The Bookshop of Dust and Dreams

I remember it too and understanding rushes over me. That picture book tells the story of a boastful little bird who gets knocked down a peg by her friends and must prove her self-­worth in the end. Whenever a customer makes a suggestion to improve the shop, it deals a similar blow to Rhyme and Reason s self-­confidence.

Will you tell Mama and Papa I m going to Arthur s house? We re all meeting there to listen to The Adventures of Superman. James tilts his head, and his fine brown hair falls over his eyes. Nine to my thirteen, he and I could not be more opposite. He loves going to school, where he s friends with everyone in his grade, and he spends most of his free time outside with them, as if he doesn t want to be tied down by the shop.

I glance at my watch. The radio program starts in five minutes. You better hurry, or you ll miss the beginning.

I ll be home for dinner! he calls as he rushes out the back door.

I turn my attention to the shop, a shiver running through me. The usual warmth has disappeared. The hanging bulbs are off, and pale light pours in through the front windows, illuminating the tall bookcases in a soft glow. Even the wisteria and climbing hydrangea, which drip from every shelf and surface, seem to droop.

Someone has hurt your feelings, again, I say as I unbutton my wool coat. The shop had a similar episode just last week. A customer didn t like the orange wallpaper Rhyme and Reason had decided on that day, and suggested we pick something more tasteful. Rhyme and Reason went into a spiral for hours before Papa could calm it down.

I check on the potted lemon tree by the front door, to see how it s fairing in these conditions. The focal point of the shop, its tall branches almost touch the ceiling. The leaves are a deep rich green that match the color of the front door and the growing fruit are a luminous, crisp yellow.

As I reach for the water pitcher that sits in the window, one of the branches brushes my shoulder in hello.

Hello to you too,&rdqu