Free Goodnight June: A Novel by Sarah Jio Page B

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    WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK TO WORK?—A
    The truth is, I purchased a one-way ticket because I didn’t know how long it would take to put Ruby’s affairs in order. I hoped to wrap things up quickly, maybe in a week, but now, a few days into my stay, everything’s becoming more complex—Ruby’s secrets, the future of the bookstore, my memories. I hit the Reply button and write back:
    Busy working out final details here. Will know more by the weekend. Will keep you updated.—June
    I hit Send, and as I do, I feel my blood pressure rising.
    I reach for a jacket and slip into my running shoes. I walk out to the street and jog past Antonio’s. The restaurant is dark and the chairs are still turned over on the tables. I look away quickly when I see my reflection in the window. I hoped to see Gavin, and somehow admitting this to myself makes me feel silly. As I make my way down to the path around the lake, I reaffirm my plan to move forward with the liquidation of Ruby’s estate. I’ll make a spreadsheet and categorize everything, the way I do when selling off assets for the bank. I’ll hire the movers to load everything into trucks. I’ll find a good auctioneer. I’ll get it done.
    After I’ve logged five miles around the lake, according to my Garmin, I slow for a cooldown walk, then stop on a bench to watch a mother duck and her ducklings push through the reeds and cross the banks of the lake to a spot on the dock ahead. The mother waddles proudly with her six fuzzy ducklings behind her. The last one is smaller than the rest, and he’s having trouble keeping up. The mother and the larger ducklings have already made their way back to the lake as I watch the littlest one lose his bearings. He looks right, then left, as if he’s not sure where to turn. He’s lost. In that moment, I want to run over to him, scoop him into my arms, and carry him back to his mother. I rise to my feet and take a step forward, but with lightning speed, a large rat scurries out of the thicket and lifts the duckling into his mouth, and the two disappear in one dreadful swarm into the grasses beside the bank.
    “No!” I scream. “No, you can’t have him! You can’t do that!” I feel helpless and horrified. At once, I am nine years old, hovering over an abandoned robin’s nest beside Amy, fretting over the fate of the baby birds. I stare out at the bank for a long while, and then I realize I’m not the only one watching. The mother duck is watching too. She knows.
    I think about that scene for a long time as I walk the final quarter mile up to the crosswalk. I think about the nest and the eggs, and the mother duck and her babies. There will always be rats and ducklings. There will always be predators and prey. And banks and small businesses in default. And people like me who swoop in like rats and take what’s owed to them, or what they’re hungry for. It’s the circle of life, but at this moment, I don’t like my place in it.
    I’m red faced and my mind is reeling when I walk past Antonio’s on the way back to the bookstore. I smell garlic cooking now, and I breathe in the comforting scent. The door is propped open a bit, so I know Gavin must be inside. I poke my head in cautiously. “Hello?” I say, taking a step inside.
    “Hello?” I say again, admiring the rich red of the dining room walls and the dozen or so attractively set tables. There’s a wooden slab counter that might accommodate six more guests, but all in all, the room is small and intimate, and I love it instantly.
    A wood-fired oven burns slowly behind the counter, and I can smell the warm, smoky scent of cherrywood smoldering. There’s a clanging sound in the kitchen, as if a pot’s fallen to the floor, before the door swings open and Gavin appears. He smiles when our eyes meet. There’s a smudge of tomato sauce on the white towel that hangs from his waist. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry, have you been waiting long?”
    “No, no,” I say. “I was just