Determined not to spoil the afternoon, I shove thoughts of Mitch aside and step behind the front desk to stow my purse beneath the counter. “I can hold yours back here, too, if you like.”
“Still trying to scope out the competition?” Dorothy asks, clutching her bag to her chest as if I’m going to steal it.
“I swear your entries are safe from me. But here.” I grab the cardboard box and set it on the counter in front of her with a huff of exasperation. “Go ahead and stick them in.”
Dorothy doesn’t make a move. If you don’t count the twinkle that flickers in her eye.
“Oh, good grief! Annell is the only person allowed to open the box. Right, Annell?”
“Absolutely. I am the keeper of the box.” She lifts it and shakes it so that we can hear the rustle of paper inside. “And no one will be opening it until I read the new batch at book club.”
“Fine,” Dorothy says. “Turn around.” She motions me to turn my back. “No peeking.”
“You certainly are serious about this,” I observe. “I mean, there isn’t even a prize. Is there?”
“Hmmm. Never thought about it. But I don’t see why there couldn’t be.” Annell bends down to Stacy and Lacy. “Do you think we should have a prize for the winner?”
Both blond heads bob up and down. One of them, I’m not sure which, puts her thumb in her mouth. The other says, “I’m liketa win a prize!”
“Even without a prize there will be bragging rights,” Dorothy says. “And it’s a competition. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to win, is there?”
“Of course not,” Annell replies. “I can hardly wait to hear this month’s entries.” She looks down at the twins. “Okay, let’s go set up drinks and snacks.”
“Yippee! I wanna cupcake!” They race ahead toward the children’s section.
“When you’re done here, would you like to come help us set up, Dorothy?”
Dorothy flushes with what looks like pleasure. Then she opens her purse, pulls out a wad of folded pieces of paper, and begins to stuff them through the slot in the box top. I’ve really got to get on this or she’s going to win by sheer volume.
Thirty minutes before story time, the jangle of the front bell grows louder and steadier. The store vibrates with color and laughter and . . . life. The steady hum of adult conversation is punctuated by high-pitched squeals of delight and the occasional screech of protest that squeeze my heart and make me wish that every single one of these children were mine.
The brightly colored pillows and floor cushions are strewn across the floor of the kids’ section. A low table near the story time stage holds a bright-yellow plastic bin filled with juice boxes and small bottled waters tucked into the ice. Boxes of raisins and individual bags of goldfish curve across the tabletop like dominoes, leading to a plate of cupcakes beautifully iced and topped with sprinkles that I know are Annell’s handiwork.
The adult table holds silver urns of coffee and tea along with cups and saucers and a tray of Annell’s cream cheese brownies.
I ring up sales and answer questions while parents help their children choose snacks and get them settled. Straws are poked into juice boxes and handed over with instructions to be careful. Tea and coffee are poured. Saturday afternoons at the store are my favorite time of the week.
“Hey, there.” Chaz comes in the front door still wearing his EMT uniform. “Just getting off shift, and I wanted to get started on the new book. I think Annell has a copy of The Body set aside for me?”
“Yes, she said you might stop in.” I go to the hold shelf and retrieve it for him.
“Have you started reading it yet?” he asks as I ring it up.
“No. Dorothy’s reading our copy first.” I nod toward where my mother-in-law is helping one of the Holcomb twins unwrap a cupcake, something she does with the focus required for defusing a bomb.
“You’ve got a ton of munchkins here,” Chaz says. “It looks like fun. I’ll have to bring my niece one Saturday.”
Wesley and Phoebe arrive, literally two peas from the same pod, and the three of them greet one another. As always, I am fascinated by how the twins mirror each other, how on the same wavelength they appear to be. I don’t really know anything about their larger family scenario, but it must be incredible to be that close to another human being. To share DNA. To have shared their mother’s womb.
The three of them go over together to speak to Dorothy. And though they seem to carry most of the conversation, Dorothy smiles in an almost motherly way. When Chaz departs with a cheery wave, Phoebe and Wesley take seats not far from her.
Then Annell claps her hands for attention, and the moms and dads decamp to their space, which is far enough away to speak quietly to one another and not feel “on duty” yet close enough to keep an eye on their children and to swoop in if necessary.
Those with the youngest children settle in near the stage, with their little ones in their laps. One girl leans back, twirling her hair and sucking on a thumb. I feel the pain of want in my chest.
The room begins to fall silent as Annell ascends the two small steps to the stage.
“Welcome to story time,” she says. “Please be courteous of others. Remember, if you need to go potty, please go get your adult as quietly as you can. We don’t want to disturb others, so there is absolutely no snoring!” Annell snores and snorts aloud in demonstration. The children imitate her snores with snorts of their own.
When the laughter dies down, she continues. “I’m going to read three stories today. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Hiccupotamus, and Grumpy Monkey. Which one should I read first?”
There are shouts and chatter. There is no possible way that Annell can discern a favorite, but she does this every week. Because children like to have a say in what happens as much as adults do.
“Good, thank you. That’s exactly what I thought.” She grins in delight. “Is everybody ready to listen?”
There are happy affirmatives and final shouts. Children wriggle more deeply into laps or cushions or pillows. I sit down on the stool behind the register, put my elbows on the counter, and rest my chin in my hands. And then, like I do every week, I lose myself in the stories and Annell’s marvelous voice.
When the last story is over, mothers and fathers gather their children. A line forms at the register. Annell joins me there, placing each purchase in a bag, offering a smile and a thank-you, and helping to keep the line moving.
When the last purchase has been paid for and the store is finally quiet, I notice that Dorothy is still sitting in the same spot where she listened to story time. I’m about to walk over and make sure she’s all right when a frazzled blond woman comes racing in the door.