told her. “I’ll never be as amazing as you. I’m not cut out for it. I’m more the salary-and-benefits type.”

“You might change your mind,” her mother had said, gesturing around the shop with its lofty hammered tin ceilings and ancient fixtures. “This is all such a grand adventure.”

There were times, Natalie conceded, when digital inventory work had threatened to destroy her soul. It was the opposite of a grand adventure. But then she would remind herself about the steady salary, the benefits and pension plan, and decide it was all worthwhile. Stability had its price.

“You pay yourself a smaller salary than you pay the employees,” she had once pointed out to her mother. “Your late notices are getting late notices. You’ve never taken a vacation. Never bought yourself something nice. Your life is all about keeping the shop running.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not, Mom. But it’s not my thing.”

The little girl was looking around so eagerly that Natalie was able to summon her first genuine smile since the accident. “Hi there,” she said. “Can I help you?”

The girl tilted her head to one side, ropy braids following the movement. She wore jeans and high-top sneakers, and a buffalo plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. One elbow bore the faint outline of a recently removed Band-Aid. She was unself-consciously charming, with a crooked smile, a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, skinny legs, and one missing front tooth.

“My mom gave me a gift card for being good at the dentist,” she said. “That’s why I’m not in school this morning, because I had the dentist. I got a filling, see?” She opened wide and tilted back her head, hooking a finger into her mouth and pulling it to one side.

“Oh, gosh,” Natalie said. “Does it hurt?”

“Nope. The Novocain shot did, though.” She shuddered.

That explained the crooked smile. “The shot is always the worst.”

“And then it sounded like they put a whistle in my mouth.” She emulated the sound, her voice making a crescendo.

Natalie felt the first nudge of humor in days. “No wonder you got a gift card. That was nice of your mom.”

“Yep.” The girl showed it to her. The card had a message on the back. Good job, Dorothy! Love, Mommy.

“Dorothy’s a cute name. One of the all-time best characters ever is Dorothy Gale. From the Wizard of Oz books.”

“My dad says that’s why he named me Dorothy. He read the first book to me, even the scary bits.”

“That’s impressive. Are you looking for a book in particular?”

“Yes,” she declared, making her way to the children’s section. “I know how to find it, too—in the Ds in fiction.”

The children’s section was a nook in the back corner of the shop, defined by a braided oval rug, colorful pillows, and beanbag chairs, surrounded by shelves and display racks. The old Kennedy rocker was set up for story time next to an easel with the times listed.

The girl plopped down on a throw pillow and made a serious study of the middle-grade readers. She looked young for middle grade, but something about her bright-eyed expression suggested she was an early reader, like Natalie had been. The girl ran her finger along an upper shelf, which contained multiple copies of titles by one particular author.

“Trevor Dashwood,” Natalie said, joining the girl in the corner. The man had become a household name in the past few years—that much she knew. Her mother had said he’d burst onto the publishing scene with a series of children’s books that sold in the millions.

Dorothy gazed up at her with bright eyes. “He’s my favorite in all the world.”