Free What Changes Everything by Masha Hamilton Page A

the easy times and the hard. Always have been. I‟m exactly the place to deposit secrets. If t his is going to be a secret."
           "Okay, okay. I‟m writing my memoirs."
           "Oh right, Mrs. Haha. As private as you are?"
           The bell clanged again. Stela turned to see Jenni, her long blond hair swinging, her lipstick redder than maraschino cherries, already in mid-sentence. "Had to run right over and tell you, Stela dear. Feelin‟ good, yes ma‟am," she said, drawing out the last word as if she were an auctioneer. "We have a buyer. At least," she chuckled, "I think we do. They don‟t want to go quite as high as we‟d like—the financial climate, you know, the uncertainty in your line of business—but I think it will come in as a not-too-bad offer. I shouldn‟t be talking out of school since I don‟t have the details yet," and here, she actually giggled, which Stela found unbecoming in any case, but particularly in a middle-aged woman. "But I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I‟d stop in and personally give you a whisper. I‟ll call later, as soon as I get some numbers, and if you like them, well, we‟ll shout the news from the rooftops. I want you out of this dusty old store, dear Stela. And then maybe you‟ll let me talk you into selling that old threebedroom of yours and buying a cute little condo with a view. There are some good deals out there—I know, I know, you don‟t want to change your addresses in case friends come looking for you, but we can deal with that, Stela dear. Oh well, one step at a time. No, can‟t have coffee," she said, though Stela hadn‟t offered any, hadn‟t even spoken yet, "Sorry to be on the run. But you have to work twice as hard to make half as much money these days." She kissed the air. "Talk to you soon, darling," she said, waving a hand at her shoulder as she turned away.
           The door closed behind her and the store seemed for a moment as if the air had been sucked out of it. Yvette stared at Stela, and then opened her hands to the sky. "The shop? Such a big decision as this, you were keeping from me?"
           "There‟s no decision, Yvette. You see how she is? Not a second to get a word in edgewise."
           "You put it on the market and you didn‟t breathe a word. I told you even before I told my ex-husband when I got pregnant."
           "Your ex-husband, that k akáshka? I‟m no t sure that qualifies—"
           "What will you do if it sells?"
           "You think all I can do is own a used bookstore?"
           "I think this has been your life for the last twenty years. And there would be trouble if the
    cobbler started making pies."
           "I‟m neither cobbler nor cook," Stela said lightly. She rose and idly straightened some books near the door. She didn‟t really want to go into this. But she turned back to find Yvette staring, demanding with aggressive silence that Stela explain. "Some days this shop is like my prison, Yvette. I imagine the books falling from the high shelves and suffocating me. It‟s possible, you know. Have you looked around here? Books are living everywhere. I even have them on the back of the toilet in the bathroom now. More than I‟ll ever be able to sell. So when I die, what‟ll happen? Someone will come, take them to a recycle center? Labor spent to turn literature into trash: I don‟t want that to be my legacy."
           Yvette shook her head. "Who‟s talking about dying?"
           "It doesn‟t hurt to think."
           "Stela, this is not the moment to sell. Danil needs to know where to find you, and the beaten path is the shortest one."
           "Thank you, Yvette. I‟m done discussing this now."
           "Besides, who will I talk to over morning coffee if you move away? What are we, if not family by now?"
           Stela, silent, stacked up four books on the counter, arranging them so the smallest one was