Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
The question of whether or not I miss him has a complicated answer. I miss the fact that when I sat down at a table with him, he didn’t put me on a ten-minute timer then up and leave when the conversation turned to a topic he didn’t like. Andrew is dependable and respectful, and I decide I’m going to give him a call when I get into town (hopefully sometime this century).
This walk is taking forever. I’m beginning to worry I’m on a hero’s quest in which there is no town. Sedbergh never existed and I will have to continue walking until my soles wear out and my knees buckle.
This horrible thought has fully taken hold when, finally, I see a little sign off the side of the road: Sedbergh - 1 kilometer. I have no idea how kilometers translate to miles because I was absent that day in elementary school, but one of anything can’t be that bad. Surely, I can do one.
Then I see it! Buildings on the horizon line, houses sprinkled through the countryside. Rolling hills, melting snow, and grazing sheep give way to the tiny town I’ve been hunting for since the start of my trek. The accomplishment of the walk washes over me. I’ve done a thing! I walked here on my own and now the sky’s the limit. Well, sort of. I do need a restroom. I downed that coffee back at the cottage and now my bladder is at max capacity. I considered peeing behind a yew tree back there, but a herd of dairy cows lingered nearby, judging me.
Salvation comes in the form of Main Street Books, the first shop I find with its lights on. A paper sign hanging in the window reads Open, and I don’t even think twice before I open the door and ding the bell overhead as I enter.
The smell. Oh god, it’s good—the musk of old books. My heart flutters as I look around the small shop and its neat layout. Against the wall, there are shelves brimming with books arranged by genre. In the center, round tables are topped with merchandise and special selections. Near the back, there are rare books displayed in locked glass cases.
I’m studying them when, from a doorway in the back, I hear a voice call out. “Morning! Sorry, we just opened.” Then Alice walks out in black corduroy overalls layered over a chunky knit sweater, a cup of coffee in her hand. She sees me, and I can tell it takes her a moment to piece together who I am. “Oh. Hi.”
I knew this was Alice’s shop, but I wasn’t sure she would be the person to greet me. Then again, she might be the only person working here. I can’t imagine it turns a big enough profit to accommodate a large staff.
“Morning.” I wave shyly, trying to force my bladder into compliance. It’s like it can sense that I’m near a toilet and now it screams at me to FIND IT! NOW! HURRY!
“I would love to shop, but I’ve been on a walk and…” I cut to the chase. “Do you happen to have a restroom I could use?”
Realization dawns and she laughs and steps aside, making way for the door behind her. “Yes, straight through here. Ignore the clutter. My office is a total mess.”
I barely register her office on my way in, but after I’ve used the restroom, I sneak a peek. She wasn’t exaggerating; it is messy, but in a well-loved way. There’s an oversized wooden desk housing an ancient desktop computer. Oh my god, I bet that thing runs Windows 95. Beside it there are stacks of papers, pens, and an old coffee cup. Boxes are tucked in the corner beside her desk. A gift-wrap station doubles as a spot to catalog inventory. Near the door that leads out, there’s a row of framed photos hanging on the wall. One is of a small girl standing beside an older woman. They’re hand in hand, standing in front of Main Street Books.
When I walk back out into the shop, I find Alice at the checkout counter, boxing up an order. The book is already wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a red velvet ribbon.
“You have a beautiful store,” I tell her, a bit envious of her setup. “Your grandmother opened it, you said?”
She looks up and smiles. “Yeah, almost thirty years ago.”
“Was it always the plan for you to take it over for her?”
She puffs out a breath, her forehead scrunching with frustration as she considers the question. “No, actually. Not at all. I was an in-house accountant at an oil and gas company in California. I assumed that was what I would do forever, but then my grandmother got sick and…” She shrugs, and her brown eyes lock with mine. “Long story short, I left it all behind to come here and help take care of her. She’s better now, but she can’t run the shop like she used to.”