Alvin made his way carefully deeper into the attic. He let his hand brush against a stack of scientific journals piled waist-high on the floor. He stopped at a towering shelf unit and peeked at any number of unsightly things kept stored in jars and formaldehyde. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust; no one had been in this house, in this attic, for a very long time.
And then he saw it: a book.
But not just any book.
This was the biggest book he’d ever seen in his entire life, a giant of a book, like seven dictionaries stuck back to back.
He was drawn to it, no longer caring about watching where he was going, knocking over a silver scale and what looked like a miniature black cauldron as he rushed over to it.
The book was bound in rich brown leather, and the title was printed in gold on the front:The Everlife Grimoire.
—fromAlvin Hatter and the House in the Middle of theWoods
5
We got home in the afternoon, and I went straight upstairs to my room to read Aunt Helen’s next letter. I had left it on my desk so I wouldn’t be tempted to read it while we were still at her house. I wanted to honor whatever last wishes she had, and part of those wishes were my instructions on how and when to open these. So now, bedroom door shut and outside world temporarily on hold, I was ready to see what she had in store for me next.
Lottie,
I spent a sad, lonely sort of afternoon walking through my house, touching everything I’ve acquired over the years, thinking about the accumulation of stuff, wondering why little trinkets have the ability to make us so silly-happy. Do you remember that time we went vintage shopping and you found thatlittle ceramic deer and fell in love with it? Not two hours later you dropped it and dissolved into hysterics. (You mustn’t be too hard on yourself; you were only eight.) I wonder now, thinking back on that, what causes that sort of immediate attachment? What caused our immediate attachment too, the attachment of aunt and niece? Surely we did not have to be as close as we are. I know plenty of aunts who have more distant birthday cards and see-you-at-Christmas types of relationships with their nieces and nephews. Maybe it’s best not to read so much into it. Maybe we were just lucky? Luckier, at least, than that poor deer.
It’s funny, the things that occur to you after an afternoon like that. I realized, quite out of nowhere, that I’ll be gone soon, and that the people I took for granted will no longer have me in their daily lives in the way I was so lucky to have them in my daily life. (That sounds a bit conceited; I think you’ll know what I mean.) I would be devastated if it were one of them who left me first. I imagine they will miss me as well.
So I guess what I’d most like to do right now but can’t (it is too late, some other day) is go and see one of our old friends, Clarice. The owner of my favorite bookstore: Page & Ink. Bring her a hot tea and a banana muffin from Kester’s. Buy yourself somebooks, Lottie. They help with everything.
Books can make you live a thousand lifetimes, a thousand different lives.
Books make you immortal.
Love, H.
She had slipped three twenties into the envelope.
I texted Em immediately.
Last hurrah before I have to go back to school tomorrow?
Em responded in a few minutes:
Absolutely. What are we doing?
I’ll pick you up in 30.
She texted back a kissy-face emoji, and I went downstairs to see if there was any coffee made. There was—I poured myself some into a mug that said Luke’s Diner (my brother’s purchase) and went to the back porch. The backyard was currently being croqueted up by Abe. Amy, in a little yellow sundress and an unreal vintage denim vest covered in patches (she really was the coolest person I knew), sat on the steps, watching. I sat down next to her.
“Are you really measuring the distance between the gates right now?” I asked Abe.
“They’rewickets, dummy,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.
“I don’t know why he likes weird things this much,” Amy said, a little wide-eyed.
“I think he just likes the club.”
He sighed loudly. “It’s a mallet, Lottie, geez.”
“We should play with flamingoes,” I suggested.
“Okay, good reference. Now be quiet.”
