The Book Club Hotel(54)
“Because even if you leave, things will still be different,” Claudia said. “Just because you’re choosing not to act doesn’t mean things haven’t changed. Information changes things.”
“Yes. Call me Pandora.” Erica stared at the chalk outline on the floor. “What’s that supposed to be? A reader who died of boredom?”
Anna laughed. “Let’s hope not.” Another couple joined them in the crime section and the three of them strolled through to the next room, which had the same tall bookshelves along with a comfortable seating area stacked with cushions. A deep pile rug muffled their footsteps.
Erica glanced up at the hearts hanging from the ceiling and the fairy lights twisted around the bookshelves. “The romance section? You’ve brought me to the romance section?”
Anna shrugged. “I’m appealing to your softer side. Also, I want to buy a Catherine Swift.”
“You already have her latest. That’s what we’re discussing later over a glass of good red wine.” She watched as Anna scanned the shelves. As students they’d spent hours in bookstores, and then rationed their purchases because money was tight. She knew that Anna would choose a book over a meal every time. Whenever she and Erica were buying a gift for Anna they always chose books.
“I’m looking for early Catherine Swift. Not murder Catherine—romance Catherine. I need an antidote for all the darkness.” Anna reached high on the shelf and pulled out a book. She turned it over and scanned the back. “I think I might have read this one.”
“You’ve read all of them.”
“Most of them. There are still a few of her earlier ones I haven’t read. Why did she start writing crime? That in itself is a crime. It’s cruel to her readers. I can’t bear to think I’ll never read a new Catherine Swift romance again.” She added the book to the other items she was carrying.
“Life doesn’t stay the same. Isn’t that what you’re always telling us? Apparently, that’s true for romance novelists, too. And not to preempt our discussion about the book, but I’d say her talent is still there.”
“I agree. I couldn’t put the book down. I’m looking forward to talking about it—particularly the part where the heroine murdered her husband instead of starting with therapy like every normal person—but to go from writing romance to crime? That’s like booking a vacation on the beach and finding yourself in a freezing ski resort.” Anna pulled another book from the shelf. “They have such a good selection. I think this might be my new favorite bookstore.”
“They’ve done a good job,” Erica said. “And I feel guilty dragging you away from this place, because it’s perfect for you. Particularly you, Anna. It’s probably your Christmas dream and I’m being selfish, asking you to leave.”
“You’re not asking. It was our suggestion.” Anna put the book she was holding back on the shelf. “It won’t be any fun if you’re worrying the whole time. We need to relax and that’s what we’re going to do. Claudia has already found a cute boutique hotel in the Beacon Hill area. It looks cozy. We were going to show it to you before we booked because you’re the hotel expert.”
It was true. Claudia had found somewhere on the car ride into town and it did look cute. But it was a long way from the festive Maple Sugar Inn.
And Erica clearly knew it. “I still feel terrible that I’m spoiling your special trip.”
“Why? You’d do the same for us,” Anna said. “In fact, you have done the same. Remember the time the twins were sick? We’d only been on vacation for two days and you drove me to the hospital and stayed with me the whole time.”
“That’s different. Your kids were sick. It’s not as if you had a choice.”
“No, but you did. You didn’t have to come with me, and having you there made all the difference.” Anna gave her arm a squeeze. “We should get out of here. Go back to the hotel. Take a bath and relax, then have a glass of wine together before dinner. Or we can leave before dinner if you prefer. Drive to Boston tonight.”
“No. We’ll leave in the morning as we planned.”
Claudia seized the moment. “If it’s okay with you, I might just have five minutes in the cookery section before we leave.”
She left them in romance debating the merits of authors switching genres and immersed herself in the expansive cookery section. It took her less than five minutes to pick out three cookery books and a box of cookie cutters shaped like fir trees.
If I lived here, she thought, I’d come here every day.
She returned reluctantly to her friends, and Anna raised an eyebrow when she saw the books.
“I thought you’d given up cooking.”
“I’m not going to cook from these. I’m going to read them.”
“Read them?” Erica frowned. “You mean like a novel?”
“Yes, she does mean that. It’s what she does when she’s stressed,” Anna reminded her. “You know the story—when she was eight she discovered all her grandmother’s old French cookery books and read them cover to cover.”
It was true. She’d sat cross-legged on the floor of her grandmother’s bedroom, reading her way through dusty books, with a French dictionary by her side. Her grandmother had discovered her there and invited her to join her in the kitchen.