Chapter One
Between the Pages has been in my family for over forty years. Built from the ground up, my father put his heart and soul into the used bookstore that now sits between a perfume outlet and a very small thrift store. It had lasted the test of time while he was alive but was slowly starting to sink to the ground. The store was where I spent most of my life and the one thing my sister and I always argued about.
Today was no different.
“You could install one of those reading stations,” my sister suggested.
“If people want to read a book without buying it, they can go to the library,” I said, cradling the phone against my ear so I could unpack a box of books someone had dropped off the night before.
“You own a used bookstore, Evie. It needs an upgrade.”
“Ebooks aren’t used,” I reminded her, placing a stack of dark books on the counter in front of me. “You can’t trade them in.”
“But you can share them,” she quipped, bringing up the same point she always did. Ebooks could do everything physical books could do, but better.
I didn’t agree. Used books have always had a magical aura about them. You never know what you’ll find. It’s the thrill of the hunt and finding that one book you could never do without that keeps me going. I could never upgrade the shop. If I did, it’d lose all its charm.
“Don’t you want this place to do well?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Bridget gave up on the shop years ago, shortly after our folks passed away.
“Of course, I do,” she said without a bit of hesitation. “I know you don’t trust the new tech, but if you just added a few of them—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off. “If I do that, they’ll want me to add a cafe. You know how delicate these books are.” The last thing I needed was for someone to walk in and run their sticky fingers over all the books. “And I’m not a daycare center, either,” I added, referring to the handful of parents that used to drop by just so their kids could run all over the place.
“You know, as much as you claim to love the shop, you aren’t much of a people person,” my sister said with a touch of amusement in her voice.
“I’m not the problem,” I said, releasing a long breath.
“It’s everyone else, I know.” Her voice was softer now, almost on the verge of tears. “I have memories too, of the shop and Dad, but there comes a time when you have to decide between paying the electric bill and keeping yourself fed.”
“I’m fine,” I said, opening one of the books that had been dropped off to see what the title was. Odd. “Looks like someone accidentally dropped off a bunch of journals,” I said to Bridget as well as myself.
Flipping the book over, I frowned. The stamp from the manufacturer I hoped to find wasn’t there. The book lacked identifying marks of any kind, which meant it was either custom made or the journal was so old that the mark simply wore off over time.
“Are they any good?” Bridget asked in a hopeful voice. No doubt she expected me to read someone else’s personal thoughts.
“No,” I scoffed, turning the book over again once I realized it wasn’t something I could sell. I’d have to try and locate the owner later. The journals clearly weren’t meant to be packed away with the used books, of which there were three. “Why does it matter to you anyway?” I asked when she huffed on the other side of the line. “You just want me to sell the shop so you can buy another car.”
She did the same thing with her last inheritance.
Meanwhile, I put whatever I could into the shop to make it more presentable. The beautiful golden lettering on the front
window had cost a large chunk of what I spent, followed by the new carpeting and the sofas I’d added in the lounge up front. I poured everything I had into the place, and no one seemed to notice.
“Like I said,” my sister began, using the firmest voice she could, “upgrading will breathe new life into it. That’s all. I want the shop to do well, Evie, I really do.”
“But?” I urged, knowing she wasn’t about to drop the subject.
“I just want you to be realistic. Ebooks are here to stay.”
“They aren’t physical,” I said, repeating the same thing I’d told her a million times before. “Physical books still have a place.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, “in a library.”
Rolling my eyes, I set the box of books to the side, then went to see if anything else had been left behind. If I could find the owner, then I could return the journals. Throwing them away wasn’t an option. The thought of putting something so personal in the trash made me sick to the stomach.
“I can tell you’re busy, so I’m gonna go,” my sister said, her voice sounding terribly far away. “Just think about it, okay?”
Sure, I’d think about it, just like I’d thought about it the last time she brought it up. It was one subject we’d never see eye-to-eye. Even before ebooks were a thing, she insisted on adding a cafe to the front of the shop or bringing in some other, unrelated merchandise. I’d seen enough stores fall victim to the same exact thing. My shop was still around, but just barely.