Laurel Blount
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
—Psalms 147:3
For the fabulous four: Rebecca, Jackson, Joanna and Levi—with all my love.
Contents
Note to Readers
Uh-oh.
Anna Delaney stopped doodling frowny faces and dollar signs in the margin of her notebook and tilted her head, listening. Sure enough, an all-too-familiar rustling was coming from her bookstore’s storage room. Smothering a groan, Anna dropped her head down on the checkout counter with a thump.
The possum was back.
How was that even possible? Two weeks ago, when she’d finally caught the skinny-tailed varmint in a live trap baited with peanut butter, she’d driven him fifteen miles out into the country before setting him free. She hadn’t seen him since, and she’d hoped he was the one problem related to this store that she’d actually managed to solve.
Apparently not. The animal must’ve liked living in Pine Valley, Georgia, a lot more than she did.
Anna heaved a sigh and started to get up. Then she pressed her lips together, sat back down and picked up her pen.
On second thought, that possum could stay right where he was.
She always kept that door locked, so there was no way he could sneak in here or into her loft apartment upstairs. Another early June thunderstorm was brewing, and if the stubborn animal wanted to spend his Friday night nice and dry amid boxes of paperbacks, Anna wasn’t going to argue with him.
Pretty soon he wouldn’t be her problem anymore. Today, after months of sleepless nights and unanswered prayers, Anna had finally come to terms with the inevitable. Pages, Pine Valley’s one and only bookstore, was going out of business.
She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how this had happened. Pneumonia had ended her father’s long struggle with Alzheimer’s only three months ago. Now this store—the retired principal’s legacy to his beloved community—was fading away, too. And his only daughter, a woman with two completed university degrees and three-fourths of a PhD, hadn’t been able to stop it.
It was downright depressing—not to mention humiliating. And to make matters worse, her hopes that her struggles were going unnoticed had been dashed this afternoon.
The minute Trisha Saunders had walked through the door, Anna had known something was up. Her former high school classmate owned Buds and Blooms, the flower shop next door, but she’d never bothered to visit Pages before.
Trisha had her five-year-old and several of his day care classmates in tow.
“Go find a book for Jimmy,” she’d instructed her son. “I’ve been so swamped at work I totally forgot to pick up a birthday present for him, and I don’t have time to run to a toy store now. A book will have to do. The rest of you can help look, and then we’ll go on to the party.” The children had begun pulling books off the shelves, but when Anna had headed over to help, Trish had stopped her with one perfectly manicured hand. “Don’t worry about them, Anna. They can find the book by themselves. I want to talk to you about something.”
Then she’d tugged Anna aside and made an offer on the bookstore. Or more accurately, the building that housed it.
Trisha’s tone had been almost as insulting as the amount she’d offered.
“You won’t get a better deal,” Trisha had said, casting an appraising look around as the children played a shrieking game of hide-and-seek among the shelves. “This space needs a lot of updating. I wouldn’t touch it myself if our two buildings weren’t attached. Besides, everybody knows you’re holding on by your fingernails. Now that your dad’s dead, why not just sell this store and move on with your life?”
Now that your dad’s dead. The nonchalant way Trisha had tossed