Page 168 of Worth the Trip

I found her book on a table devoted to Black women’s fiction. I recognized the author from the stack she’d lingered over during our first bookstore date. The novel followed a woman whose carefully arranged life widened when she finally let joy arrive without demanding credentials.

I almost put it back because the thematic overlap was a little disrespectful.

Then I read the first page.

The writing sounded like her.

That decided it.

I carried the book to the register while Nolani browsed near the back. Miss Roslyn looked at the cover, then at me, then past me toward Nolani.

“So that’s why you walked in smiling like the Lord gave you advance notice on a blessing.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“It’s almost afternoon.”

“Then you had hours to decide to mind your business.”

She laughed and pulled a cream bookmark edged in gold from beneath the counter.

“This for her?”

“Yeah.”

“You serious?”

I looked toward Nolani.

She was standing beneath a photograph of Toni Morrison, reading the back of a paperback with enough concentration to forget I existed.

“Yeah.”

Miss Roslyn slid a pen toward me.

“Don’t give that woman a book without leaving something of yourself inside it.”

I looked at the bookmark.

The words came easy.

Every beautiful story deserves another chapter.

I signed one letter beneath it.

L.

Nolani would know.

I tucked the bookmark deep enough that she wouldn’t find it today, paid, and had Miss Roslyn hide the bag beneath the counter.

“You know I still got your encyclopedia picture.”

“You know extortion carries consequences.”

“History ain’t extortion.”

“I was a private citizen.”