Questions fill my mind, but I push them aside for now and allow myself to live in this beautiful strange rabbit hole I’ve fallen into. I don’t care how any of this is possible. I have Sam back. I don’t want to let him go.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’ve been working at Mr. Lee’s bookstore for almost three years now. It is a relic of a place, filled with leather-bounds, rare foreign books, and collectables, and has been around for two generations despite more people shopping online these days. It is the last bookstore in town. I found it by accident the first week I moved here. The store is nameless with no storefront signs outside. The only indication are the books stacked in spiral towers in the windows. Many of our customers wander in out of curiosity.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure how long the job would last when I applied. Every time I turn that corner on my way to work, I worry I’ll find the lights off and the CLOSED sign unturned at the door. I’m surprised Mr. Lee still manages to keep us around when there’s so little to do. I can’t thank him enough for his kindness.
The crystal wind chime jangles against the glass door as I come in. It’s the next day, and I decide to stop by after school to check in on things. After a week of radio silence on my end, it’s time. When I step inside, it feels like I’ve gone through a portal. Light bulbs hang from strings at different heights in the air, blinking occasionally. The place looks small from the outside, but the sixteen long rows of hand-painted bookshelves that nearly touch the ceiling make the store seem massive.
The store looks empty at first. More quiet than usual. Then I hear the struggling of a box being torn open, followed by the ripping of tape, then the sound of several books tumbling onto the floor, and someone’s voice.
“Oh geez.”
I figured Tristan would be working today. I follow the voice and find him crouched down in the back of the fantasy section, mumbling to himself, picking up fallen books. I kneel down to help him out.
“Need a hand?”
“Huh? Ouch—”
Tristan turns too fast, bumping his head against the bookshelf ladder.
“Oh my god—are you okay?”
“Yeah, totally fine.” Tristan winces, smiling through some pain. He blinks at me with recognition. “Julie? When did you get here?”
“Just a second ago,” I say as I check his forehead. “Maybe we should put something on that.”
Tristan waves it off. “No, really, I’m fine,” he says again, and laughs a little unconvincingly. “It happens to me all the time around here.”
“That worries me a little.”
“Don’t worry! It’s only a bump.”
After we stack the books together, I help Tristan to his feet. He straightens up and runs his hand a few times through his brown curls, even though they bounce right back. It’s a nervous tic of his.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I say.
“You didn’t scare me,” he says, dusting his sleeves off. “I was little surprised, that’s all. Didn’t know you were coming in today.”
“I felt like checking in. I know it’s been a while.” I glance around the store for changes. But it’s exactly as I left it. I turn to Tristan. “Sorry for leaving you guys out of the blue. I heard you volunteered to take over my shifts. I never thanked you.”
“Oh, no need to thank me. I mean, I’m glad I could help.”
Besides Mr. Lee, it’s only me and Tristan working here. If one of us is sick, the other one is responsible for their hours and closing the store. We rely a lot on each other, especially around finals when we have to coordinate our exam schedules. I hate that I sprung an entire week on him without a word. Tristan is a junior, so we never have class together. The first time we spoke was when we both sat down with Mr. Lee during our interview for this job. Mr. Lee said he was impressed with our knowledge of books and chose us specifically for the genres we read most. He noticed I’m well-read in young adult and literary fiction, and praised Tristan’s expertise in science fiction and fantasy. We later learned we were the only ones who even applied.
“I still feel guilty,” I say.
“You shouldn’t,” Tristan says, shaking his head. “You should take off however much time as you need. I like being here. So don’t feel bad.”
The wind chimes jingle, letting us know a customer has come in. Tristan looks over his shoulder, and runs a hand through his hair. He whispers, somewhat carefully, “So how are you doing, by the way? I’ve been wanting to reach out, but I wasn’t sure if it was too soon, you know? I’m sorry about what happened to Sam. Things must be hard right now…”