The Bookshop on Autumn Lane Read Online Free Page A

lips. In a way, I don’t blame her. All her frustration at being saddled with an ungrateful teenager broke to the surface. But she made me so angry that I marched upstairs and stuffed my things in my mother’s old Samsonite suitcase.
    I never thought I would be back.
    Something dark moved in the doorway. Probably the cat I had seen last night. The old collie made a halfhearted attempt at a bark. Then he wagged his tail and looked at me, as if that counted as the kind of thing a fine watchdog would do.
    â€œThat was pathetic,” I told him. I scanned the spot where the form disappeared.
    That was when I noticed a tall form leaning against a tree on the other side of the street. His face was shadowed, but his arms were crossed in front of him in a pose that should have looked casual, but was more . . . intense. I was getting tired of being a spectacle. I rose from my literary chair, losing my balance and dislodging dozens of books. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to do a nosedive into The Great Gatsby or —Huck Sawyer or whatever that book was . I looked up again. He was gone. Strange. But then again, this whole town was a bit strange.
    On the bright side of things, we might be able to find the bed. Running water and a mattress would be heaven, even in this place.
    I scaled the shifting paperbacks and hardcovers in an effort to get to the back room where the stairs to the apartment were. But it was almost impossible. No way could the old dog do it. “Come on, buddy, back to Lulu we go.” The back door would be a straighter shot.
    I pulled around to the alley that was nestled between a large field sprinkled with jack pines and the back of several empty buildings. Next to the field was a tennis court that was missing a net. Beyond it was an ice cream store and the faint blue streak of a lake through a stand of trees. I recalled that there was another lake nearby. The two had matching names. Echo and Reply. I don’t know how they got those names. I used to scream from the shores of Echo all the time. No one ever replied.
    I parked between a telephone pole and a pile of old wooden pallets, making sure that I could move forward if needed. Lulu wasn’t at her best these days. She hiccupped every time I shifted gear. I grabbed my cooler and my old green Samsonite suitcase that contained my meager belongings. The collie perched on the seat and lowered his head. I sighed and reached down to help him.
    â€œAren’t you guys supposed to leap tall fences and chase sheep across the glen?” He sent me a baleful look and I shook my head. I guess we were all typecast to some extent.
    At the back door, the old aluminum storm door came loose in my hands. The dog skittered away as it clattered back against the doorjamb.
    â€œThis is just flippin’ awesome.”
    I’d be lucky if anything worked properly. I removed the door and placed it against the aluminum siding. The key fit the new lock and the knob turned easily. Grateful for small favors, I pushed on the door. Nothing happened. I pushed with all my weight. It budged a few inches. I stuck my face through the opening.
    It wasn’t a pretty sight. Whoever had broken into the place had brought a tornado with them. Books were heaped everywhere. I had a fleeting moment of panic. Would anyone know or even care if I was lost forever? Other than Reeba Sweeney, not a soul in this town would miss me. No one would worry until Thanksgiving when I failed to make my biannual call to my father in New Jersey. Even then, he would probably make some comment about how unpredictable I was and assume I had decided to walk the Appalachian Trail.
    I shoved with my shoulder and made enough room to slip through. Beside me, the dog whimpered. I crouched down. “We can either get started or spend another night in the car. What’s it going to be?”
    I was talking more to myself than to the old collie and I knew it. I had come to the proverbial fork