Page 5 of With Stars in Her Eyes
“Horror movies?”
“Laughable.”
“The unexpected appearance of a cockroach?”
“I lived in Alabama my entire life. You think a little water bug fazes me?”
“Flu shots?”
“I’m not six years old.” I couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Or a thirty-three-year-old man baby.”
Marshall glared. “I told you that story in confidence.”
“Hey, I just felt bad for the poor nurse who tried to catch your big professional athlete butt before you fell out of the chair. I hope you brought one of the linemen with you the next time.”
His appraisal was thoughtful. “You really don’t scream ever?”
“Absolutely not. Probably one of the few things that stuck from my mother’s efforts to make me a proper lady like my big sisters. Suffice it to say the rest of it failed.” I gestured to my double nose piercing, tattooed fingers, and my overall outdoorsy-meets-edgy look that would definitely never be featured in a Vineyard Vines or Lilly Pulitzer catalog. All the reasons my mom felt the need to give a disclaimer any time she introduced me at a family function.Isn’t she so brave for living an alternative lifestyle?
“Fine. You win. You’re unflappable. What were you saying ‘ohshoot’ you needed to do before you looked like your head was going to explode about Mr. Infinity Symbol’s noisy tattoo?”
“Need to do…?Oh,right.” I swiped on the screen to my Maps app, and it stalled again. Either the Wi-Fi was still acting up or my old phone was about to shuffle off its mortal coil. “There was a message on the shop machine that a couple boxes for us got mistakenly delivered somewhere else. Have you ever heard of Menagerie—um—something.”
“Books?”
“I think that’s what the message said. I need to pick up the package before they close. If it’s far I’ve got to get gas first, so—”
“Oh, you don’t need to drive. It’s on the other side of this building. I guess you don’t usually park on that side, come to think of it. Is it a lot of boxes?”
“I don’t think so? Three, but it’s just some of the samples from that jewelry supplier I want to try. Shouldn’t be heavy.”
“Menagerie Books is Samantha Powell’s store. I think you’ve met her at a few family parties or games, and she just got married a few years ago now…” Marshall frowned at his phone. “Shit. I missed seven calls from my agent. I’ll show you the entrance on my way back to the pub if you want to grab the stuff now.”
“Thanks.” After a disheartening look at my weather app, I slid my phone into my pocket. “And don’t worry about driving out to your dad’s cabin with me tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Clouds came in faster than they were supposed to. Tonight’s not the night. It’s a lot of equipment to lug out there if it’s going to be too cloudy to see the planet alignment.”
“Once the weather gets better, you’ll get your shot at it, don’t worry.”
Stifling more grumbles that felt unfamiliar in my throat, I pulled on my coat and followed Marshall outside.
Squid Tattoo Shop was located in an enormous old brick building surrounded by giant old trees that used to be St. Clare Preparatory School. It had been converted into a mixed-usebuilding. The dormitories on the upper floors of the school building had become apartments, but the lower floors were retail and office spaces. According to Marshall’s dad, the renovation had been featured in several magazines decades earlier. Next to the school building was a large stone church that had been St. Clare Catholic Church before it had been similarly renovated—half of which was occupied by Marshall’s pub. The other half was a plant shop I hadn’t visited yet because the lady who owned it seemed a little… well, scary, for lack of a better word.
The pub was Marshall’s post-football retirement plan, though it always seemed empty these days. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried about it. Marshall and I were living together again for the first time since college, and I didn’t want to pry too much too quickly.
The neighborhood, the set of three square blocks and the park across the street, named after the school and church, was called St. Clare Circle because of the way the sidewalk and road curved to accommodate several enormous, ancient-looking trees. There was a starkness to the place right now because just as I moved to Kansas, a polar vortex descended.
As soon as I saw the old church and the trees, my fingers itched to photograph them, but I also liked my fingers attached to my hands thank you very much. Thus, I avoided walking anywhere in the subzero temperatures when I didn’t absolutely have to.
Marshall groaned. “Agent’s calling again. So sorry. The entrance is right around the corner.” He hustled off in the other direction with his phone on his ear.
A particularly frigid blast of wind hit me. I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders and sped up. The sign hanging down over the door swung back and forth on the hinge. It readMENAGERIE BOOKSwith a few stylized animals around the letters.
A group of tweens filed out with a few parents trailing them before I could walk inside. The roaring wind muffled their chorus of thank-yous and laughter. I shut the door behind me, rubbing numbness from my arms as I enjoyed the quiet warmth of thespace. The inside was dimmer and larger than I expected. It smelled like old paper and my grandfather’s office and a little like the curling steam coming off a mug of chamomile tea.
The layout hinted at a past life before the renovations as St. Clare School’s library. Brightly colored covers created checkerboards over several long tables. There was a magic to the floor-to-ceiling knotty-pine bookshelves, as if they were a structural part of the old building. Each wall had its own rolling library ladder. Twinkle lights illuminated the far space where some kind of meeting must have just taken place. A woman emerged from the shadows, stacking cushions and chairs.
