Chapter One
Lynette walked through the old bookstore, running her fingers up and down the spines of the aged, brittle books. She squinted her eyes at the faded and missing text, intrigued by the illegibility of such fine works. Yanking an old Shakespeare from the shelf, she raised the book to her nose and inhaled the scent of all the people who had held that book before her. Her heart lifted, thinking about the stories within the pages, but also the stories of those who had escaped through the symphony of words, just like she did.
“Lynette.”
The familiar voice of her best friend, Martha, drew her away from the antique books, and she turned with a smile. “Hi, Martha. How have you been?”
The small round woman with thick glasses and short, curly hair, smiled a wide grin. “Great, thanks. How’s your day going?”
Lynette looked past Martha at the rows and rows of books, scanning the aisle for a hidden prize. “Good. I’m on my way to the cemetery, and wanted to stop in.”
“In this weather?” Martha gazed out the large windows overlooking the busy main strip.
“Yeah, it’s the first Monday of the month. I’ve been going for over a year now.”
Martha chuckled. “Have you hit up every grave yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting close. It makes me feel good knowing they’re getting some extra attention.” Lynette’s mind wandered to the flowers in her car, and she peered out the window. “I have to go soon, but I’m teaching my literature class on British classics later. Do you have any original Dickens or Brontë sisters?”
Martha hurried through the tall aisles like she was navigating a labyrinth, and Lynette followed. Lynette knew this layout like the back of her hand. She had worked here with Martha twenty-five years ago as a poor newlywed and graduate student who struggled to afford her rent. When the owner passed, Martha scooped up the store and had been running it ever since. Lynette found the store to be her safe harbor when life got rocky. Her love for books never faded, and the untold stories of the yellowed pages, uneven edges, and embossed covers captivated her.
“Right here,” Martha said. “We’ve been going through the stacks, discounting the copies that are in worse wear than the others.”
“Ah, no wonder I couldn’t find them.” Lynette thanked her old friend and continued to peruse the hardbacks.
Martha returned to the counter and resumed marking the consigned books.
Lynette handled a copy of Middlemarch and Tess of the D’Urbervilles, analyzing the copyright, spine and page quality. At her large home outside of Chicago, she had an entire wall dedicated to antique books. These would fit perfectly on the top shelf with her treasured finds of Dickens and Austen.
“I’ll take these,” Lynette said, placing the two books on the crowded table beside the register. Martha rang the books, wrapped them, and placed them in a bag.
“Be careful for rain,” Martha said, jerking her head toward the window. “I think a storm is coming.”
“I won’t be there long,” Lynette said. “Just dropping some comfort to those without friends or family.” Lynette paid for her belongings, waved goodbye and drove in silence through the neighboring suburbs of Chicago.
A sweeping cemetery appeared on the right, and Lynette’s car crawled down the paved road to the center. She had found this place about a year ago after a colleague had passed away. Unable to pull herself out of bed to attend the funeral, her guilt had dragged her to the cemetery weeks later.
She grabbed the dozen roses sitting on her passenger seat and walked up and down the rows. The wind howled and the trees along the perimeter of the grassy labyrinth waved over her. She visited the retired professor’s tombstone and dropped a rose on the cold granite.
On her first visit, an ominous feeling prickled her skin when she noticed the headstones in various disarray. It was evident some had received more love than others, so Lynette walked around and dropped roses from her grocery store bouquet onto the most neglected stones. Even though they were dead, she wanted to brighten their day. By doing such a thoughtful deed, her spirits lifted, as well. Soon, she looked forward to her monthly delivery of kindness and compassion.
These visits reminded her that life could be worse. She could be dead. Surrounding herself around the departed reminded her to keep living. She tried to acknowledge and respect all the tombstones she passed, but neglect pulled her toward certain graves as she examined the attention and care. The overgrown brush around the stone and the lack of personal touches surrounding the base made her heart ache. Even though Lynette didn’t believe in ghosts, she hoped this little act of kindness brought them peace.
A heaviness grew in Lynette’s heart as she tried to forget the pain from the past three years. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she wondered if she had neglected the people she loved or had they neglected her? Would her gravestone be dirty, dreary, and unloved, like so many that called for Lynette’s attention?
As she placed the last flower on a nondescript stone, her heart tugged at the short lifespan of this young woman. Just twenty-three years old, she was practically still a girl, and Lynette couldn’t help but wonder what wonderful things she could have done if she’d had more time. Her breath caught, reminding her that her own daughter could be dead and she would never know. A single tear escaped her eye, and Lynette quickly wiped it away. Her throat tightened, and she prayed for Ruby’s safety, desperate for a miracle.
She kissed her fingers and placed them against the stone, talking in her mind to the mystery woman below her feet.
“She’s okay, you know.”
Startled, Lynette turned and peered at a woman dressed in black holding a red rose directly in front of her long, shimmery skirt. “Excuse me?”
“Eleanora Claren,” the woman said, dropping the flower next to the rose Lynette had left. She nodded her head down and Lynette recognized the name behind decades of dust and grime. “She’s okay. She’s resting. You’ve given her comfort.”
Lynette shivered and pulled her arms around her torso. “Do you know her?” She had passed away in 1942.
The woman smiled. “I know them all, when they want to talk to me. You have something special.”
Lynette struggled to break her gaze from the woman’s dark eyes. Her stomach squeezed, and the cemetery around them tilted. She grabbed the woman’s arm to steady herself and a zap traveled to her shoulder.
A wind blew down the aisle, breaking their trance, and Lynette stumbled back. “I have to go. It looks like rain.” Her long legs carried her back to her car, where she sat until her heart stopped pounding. She slowly pulled out of the driveway and looked back at Eleanora’s grave. The woman was gone.
Lynette’s chest tightened as she drove out of the cemetery to her home. She couldn’t get that woman out of her mind, with her eyes as dark and drab as coal, frail frame, and strange words. Eleanora’s grave and that unexpected zing pushed at Lynette’s mind like a yo-yo.
After she pulled into her garage, she sat in the car trying to make sense of the last hour. Filling her lungs with air, she grabbed her purse and entered the colonial revival home that she and her ex-husband had built together. When he left for another woman, it had become a constant reminder of Lynette’s failure as a wife.
She dropped her keys on the side table in the living room. A single framed photograph of her daughter’s high school graduation stared back at her. Anger billowed under Lynette’s skin, but she refused to expel her negative energy for a child who cared so little about her. She gripped the edge of the table and stared at her daughter’s memory. The daughter she no longer had.
Ruby’s long blonde hair framed her smooth, bright face, and her smile lit up the photo with rosy cheeks and crinkled eyes. Lynette’s heart tugged at what could have been, and her anger transitioned to sadness and regret. She stroked the glass, wiping a layer of dust off the top.
Five years ago, life had been easy. She had a beautiful daughter, and was happily married to Anthony, her college sweetheart, until the truth smacked her in the face. A blindside like no other caused Lynette’s world to crumble, and every relationship that had held her above water sank. She used to be happy, but now she lived on autopilot finding comfort in her routine. She prayed before bed each night that the people she loved were also safe and happy, but fear of rejection prevented her from reaching out.
Lynnette picked up the photograph of Ruby and recalled the memories of that day, that year, that lifetime. She missed her, but Ruby had left her. When and if Ruby ever came home, it had to be because she wanted to, not because Lynnette guilted her into returning.
Dropping onto the dainty loveseat, Lynette kicked up her feet and stretched her tired muscles across the antique hassock. She pulled out the books from Martha’s shop, hoping they would calm her nerves. Built-in bookcases lined the study, creating an environment Lynette had dreamed about as a child. Old yet graceful. Historical yet pristine.
A thin laptop sat closed on the cushion beside her, hiding the hours upon hours of work that she needed to complete. She spent the night highlighting and commenting in the margins of her students’ first theses.
When midnight arrived, Lynette climbed into her perfectly made king-sized bed and stretched out her legs like a pair of scissors. The cool material rubbed against her bare legs, welcoming her to sleep.
When Anthony left her the house, she threw away every piece of furniture that held broken memories. The bed frame and mattress were the first to go. Brimming with superhero strength, she had hauled the mattress outside and made it clear to the neighborhood that her marriage was over. She promised herself she would never let a man hurt her again.
Now she lay alone in a bed she had picked out just for her. No compromise needed. Since Anthony, there hadn’t been anyone else, and Lynette enjoyed her independence. Most of the time. Some of her colleagues, friends, and acquaintances thought a man and a rocking night of sex would solve her problems, but she knew better, and she was perfectly fine alone. Without Anthony and without Ruby, she often wondered if the life she loved had been intended for someone else. Someone more romantic who believed in happily ever after.
Lynette knew fairy tale endings didn’t exist for anyone and when push came to shove, everyone was alone. That was why she escaped from reality and dove headfirst into her books. Perhaps the old stories could teach her a thing or two about life without her having to experience the pain associated with living it.
The next morning, Lynette’s alarm sounded at six. Her first class was at eight, and she finished her day at two. She had created her schedule to get in and out early, in case she wanted to get her nails done or try out a new restaurant. Her divorce had destroyed her, but at least now she was in charge of her destiny. She handpicked her outfit, flipping through a series of black pants, white blouses, and black blazers. Her hair rested in a secure ponytail at the base of her neck, and a heavy coat of makeup covered the irreversible evidence of age. Staring at her reflection, years of worry, sadness, and stress disappeared with her wrinkles. She knew a fifty-three-year-old woman didn’t need a made-up face for a ninety-minute class on British Literature, but she felt exposed and unseen without it. Forgettable at worst, and homely at best.
Like clockwork, she pulled into her parking spot, walked into her classroom, and stood in front of her half-sleeping class. Looking around the room, her regular stragglers meandered their way in. Mustering up her enthusiasm for Thomas Hardy, she engaged the class in a lecture on the social and industrial influences of Britain.
Before driving home from work, she listened to her voicemail, and jotted down appointment reminders for the upcoming week. A cryptic message from her sister, Loretta, nestled between her messages from her arthritis doctor and her hair salon. Lynette scrunched her eyes and placed her phone in the passenger seat. She hadn’t heard from her sister in almost a year. A wave of heat coasted through her body and the sound of the cars around her dwarfed the message as she listened again. A throbbing emerged in the center of her forehead and she dug through her bag for two Tylenol.
She’d call her back later. Or maybe never. Lynette hardened her mouth and slit her eyes as she maneuvered out of the parking lot and onto the freeway.
Despite being at the bookstore yesterday, Lynette couldn’t get that woman from the cemetery out of her mind. She pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the coffee shop before visiting Martha for a quick chat. The feel of old paper, scent of candles, and soothing music wrapped her in a warm cocoon. Lynette justified her book-obsession against other common activities people indulged in to escape from their lives…at least books never hurt her.
Martha stood behind the counter, ringing up a customer.
“Coffee?” Lynette asked, showing Martha the cup she’d purchased for her.
“Yes, please. You read my mind.” She sipped the hot drink and closed her eyes before swallowing. “So good.”
The two friends walked around the shop, while Martha pretended to work. She scanned the stacks, and led Lynette to a small table in the back corner.
“I have to tell you,” Martha began. “Please don’t get mad at me.” She hesitated while reaching into her pocket, sighed, and pulled out her phone. Tapping her fingers on the table, and taking short, quick sips from her travel mug, Martha’s eyes darted around the room.
Lynette narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Uh, okay.” This was not like Martha. Usually, when Martha had a story to tell, she blurted it out in one fell swoop.
“I found Ruby.”
Lynette clasped her hands behind her head and she struggled to fill her lungs with air. “What?”
“I was bored the other day, so I started googling people I know. Like old boyfriends, high school best friends, old teachers, that kind of stuff. I really had to do some digging. I googled Ruby Franklin, and a magazine article popped up. This must have been when she first got out there. There was a little Instagram logo at the bottom, and when I clicked on it, it brought me to Ruby Southby’s profile. Wasn’t that a family name of yours?”
“Yeah, on my mom’s side. It was my mom’s maiden name.”
“It was her Lynette.” Martha grabbed Lynette’s arms and squeezed. “It was her.”
The air in the room escaped through the cracks in the wood plank floor, and Lynette’s body turned to gelatin. She dropped into a chair and everything stopped. The people shuffling around, the coffee cup burning her fingers, even Martha’s voice didn’t register. She felt the blood drain from her face, and she stared at the wall, unable to face her friend.
“Lynette? Lynette…” Martha’s voice sounded under water.
Lynette hadn’t heard from her daughter in three years. At the end of her sophomore year, Ruby had dropped out of college, packed her bags, and left. Lynette had sacrificed her and Anthony’s hard-earned money for Ruby’s education, but Ruby threw it away for the promises of stardom in L.A.
She couldn’t believe Ruby had been so careless, throwing her education away like that. Anthony’s attitude was, ‘Let her grow her own wings and fly,’ but Lynette couldn’t do that. Ruby had thrown away her college education and exchanged her Advertising and Marketing degree for a life of chaos. A life of uncertainty. Didn’t she know beauty doesn’t last forever? Lynette couldn’t accept Ruby’s selfishness, even if it was for a pipe dream.
Now that Lynette had years to dwell on her departure, could she blame her for leaving? She had been young once, too, but she thought Ruby would have learned from her mistakes. A small voice crept behind her ear. But you never told her.
Lynette blinked and rubbed the worn corduroy on the arm of the chair. “Oh, yeah?” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat.
“She’s doing something with her life, Lynette. She did it. She’s modeling. You should check out her Instagram page. That girl is absolutely stunning.” Martha pushed her phone in front of Lynette, but Lynette couldn’t focus. She glanced at the screen and swatted the phone away.
She had tried finding her once, but she failed at that too. It was after the divorce when she could barely get out of bed, let alone be a semi-functioning human. She had wanted to scream at Ruby, and blame her for her ruined marriage. In Lynette’s tunnel vision memory, that was how it had happened. Anthony hadn’t seemed to mind when Ruby threw her education away and then had the audacity to offer financial help in California. Of course, Lynette had refused. If Ruby made dumb choices, she’d have to suffer the consequences.
It had become a wedge between them that developed into a fissure. When she saw the undisclosed wire transfers from their bank account to hers, it was the beginning of the end.
“You know I don’t do social media. I’m a magnet for bad news. I’d rather stay in my hobbit hole and escape in books than dive into the internet.”
“So you caught your husband being shady. Don’t you think it was a blessing in disguise? He wasn’t right for you, anyway.”
Then the other women had appeared. A burning erupted at the base of Lynette’s belly, just as it had when she took his phone to RSVP to his thirty-year high school reunion. Notifications from his social media popped up from his high school sweetheart, Candy. Like a vulture searching for prey, Lynette had read the string of texts and her heart shattered into a million pieces. He had planned on meeting her for dinner.
Filled with rage, but no proof of anything, she had marched into their bedroom demanding answers. That was the middle of the end.
Everyone she gave her life to had turned on her. Everyone except Martha.
“You weren’t happy,” Martha said.
Lynette scoffed. “Like I am now?”
“It’s been two years since your divorce. He’s moved on, and so has Ruby. Don’t stay stagnant. If you refuse to move forward with the times, you’re going to get left behind.”
“I don’t want to know if she isn’t okay. When I see her in my heart, she’s five years old, still needing her mother,” Lynette said. “I see her snuggled next to me on the couch when I was her favorite person. When I could protect her. When she cared about me. If she isn’t okay—if she’s homeless or addicted to drugs—I will never forgive myself.”
“Really, Lynette. Maybe it’s time you let bygones be bygones. She’s your only daughter.”
A steely cage rose around Lynette, trapping her from reaching out. “Yeah, maybe tomorrow.”
Martha held out her phone. “Here, just look. I would never lie to you. She’s okay.”
Stepping closer, Lynette peered over her friend’s shoulder. Tears erupted from her eyes and streamed down her face. Her baby. Her beautiful baby posed in photo after photo. That radiant grin matched the photos decorating her walls. As her racing heart slowed, she took the phone and scrolled through each photo. Familiarity, love, and regret mingled inside her.
Her shaking fingers struggled to zoom in. “She looks beautiful. And happy.”
A gentle arm fell over her shoulders. “She does. Here’s the message button if you want to reach out,” Martha said.
Tension grew as stubbornness overpowered compassion. “Maybe later. I need to think about what I want to say.”
Martha gave her a sad smile. “When you’re ready, I’ll be there for you.”
The steely cage around her heart fractured, and she fought to keep her resentment close. Afraid of admitting she was wrong, she needed more time. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but I’m not ready yet.”
