I shrug and take a sip of my coffee.
“Don’t think I didn’t see Justin’s Jeep at your place last night.”
“Ugh.” Suspicions confirmed. I raise an eyebrow. “Spying?”
“Duh, obviously.”
“He’s showing me townie stuff. Last night we went to The Camp.”
“Ohhh, really? You know that’s where Bobby proposed to me.”
“At the skate park?” I try not to sound too judgmental. Trying, so hard.
“Yeah, it was really sweet, like something out of some indie teen movie.” She looks down at the small diamond on her slightly puffy hands. “What’d you think?”
“It was fun. I had no idea it was back there. We saw the girls that work at the boutique next door—Isabel and Jessica?”
Anita waves her hand in a passing motion. “No surprise. Justin wasn’t lying when he said it was a townie hangout.”
“And some guy named Avery.”
“Oh god, Avery was there?” She brushes her hair out of her eyes. “Some things never change. That dude is too old to be trolling the Camp.”
“Well, he’s a huge fan of Mom’s. He said he was going to bring a book by for her to sign.”
“Huh,” she says, walking to the front of the store. It’s time to open. “Who knew Avery can read? And non-fiction, at that.”
Since we don’t have a toddler group or anything specific planned, Anita buckles down to add some new books to the computerized inventory list, and I spend the morning in Mom’s office sorting through the mail. It takes a while to work out the sorting system, but after a while I get the hang of it. I also find myself lost in the letters sent to my mother.
Dear Ms. Barnes,
Your book Scars From a Killer struck a chord with me. My sister Amelia was murdered fifteen years ago…
Dear Ms. Barnes,
Your courage to share your story and reveal the horrors of living with being a survivor has made me confront my own past as a victim of violent crime…
Dear Julia,
Can I call you Julia? I feel like after reading your book, I know you. Thank you for offering such a detailed account of Donald Gaskins’ crimes…
The letters go on and on, each personal and compelling. I flatten them into a stack and put them in the cubbie for fan mail, making a note to tell my mother to read them as soon as she gets back. Only two letters fall in the “psychos” category, and frankly, I’m not even sure if they count. Both are just a little over the top, professing their love for my mother and her works.
I’ve finally made a dent in the mail when a text comes through from my mother.
Spending the day in Seattle! It’s cold and I need to feel the sand on my toes! Great news though—my agent passed on a request from the New York Times. They want to interview us about the book. Yes, US! They want to do a story on our family, the area, and all that. Great press for the books and store!
I reply quickly:Tell me where and when and I’ll be there!
Expect a call soon. They’ll interview us separately and then again together.
She adds that they’re headed into Northern California the next day and that she’ll see me on the 6th—the day after her visit to LA. Then a hug emoji.
Another text comes through a minute later. It’s Whit.
Want some lunch?
I respond in all caps.YES!
