Absolutely Truly (20 page)

“Interesting,” said Aunt True. “I hadn't thought of that. See what I mean about a different perspective?”

I raised my hand.

“Truly?”

“This isn't a strength, Aunt True,” I said, “but it's dark in here.”

“That's because it's nighttime, you moron!” scoffed Danny.

“Daniel,” Aunt True chided. “I've noticed the same thing, Truly. The place needs brightening up.” She stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “We should probably invest in better light fixtures eventually, but these still work, and they have a nice retro flair. We can certainly wash the glass globes on them for starters.”

Crossing to one of the windows, she grabbed a handful of the dark green material that was hanging beside it and gave it a shake. A big cloud of dust flew up. “These drapes have got to go, don't you think?” she said, as we all started waving our arms and coughing. “Your father claims they protect the
merchandise from fading, but I say they block the light. The more we can open this place up, the better. Who votes for taking them down?”

I raised my hand. So did Hatcher and Pippa. Danny and Lauren looked uncertain.

“Can Mith Marple vote?” asked Pippa, slipping the dog a bite of cupcake.

“Technically, she's family, so yes, she gets a vote,” said Aunt True, and my little sister hoisted Miss Marple's paw into the air.

“So that makes four in favor—five if we count Miss Marple—and two against,” my aunt continued. “Or maybe more on the fence than against. The ayes have it!”

“Um, Aunt True,” Danny began, “don't you think you should wait and ask—”

Aunt True flapped a hand dismissively. “Don't worry. Your father and I don't always see eye to eye on everything, but he'll love it. So, any other comments?”

“The walls could probably use a new coat of paint,” said Hatcher.

“Can we paint it pink?” Pippa looked hopeful.

“No way!” Danny and Hatcher burst out simultaneously. I shook my head too.

“Pink's probably not going to work, Pip,” Aunt True told her. “But the walls definitely need painting, and they definitely
need to be a cheerful color. You can help me pick one out, okay? Now, what else?”

“How about this?” said Hatcher, scuffing his foot against the carpet on the floor. “It's gross.” He was right. The carpet was dark green like the drapes, and had been there for as long as I could remember.

My aunt made a face. “Hideous, isn't it? Replacing it isn't in my tiny remodeling budget, though.”

I poked my toe under a loose corner by the nearest bookcase. “Do we have to have carpet? Maybe we could just get rid of it instead of replacing it.”

Aunt True came over to where I was sitting and knelt down. Peeling back the loose corner, she inspected the floor underneath. “You may be on to something, Truly,” she said, her voice rising in excitement. “This is wide-plank pine, if I'm not mistaken, and it looks to be in pretty good shape.” She stood up again, brushing off her pink leggings. “I doubt it's something the six of us could tackle this weekend, though. It's a big demolition job.”

My brothers perked up at this. “Demolition” is one of their favorite words.

“I thought you said Lovejoys could do anything,” Danny reminded her.

“Point taken,” said Aunt True.

My brother grinned. “What if we got some of our wrestling buddies to help?”

“Do you think they would?”

Danny and Hatcher both nodded.

“Well, then, why not? Let's take the plunge!” Aunt True put her hands on her hips and looked around. “I think that about covers it, although I'd also like to make better use of our existing space. Rearrange some of the bookcases, freshen the children's room, add a display table or two for new arrivals and sidelines—”

“What are thidelineth?” asked Pippa.

“All the stuff we sell that isn't books, honey,” Aunt True told her.

Aunt True might call them “sidelines,” but my father calls them a word I could get into big trouble for repeating.

“I want a gift-wrapping station behind the counter too,” my aunt continued, “and maybe we could bring in some armchairs and lamps and set up a few cozy reading nooks.”

Hearing this, Lauren looked up from her book. “I like that idea.”

“You can be the reading-nook consultant, then.” Aunt True smiled at us. “It's going to look like a brand-new store by the time we're done!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. I liked the idea of surprising our parents, and I could tell that my brothers and sisters did too.

“Do you really think we can pull this off?” I asked.

“We're going to need some help,” Aunt True admitted.
“But if there's one good thing about small towns, it's the fact that word travels fast on the grapevine. It's time to activate my secret weapon.”

“You have a thecret weapon?” Pippa's eyes widened behind her sparkly pink glasses.

Aunt True put her finger to her lips. “I certainly do. And her name is Ella Bellow.”

Score one for the town's biggest gossip.

Ella Bellow totally came through. By nine o'clock the next morning, there were two dozen people waiting for us on the bookshop doorstep.

Not only that, there was a news truck too. And not just any news truck, but the one from Channel 5 in Boston.

“Are you the owner of Lovejoy's Books?” someone called out, shouldering his way through the crowd. I recognized the questioner's face—well, his smile at least. Half the people on the planet knew that smile. A video of it flying across a room on its own and landing on a plate of cream puffs had been leaked onto the Internet a few years ago, and made him, his dentures, and his morning news show,
Hello, Boston!
famous.

Carson Dawson was smaller than he looked on TV—way shorter than me—and a lot wrinklier underneath his fake tan. In one leather-gloved hand he clutched a cup of coffee from Lou's.
In the other he held a microphone, which he thrust into Aunt True's face.
Peacock
, I thought instantly. Showy and loud.

“Co-owner,” my aunt replied, unlocking the door.

“Is it true that your brother is a wounded warrior, Ms. Lovejoy? And that the two of you are struggling to turn around an ailing family business?”

Aunt True shot a sour look at Ella Bellow, who seemed to be fascinated by one of the buttons on her black coat all of a sudden. Our postmistress had been oversharing again. “Yes, it's true,” my aunt admitted.

“I'd love to interview you!” gushed Mr. Dawson. “We're in town to film the famous waterfall, and when we saw the crowd, we came over to find out what all the commotion was about. This would make a wonderful companion piece. You know, ‘small town pitches in to help wounded veteran.' Our viewers love local color.”

Hatcher looked over at me and rolled his eyes.

“I'll agree to do an interview on one condition,” Aunt True replied. Raising her voice to make sure everyone gathered on the sidewalk could hear her, she continued, “What we're doing this weekend is a surprise for my brother and his wife. They won't be home until Monday, and I don't want the story getting out beforehand.” She leveled a stern gaze at Carson Dawson.

He nodded, chuckling. “Got it. Mum's the word.”

Aunt True asked Hatcher and me to hold the door open for everyone, then taped a piece of paper to the window. I inspected it as the waiting crowd streamed past. My aunt had posted a wish list—furniture, mostly, and other items for the reading nooks she was hoping to set up.

Lou was first in line, carrying a stack of boxes filled with donuts. He winked at me as he passed. “Gotta keep everyone's strength up.”

Mrs. Winthrop was right behind him with a big coffee urn. Lucas was next. Annie Freeman, who'd come with her brother Franklin and their parents, was talking his ear off.

“Hey, Truly,” said Cha Cha as she trailed in behind the Freemans.

“Hey.” I waggled my fingers at Baxter, who was with her. He smiled shyly.

“My parents can't come until after lunch,” Cha Cha told me. “They've got Cotillion practice sessions all morning.”

I was not looking forward to mine, but I didn't tell her that. “No problem” was all I said.

The Nguyens filed in, along with the Mahoneys from the antiques store next door, Bud Jefferson from Earl's Coins and Stamps across the street, and Reverend Quinn, the minister at Gramps and Lola's church. Mr. Henry the librarian smiled at me as he passed, and so did Ms. Ivey and Mr. Bigelow. Mr. Burnside, our principal, had brought his whole family, and there were a bunch of other people I didn't recognize.

“So happy to help Walt and Lola's family,” said Mrs. Farnsworth, who ran the General Store with her husband.

Augustus Wilde swooped in after her, his silver hair brushed back from his forehead like the crest of a wave, and his trademark black cape fluttering in the chilly breeze. Hatcher looked over at me and grinned.

“We're saved! Captain Romance is here!” he whispered, and I smothered a laugh.

Augustus was Pumpkin Falls's resident celebrity. He wrote romance novels under the alias “Augusta Savage.” His books fill up an entire shelf in the romance section, or as Hatcher calls it, the shirtless-men-kissing-beautiful-women section. Augustus drops by at least once a week. He sneaks over to the shelf that holds his books and turns them face out when he thinks no one is looking.

“Guerrilla marketing,” he'd confided to me when I'd caught him at it. “We authors have to do what we can.”

Danny and Hatcher's wrestling buddies swarmed in last, decked out in their team sweatshirts. Scooter Sanchez grinned at me as he sauntered past. I skewered him with a look that could have stopped an elephant.

“I didn't say anything!” he protested.

He didn't have to. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Belinda Winchester was the final one through the door. I caught the faint strains of “My Girl” from her ever-present earbuds as she craned to see over my shoulder.

“Where's Miss Marple?” she demanded.

I pointed to the office, where Aunt True had corralled her for the day. Belinda marched over and clipped a leash to the dog's collar. “Too much excitement in here for this old girl,” she announced, heading right out again. “I'm taking her for a walk.”

Carson Dawson and his crew trotted around behind Aunt True as she gave them a tour of the bookshop. She unlocked the rare book cabinet and showed off the first edition of
Charlotte's Web
, which it turned out was Mr. Henry's favorite book.

“Mine, too!” exclaimed my aunt. “It's the perfect novel, isn't it?”

“Sublime,” he replied as she passed it to him.

“I'm rather fond of it myself,” the TV host admitted.

Mr. Henry held the book reverently. “I'd give anything for an autographed copy!” he said, and Carson Dawson got some footage of him talking with Aunt True about E. B. White, and the author's farm in Maine, where he'd raised actual pigs and observed actual spiders, and how he'd called the book his “hymn to the barn.”

“Fun fact,” said Mr. Henry. “Did you know that E. B. White did the narration for the audiobook? And that it took him seventeen takes to get through the passage about Charlotte's death without crying?”

“I can never get through it without crying, either,” said Aunt True, and Mr. Henry nodded sympathetically.

I couldn't help noticing that Scooter had managed to wedge himself in front of the camera. I also couldn't help noticing Calhoun when he showed up a few minutes later, after the
Charlotte's Web
lovefest was over. This was mostly because my aunt made such a big deal out of it.

“Truly!” she called from across the store, with one of those big “your secret is safe with me” smiles. “Your friend is here!”

My face flamed. Scooter gave me an odd look. Calhoun didn't even glance my way, just went over and joined the wrestlers, who had formed a human chain and were ferrying boxes to the basement.

“Keep the books in the exact same order you find them, please,” Aunt True instructed them, then crossed the store to organize the group in charge of rearranging the bookshelves.

Lucas and Franklin and Amy Nguyen were put to work dusting, and Cha Cha and Jasmine and I were assigned two jobs: keeping the little kids out of everyone's hair, and washing the glass globes on all the light fixtures.

“You can set up headquarters in my apartment,” said Aunt True. “Don't let Memphis out, okay? There are board games in the trunk in the living room, and you'll find rubber gloves and dish soap and whatever other cleaning products you need under the kitchen sink.”

“I have a practice session at the Starlite at eleven thirty,” I told her.

“That's fine. Just see if someone can cover for you with the little ones while you're gone.”