Leaving Unknown (8 page)

I
was bubbling over when I talked to Oliver as I tidied the breakfast area.

“And I met the guy who wrote
The Boy Who Could Fly
, and
The Boy Who Could Walk Through Walls
, and
The Boy Who Could Stop Time
. All of them—he’s not that much older than me, but he’s written this whole series. The actual guy! He’s my new boss!”

“Nice tits!” said Oliver. I seriously had to move his cage away from Lulabell.

“And I have a new best friend,” I said. “Well, besides you. Her name is Tuesday. She’s half Hawaiian, half Chinese. We have a date.”

After Noah had conceded to hiring me, I’d spent the afternoon hanging around Tuesday like a teenage sycophant at a lifeguard stand, and she’d explained his odd behavior.

“You’re blonde and she was brunette, but otherwise, the re
semblance is strong. Gina wore long braids and had this great smile. The problem was that she was a
criminal
.”

“What’d she do?” I marveled.

“Destroyed Noah’s trust in mankind.” She exaggerated. “We’d always had good luck with short-termers, and for a small store it can be a perfect arrangement. Then Gina came along. She told Noah she wanted temp work to be near a grandmother who’d broken a hip, so of course he couldn’t say no. He’s a big old softie. We were glad for the help. It gave me more time to teach dance and him more time to write.” I nodded.

“She was fine at first. Smart, fun to be around. You could overlook the occasional butt-flossing cut-offs. After a few weeks, I went to Tucson at the same time Noah flew to New York for a meeting and we left her in charge. When we got back, the store was dark, and the register had been cleaned out. She even stole some tchotchkes from Noah’s office.”

“She was a con artist?!” I was shocked. Who would rob an independent bookstore?

“Totally. She had a party-girl habit and wanted the money for clothes and an extravagant nightlife. Noah was heartbroken. It wasn’t the financial loss—he makes his money from the books. He was wounded to the core that a person could be so calculating and callous. Plus she pinched his favorite stuffed monkey.”

I didn’t ask.

Tuesday sighed. “He feels things too deeply. He hasn’t hired anyone since—it’s like he had a bad breakup and can’t date again.”

“That’s awful!”

“It doesn’t excuse his being harsh to you, though I’m impressed he had it in him. He could never accuse anyone of being a criminal, much less a potential criminal, even after it
was proven. That’s why he grilled you on books. He was desperate for an ‘objective’ excuse to send you away.”

“I forgive,” I joked. The incident had been eclipsed. I had a job, and I was far too thrilled with the movie-and-dinner date I’d planned with Tuesday. We’d agreed that after my first day of work, we’d order pizza and watch
Juno
, which she’d gotten from Netflix.

A violent sneezing fit yanked me back to the present. It could have been caused by the organic Seventh Generation cleaning liquid I’d just blasted at the café table, but the ferocity of the attack alarmed me. I’d been sneezing quite a bit since arriving in Unknown, and my sore throat hadn’t improved dramatically. With my luck it wasn’t just a cold. I recalled an article I’d seen on incurable spore infections in the rural Southwest. Allergic rhinitis onset could occur at any age. Come to think of it, my lungs had felt swollen all morning.

“Oh my God,” I said to Oliver. “I have pneumonitis.” It had to be my run the day before. I’d done twelve miles along lanes through the fields. I recalled my deep raggedy inhales. Or, it could be just a cold from my night on the ground without my Therm-a-Rest, but why take risks? I was a big believer in medicine, and the bigger you painted the problem, the better stuff you were likely to get. If I could get the A-bomb of antibiotics, I’d take it.

“Better go see Dr. Samuel Looking Horse,” growled April War Bonnet. I jumped. She’d been silent, her diminutive frame completely concealed by the large armchair she occupied. She appeared to be reading a coupon circular.

“What?”

“Dr. Looking Horse, over at the clinic on Blue Street. He’ll put you right.” April’s eyes had a gleam and I wondered if she was setting me up for trouble. My few days’ acquaintance had
taught me caution. I’d already endured a near heart attack over the dried llama fetus she’d left on my bed, a good luck token from a Bolivian witch doctor, and had wasted half a day looking for my cupcake and my lightning-bolt kneesocks before I realized the café tables were “wearing” them.

“Is he a real doctor? Not like your witch-doctor friend.” I hadn’t been able to get rid of my “lucky charm” fast enough. I’d rather stay cursed.

“Phffft. Native Americans can be real doctors, you know.”

Horrified, I protested, “I didn’t…”

She cut me off, enjoying herself. “He is. Plus, he’s the only doctor in town.” That sealed it. I was going.

“And when you go, steal the lobby magazines for me.” Ah. That explained the gleam. Up Market only carried a few out-of-date periodicals.

An hour later I was sitting in a paper gown, my backpack stuffed with clinic magazines. My life of crime was getting out of control, but the alternative of disappointing April promised retribution, probably in the form of my makeup glued to the counter. I’d been delighted to find a cheery little health center, rather than a larger, impersonal hospital. I didn’t like hospitals. The clinic’s smell of oranges was a pleasant change from disinfectant masking funk. Waiting for Dr. Samuel Looking Horse, I envisioned a kindly, wizened old Native American, like the guy who cried in the pollution commercials or Graham Greene. That’s not who walked in.

“Somebody needs a spanking,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry?” Dr. Looking Horse gave me a curious look.

“I’m sorry?” I parroted, with my best Innocent Look.

“Did you say something?” Quizzical.

“What?” Innocent Look.

“Did you…” He paused. “Uh, never mind.”

Dr. Looking Horse was in his early thirties, well over six feet tall, and chiseled like the dusky-skinned shirtless lothario sweeping up a feisty beauty on the cover of a book called something like
Savage Native Love
. In this case, he wore a white lab coat and his gleaming black hair was pulled into a ponytail. April’s twinkle became understandable. I was ready for my exam.

“I have my charts,” I handed him a sheaf of folders.

“You carry your charts around?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” I was noncommittal. It was a time-saving measure.

His eyes met mine after he scanned the first file.

“I had a sneezing fit, and my lungs feel a little swollen. Oh, and there’s the tenderness in my armpit.” I waggled my elbow like a chicken. The new symptom joined my swollen lungs as a competing illness. The exam would need to be thorough.

“A sneezing fit?” Bemused this time.

“It could be spores.” I was earnest. “I’m new to the area. Not adapted.”

“I see.” I suspected I wasn’t being taken seriously. Still, he was a professional. “Let’s have a look. Cough for me.” He placed his stethoscope to my chest. Coughing had never been so fun.

It took less than twenty minutes for Dr. Looking Horse to pronounce me perfectly healthy. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet.” I gave him my most charming smile.

A hint of a blush stained his calm expression. He turned away. “I’ll write you a prescription for a multivitamin if that will make you feel better about acclimating to our spores.”

I squinted at him. “Uh, no thanks, I have loads.”

He faced me again, expression serious. “Ms. Connelly, there’s no reason for a woman of your health to worry about such minor discomforts. It’s very unlikely…”

“Are there things a newcomer to the area would need to be concerned about?” I persisted, this time with a new agenda. Why take home a prescription, if you could take home the doctor? “Spores, contaminants in the water, poison oak? Maybe you should give me a primer. Over dinner.”

“I…”

The door opened and a nurse with violent pink lipstick popped her head in. “Dr. Looking Horse? Liz Goldberg is here—it’s an emergency. Tommy fell out of a tree and broke his arm.”

“I’m sorry,” he said to me. His regret looked genuine. “I must go.” Then he smiled. “I imagine you’ll survive any Unknown hazards just fine.” And with that he was gone, and I had to decide on my own whether he was being intentionally funny.

On Monday morning I bounced down Red Road to the Little Read Book, eager to embrace my new job. Whether nervousness or excitement, I hadn’t been able to sleep a wink after 6
A.M.
, so I’d already done my chores for Ruby and gone for my run.

No one was in the shop when I entered, and all the lights were off.

“Hello,” I called, walking to the register. A note on the counter read,

“Hello?” I repeated. “Cujo?” I wondered if there was another power outage, but when I flipped the lights, they came on. I walked toward where Noah had disappeared on my first visit.
I’d spent a fair amount of last week hanging around Tuesday, giggling over the attractive doctor and Oliver’s new words. But I’d never ventured into the back, and hadn’t seen Noah. I found him in his office, but hesitated in the doorway.

N.E. Case was playing with his dolls. Specifically, he was sitting on the floor, swimming an action figure through a tub of water, muttering to himself. That, and the way his hair stood straight up, decided me not to interrupt. I backed away, but my movement caught his eye. He looked up, confused, a thousand-mile stare.

“I’m Maeve,” I reminded. “I’m starting work today?” It came out as a question, but he couldn’t have forgotten so quickly.

“Oh.” He looked distressed. “I don’t have time to train. Is Tuesday here?” He seemed torn between the toys and me.

“Nice dolls.” I couldn’t resist.

His expression became haughty. “They are
not
dolls. They are creative visualization devices. They help me when I’m blocked.”

“I hear there’s a sale on Scuba Steve down at the five and dime.”

Green eyes squinted at me. “My sister had that Wonder Woman T-shirt too. When she was
eleven
.”

Score one to Noah for jabbing back when he was caught swimming his action figure.

I lost his attention.

“Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t train you. I need…”

“You need a shower, no more coffee, and some sleep.” Tuesday bustled in and cut him off with authority. Noah looked back at his tub.

“I’m close. I think. I mean…”

“I didn’t see your car all weekend, which means you’ve been here and are probably sugar deprived, which makes you cranky, which makes me cranky. It is therefore in my self-
interest to feed you and send you home. Up, up, up.” Her hands under his armpits were firm as she lifted him to his feet and propelled him out into the café. I trailed after them. “I know you hate to take time away when you’re on a roll, but you need a break.”

“I have to finish ten chapters of
The Boy Who Could Breathe Underwater
by Friday,” he protested. Then reverted to muttering, “How does he get back? Does he…”

“Noah, you were playing with your toys, which means you’re stumped. I’m making you breakfast then sending you home. You’re banned until tomorrow.”

He blinked her into focus, and frowned. “They are
not
toys. They are creative visualization devices. They are professional tools. Like Rorschach tests. Or…or…something.”

“Visualize this: You eating breakfast and going home. The store will stay standing one day without you.”

He capitulated. “I could use some sleep. Will you be okay?”

“Yes.”

“The reorder is due today.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, walking to the coffee bar. “I’ve got Maeve.”

“Sorry.” Noah looked at me, tugging a hand through his nest of hair. “Not much of a welcome. I’ve been working all weekend.”

“When I have a hard time focusing, I find that picking the right socks can help.” He looked dubious, so I rushed on. “I mean, not
literally
, like the socks themselves do anything, but organizing your thoughts to choose the right pair can put you in the proper mind-set.” I hitched my jeans and showed him my favorite bookworm socks. “I wore these to start my new job.”

“I appreciate the effort,” he said. “Those are nice socks. But I’m not sure they would help.” He sighed.

“Eat this.” Tuesday dropped a plate of scrambled eggs and
a sliced tomato in front of Noah. “Then go home. Maeve, let’s get this place operational. Can you please fire up the register, while I try to figure out which book Ronnie Two Shoes walked off with?”

Fascinated, I didn’t want to leave Noah but I obeyed. When I turned again, there was only an empty plate in the café.

I didn’t see Noah until the next day. I showed up promptly at 9:45
A.M.
, key in my hot little hand. Tuesday had a performance in Tucson, so she wasn’t coming in for two days. I’d gotten up early to run, eager to start work on time. I hoped I remembered everything she showed me. I knew she’d had to cajole Noah into trusting me alone in the front, and he’d only conceded because of his deadline. I wasn’t supposed to know that, but I’m expert at translating hushed voices.

“When Noah’s on deadline, he doesn’t do anything but write,” Tuesday had explained to me. “And I mean anything—he can forget to eat, sleep, change clothes. Forget about helping you in the store. Sharp as a tack the rest of the time, but not the last mile. You’ll probably want to bring him a sandwich around lunch. It might seem like the secretary fetching coffee, but trust me, low blood sugar equals cranky equals not fun. It’s in your best interest.” I could relate. I was a biotch when my blood sugar bottomed out.

I was feeling confident. It was pretty basic register operation and sandwich making, nothing I hadn’t done in past jobs. Traffic was light. Yesterday we’d only had a few browsers and a handful of coffee seekers. I put out inventory, kept track of what needed reorder or restock, kept the store tidy, ran the register, and made coffee and sandwiches in the café. Today was no different. In the absence of customers, I busied myself dusting the front table. Then, I busied myself changing it. No one was going to buy
War and Peace
unless they already intended
to, no matter how prominently it was displayed. It was a waste of prime real estate. I replaced it with
Eat, Pray, Love,
by Elizabeth Gilbert. Similarly,
Run
, by Ann Patchett, and
And Then We Came to The End
, by Joshua Ferris, replaced
Madame Bovary
and
Moby Dick
. Time for some fresh voices.