The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry(17)

She nods seriously and turns the page.

“The talent of some of these people is astounding,” A.J. says. “I honestly had no idea.”

Maya taps on the book. They are reading Little Pea, the story of a pea who has to eat all his sweets before he can have vegetables for dessert.

“It’s called irony, Maya,” A.J. says.

“Iron,” she says. She makes an ironing gesture.

“Irony,” he repeats.

Maya cocks her head, and A.J. decides that he will teach her about irony some other day.

CHIEF LAMBIASE IS a frequent visitor to the store, and to justify these visits, he buys books. Because Lambiase doesn’t believe in wasting money, he reads the books, too. At first, he had mainly bought mass-market paperbacks—Jeffery Deaver and James Patterson (or whoever writes for James Patterson)—and then A.J. graduates him to trade paperbacks by Jo Nesbø and Elmore Leonard. Both authors are hits with Lambiase, so A.J. promotes him again to Walter Mosley and then Cormac McCarthy. A.J.’s most recent recommendation is Kate Atkinson’s Case Histories.

Lambiase wants to talk about the book as soon as he gets to the store. “So the thing is, at first I kind of hated the book, but then it grew on me, yeah.” He leans on the counter. “Because, you know, it’s about a detective. But it moves kind of slow and most things go unsolved. But then I thought, That’s how life is. That’s how the job really is.”

“There’s a sequel,” A.J. informs him.

Lambiase nods. “Not sure I’m on board for that yet. Sometimes I like everything solved. Villains get punished. Good guys triumph. That sort of thing. Maybe another one of those Elmore Leonards, though. Hey A.J., I’ve been thinking. Maybe you and me could start a book club for law enforcement officers? Like, other cops I know might like reading some of these stories, and I’m the chief, so I’d make them buy books here. It wouldn’t have to only be cops. It could be law enforcement enthusiasts, too.” Lambiase squeezes Purell on his hands and bends down to pick up Maya.

“Hey, pretty girl. How you doing?”

“Adopted,” she says.

“That is a very big word.” Lambiase looks at A.J. “Hey, is this square? Did this really happen?”

The process had taken the average amount of time, concluding the September before Maya’s third birthday. The major strikes against A.J. had included his lack of a driver’s license (he had never gotten one on account of his seizures) and, of course, the fact that he is a single man who had never raised a child or even a dog or a houseplant. Ultimately, A.J.’s education, his strong ties to the community (i.e., the bookstore), and the fact that the mother had wanted Maya to be placed with him had outweighed the strikes.

“Congratulations to my favorite book people!” Lambiase says. He throws Maya in the air, then catches her and sets her on the ground. He leans across the counter to shake A.J.’s hand. “Naw. I gotta hug you, man. This is hug-worthy news,” the cop says. Lambiase moves behind the counter to embrace A.J.

“Let’s have a toast,” A.J. says.

A.J. hoists Maya to his hip, and the two men go upstairs. A.J. puts Maya to bed, which takes forever (the intricate affairs of her toilet and two entire picture books), and Lambiase gets the bottle started.

“You gonna christen her now?” Lambiase asks.

“I’m neither Christian nor particularly religious,” A.J. says. “So no.”

Lambiase considers this, drinks a bit more wine. “You didn’t ask for my two cents, but you ought to at least have a party to introduce her to people. She’s Maya Fikry now, right?”

A.J. nods.

“People should know this. You gotta give her a middle name, too. Plus, I think I ought to be her godfather,” Lambiase says.

“What would that entail exactly?”

“Well, let’s say the kid’s twelve and she gets caught shoplifting at the CVS. I’d probably use my influence to intervene.”

“Maya would never do that.”

“That’s what all parents think,” Lambiase says. “Basically, I’d be your backup, A.J. People should have backups.” Lambiase finishes off his glass. “I’d help you with the party.”

“What would a not-christening party entail?” A.J. asks.

“It’s not a big deal. You have it in the store. You buy Maya a new dress from Filene’s Basement. I bet Ismay can help with that. You get food from Costco. Those big muffins, maybe? My sister says they’ve got a thousand calories a piece. And some frozen stuff. Nice stuff. Coconut shrimp. A big hunk of Stilton. And since it’s not going to be Christian—”

A.J. interrupts. “For the record, it’s not going to be un-Christian either.”

“Right. My point is you can serve booze. And we invite your brother-in-law and sister-in-law and those ladies you hang out with and everyone else who has taken an interest in little Maya, which I’ll tell you, A.J., is just about the whole town. And I’d say some nice words as the godfather, if you decide to go that way. Not a prayer, ’cause I know you’re not into that. But you know I’d wish the little girl well on this journey we call life. And you’d thank everyone for coming. We all raise a glass to Maya. Everyone goes home happy.”

“So it’s basically like a book party.”