Page 25 of Something About September

“There’s never any real way to prepare people for the magic of this place, so I undersold it a little,” Cort said, ducking his head, proud but sweetly shy at the same time, clearly happy to be showing it off. “I’ve found some of my best pieces here. Mr. Kingman really has an eye for quality and history.”

As if summoned by his name, an elderly man with a shock of white hair appeared from behind a stack of reclaimed flooring.

“Cortland Adams!” he called. “Last I heard, you were busy renovating the old McIntosh diner.”

“Glad to hear good news travels all the way to these parts,” Cort said, shaking the man’s hand. “Mr. Kingman, this is Rebecca McIntosh, Lenore’s granddaughter. We’re looking for some pieces to complement the renovation.”

Mr. Kingman turned kind blue eyes to Rebecca. “Lenore’s granddaughter? A true honor. I loved visiting the diner, and your grandmother came in here once, oh, must be two or three years ago, now. Looking for a particular kind of lampshade. With apple blossoms.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Now Mr. Kingman’s face broke into a bright grin. “And would you believe, she found it? She was so upset when she came in. Said she had knocked against it in the night and broken the one she had, that it was extremely special to her.” Now he paused, looked thoughtful. “I think she mentioned you loving it in particular.”

“I did,” she said. “She always left it lit for me, in the window, every time I came home.” She bit her lip. “But apparently, history was destined to repeat itself, because now I’m the one who has broken the shade.”

“Then I have good news for you, because the lamps were a set of two, and she only took the one. I never did sell the other. Come with me.”

He led them through the aisles, lined with shelves stacked and cluttered with every kind of curio, toward a cleared area that was filled with lamps of every style, shape, and size imaginable. “There you go,” Mr. Kingman said. “I can get it boxed up for you. I presume you want to look around. No one comes here without having a good gander.”

“I do,” Rebecca said. “Thank you so much, Mr. Kingman.”

Then she turned to Cort. “Did you tell her about this place so she could come find it?”

“Indeed, Cort’s the one who brought her here,” Mr. Kingman said. “Because you never know what you’re going to find here.” Then he tilted his head, studying her. “You have her eyes, you know. Your grandmother’s. She was a lovely woman indeed.” And then he was gone, disappearing into his labyrinth of treasures. “Holler if you need anything,” he called out, his voice now disembodied.

Rebecca looked at Cort for a long moment. “I didn’t know…” she began, but then trailed off. I didn’t know you were so close to my grandmother. I didn’t know you took such good care of her. Their gazes were caught, and it felt like her thoughts were passing wordlessly between them. He just nodded, gave her a small smile.

“Come on,” he said, his smile widening now, an excited-schoolboy look entering his eyes. “He’s right. You do need to look around.”

Rebecca and Cort wandered through the aisles, occasionally separating to explore different sections before finding each other again to share discoveries.

Later, Cort led her to a section near the back that housed a collection of vintage library furnishings: card catalogs, reading tables with built-in lamps, and rolling ladders that once accessed high shelves. “I love all this,” Rebecca said. “Like something from a library in a novel. Or a very cool bookstore. How did you know I’d love this?”

“I’ve been paying attention, Becca.” He cleared his throat and added, more lightly, “Besides, you practically wrote a dissertation on library ladders during one of our tutoring sessions.”

Rebecca laughed, remembering. “Poor you, subjected to my obsessions when all you wanted was to pass English.”

“I ended up wanting more than that,” he said quietly.

She felt herself blown off course again, stuck looking deep into his storm-gray eyes, even though she didn’t want to. She had been doing so well these past few days.

But now she found herself, suddenly, needing to ask, “What…exactly did you want?”

He hesitated so long she wondered if he would answer.

“I wanted to go to university,” he finally said. “You made me want that.”

She took a step back. “Oh. Right.” She struggled for composure. “What did you want to study?”

“Architecture,” he said simply.

“Why didn’t you? Go to university, I mean.”

Cort shook his head. “I had obligations here. My dad wasn’t well; there was the family business to consider. I had a bunch of dreams in my head, and then…” He trailed off, his gaze still pinning her in place, just a few feet away from him now. “They just kind of disappeared. But sometimes I thought about what my life would have been like if I had gone to school.” He shook his head now. “I mean, I wouldn’t change anything. Not in real life. I have Pip; I would never want that to be different. But…”

She stared up at him. “I get it,” she said. “Your life can be your life. But there’s always the path not taken. You always wonder about it.”