You've Reached Sam (24)

We arrive at science fiction, his favorite section.

“Look—the entire Space Ninja series, collector’s edition,” Tristan says, showing me the shelf he’s been working on. “They only have fifty of them in the world.”

“Oh, wow.”

Tristan opens up the book with careful hands. “It has a holographic map of the entire NexPod Galaxy. Isn’t that cool?” He turns the page. “Here’s a picture of Captain Mega Claws—also holographic. If you tilt it a little, his claw moves.”

“It’s beautiful.” I touch the holographic paper as it glimmers. “Looks expensive, though.”

“It’s already sold.”

“Oh—so why is it still here?”

“I still have to ship it,” he explains. “Someone bought it online.”

“We’re online?”

“Only since last week,” Tristan says. “We have an online store now and everything. It’s really expanding our customer base.”

“That’s amazing. And Mr. Lee is okay with it?”

“Of course. He even asked me to update our Facebook page. And we have a Twitter now, by the way.”

“Do people still use that?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Interesting.”

Tristan returns the book to the shelf. “I also reached out to the author, Steve Anders. I asked him to come do a signing here and got a response.”

“Oh my god. When’s he coming?”

“He’s not,” Tristan says, frowning. “His publicist said they’ve never even heard of Ellensburg.”

“Most people haven’t,” I say with a sigh. “At least you tried.”

“Yeah. That’s what Mr. Lee said.”

The wind chimes jingle again, bringing in another customer. It’s always great to see people come into the store, even if they don’t buy anything. After a quiet moment, I catch the scent of sage and tea leaves. A calm energy embraces the store. I turn to see the back room’s door propped open, and Mr. Lee standing beside Tristan, a hand on his shoulder. He has that tendency to appear as if from nowhere.

“Good afternoon, Julie.”

“Mr. Lee…” is all I get out. I was hoping he would be here today. I feel a pang of guilt in my chest for not reaching out sooner, but I know he understands. No one knows this, but Mr. Lee was with me the day I found out Sam died. In fact, it was right here in this store when I got that phone call from Mika in the morning. Mr. Lee picked me up off the floor, closed down the bookstore early, drove me to the hospital, and waited to bring me home. He always loved having Sam around.

Mr. Lee said he “brought in good luck.”

“What did I bring in?” I once asked him.

“You brought in Sam.”

“The books missed you,” Mr. Lee says with a lift of a hand. While someone else might find his words strange, I’ve grown accustomed to how he imbues personalities into the books of the store, bringing them to life. For instance, when a new book would come in, he’d say, “We’ll need to find this one a home.” It always makes me smile.

“I’ve kept them in my mind,” I say.

He nods. “I had a feeling you were stopping by,” he says. “Perfect timing. There’s something I would like you to see.”

We leave Tristan with the customers as we head to the back office. The room is behind a secret bookcase that isn’t really a secret. Every time I step through it and follow the blinking string of lights and paper ornaments along the ceiling, I feel like Alice stepping through the looking glass.

The room is filled with stacks of brown boxes, each filled with various books we either don’t have a place for yet or just haven’t sorted through. Mr. Lee asks me to wait here while he disappears inside the little office in the corner. When he returns, he’s holding a book I don’t recognize right away.

“I found this in last week’s donation box. Take a look—” He hands it to me.

I run my hand over the cover. It is a beautiful brown clothbound, soft to the touch, with embroidered floral patterns that appear dusted with gold with nothing written on top. Maybe the book sleeve is missing. I skim through some pages in search of the title. But everything’s blank.

“It’s a notebook,” Mr. Lee says. “Quite a beautiful one, don’t you agree?”

“It is…” I whisper, admiring the quality of the pages. “I can’t believe someone gave this away. It hasn’t even been used yet.”

“I immediately thought of you,” he says, and points to the old computer on the back table. “I’ve noticed you stealing paper from the printer to write on. So I figured you might appreciate this gift. Who knows … maybe if you change the medium in which you wrote, it might inspire something.”

“I was only borrowing the paper,” I say.

Mr. Lee chuckles and waves it off.

I look down at the notebook. “I can have this?”

“As long as you make good use of it,” Mr. Lee says with a nod. “I think of it as an investment.”

“How so?”

“You see—once you finish your book, we can put it on the shelves, right in the front of the store,” he explains. “And I can tell customers she wrote it here, you know? In the journal I gave her.”