"I like to think so."
"I actually came in for something yesterday, then forgot about it," Lucas said awkwardly, into the silence that followed.
"Oh? What can I help you with?"
"I need to order a book. It's kind of uncommon, I was hoping you knew where I could find a copy."
"Do you mind getting it used?"
"I don't think you'll find it any other way. It isn't in print anymore." He took a sheet of tightly-folded paper out of an inside pocket of his coat and opened it, smoothing out the creases before passing it across the counter to me. There was a title, an author, a date and a publishing house. Enclosed in the paper was a photograph as well. Dark blue, hard-cover, and rather small.
"It has some interesting illustrations," he said, as if to explain away why he needed it. "I used some of them as models when I was in school."
"Models? Are you an artist?"
"Not really," he replied. I looked down at his hands and saw that there were calluses on the inside edges of his forefingers and thumbs, and that the cuticles of his fingertips were discolored with paint stains. "I'd like to get it before real winter sets in. I didn't think I'd need a copy of my own – that's a copy I took out of the library in the city, that photograph – but now I think I will."
"No problem. I'll put the order in today and we'll see if we can't get it before the roads close again," I answered. "Is that the only one? If you order a few at once, it saves on postage."
"Does it?" He looked down at the photograph thoughtfully. "Yes – whoever you buy it from, ask if she has other volumes she'd recommend as companions."
"Or he," I said with a smile.
"Or he," he agreed. A little too quickly, looking back.
"Any price limit?"
"Well, the book shouldn't cost much, it's not that valuable," he said. "That and one or two recommendations. Before postage and whatever fees you charge."
"That's a decent budget," I said, making a note of it on the paper he'd given me.
"I like books," he answered. I saw a fleeting grin cross his face before he adjusted the strap of the bag he was carrying on his shoulder. "Looks like the rain's letting up, doesn't it?"
I glanced out the window. "Some, yes. Heading home?"
"I should, as long as there's no lightning."
"Dowsing is probably fun, but getting struck by lightning isn't," I agreed. "I'll call around about the book. Want me to call you when I know?"
"No," he said, glancing around the shop. "I'll be in town pretty regularly, I'll check in."
"Your tutoring," I guessed.
"Yeah. He's doing well," he added. "I should go. Thanks, Christopher."
"My pleasure. Safe journey, Lucas."
He smiled a little, thanked me again, and walked out into the street, where the rain was nothing more than a light drizzle and the sun was even threatening to emerge.
***
"Christopher, I've been thinking," Marjorie said, when I called to ask her about ordering the book for Lucas. "I keep planning to lure or berate you back to the city, but so far it hasn't worked and I'm beginning to blame myself for you moving away in the first place."
"Jeez, what brought that on?" I asked. "By the way, thirteen down, yesterday's paper – five letters, pounding tool."
"Anvil. Bad clue."
"Yeah," I said, copying it into the crossword.
"The thing is," she said, as I wrote, "I remember telling you that you should buy a bookstore because you'd only really be happy if you were around books."
"Pretty good advice," I said.
"I think so. But I guess it was some sort of chivalry, you didn't want to compete with me in the city, so you moved to the country."
I must have been busy gaping at the telephone, because she continued before I could reply.
"I know that's not the only reason, but don't you think three years is long enough? Not that I'm in total agreement with your friends, but still. I don't know why you're punishing yourself."
"Punishing myself, Marjorie? Does that sound like me?"
"I don't know, dear. Not normally, but maybe over how things were with your father, those last few years."
"We were okay. It's not like he disinherited me. I bought Dusk Books with the money he left me."
"Yes, I seem to recall him warning you not to spend it all in one place. Which, sullen child, you did."
"Not all of it. I still have some savings."
"Don't change the subject. You can't bury yourself in obscurity all your life, Christopher."
I gathered my wits about me and managed a startled laugh. "Marjorie, I'm not punishing myself! I'm happy here. I like the quiet life."
"I don't see how you can be. Don't you starve for stimulation?"
"I have books."
There was a sigh on the other end of the telephone line. "You are stubborn, Christopher. You fight life too much."
"Believe me," I said, setting the crossword aside, "fighting is the last thing on my mind."
"It seems like such a wasteland though."
"You'd be surprised. You should come to see me, Marjorie."
"I'm afraid I'll never leave Chicago," she said.
"Well, I'll have to come visit you then. In the meantime, I need a book."
There was an amused snort. "I don't know if I can help you with that, Christopher."
"Very funny. It's for a friend, so don't tease me about finally discovering the mystical in life."
"I wouldn't dream of it. What friend is this?"
"He just moved here, used to live in the city. I think you'd like him. He's sort of an odd duck."
"Oh?"
"He's good at hiding. Anyway, he asked if I'd dig up an out-of-print title. You ready?"