Page 6 of Battle of the Exes

Exiting the car, the first thing I notice is the smell of pine on the chilled breeze followed by the sound of the Blue River bubbling along the rocky stream bed, rippling with run-off from the snow melt. I’ve traveled a good amount for my job but never found a more beautiful setting than here.

I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with mountain air. How did I forget the majesty of this place?

Because Imademyself forget.

After Mom and Dad moved to Denver, my rare visits to Silver Pine had become rarer. It was logical to pass the baton to Rue, the self-appointed keeper of The Silver Quill flame. She now manages it on her own.

I walk past the creek, smiling at kids and dogs playing on the rocks despite the signs telling them not to. Just like Rue and I once did. A young guy donning what looks like a coat of many colors strums his guitar, gathering a small crowd.

I pass Silver Pine Community Theater, Joe’s Bar and Grill, the art gallery, my elementary school, and the iconic life-sized bear holding a sign that reads,Free Bear Hugs.

Home.

The truth is I never stopped loving Silver Pine. Not even during the worst of times.

Excited now, I hurry past Mae’s Sweet Peak Café, picking up the scent of fresh baked bread, and I’m instantly transported to my childhood. Sunday morning pancakes with Mom, Dad and Rue.

I come to a stop in front of the bookshop, my favorite place on this here planet.

I glance up at the giant sign overhead, way bigger than necessary, its shiny quill reflecting the sun. I’m sure Rue’s husband is forced to climb a ladder every few weeks to make it sparkle. Just like Dad used to do.

The Silver Quill has been in the family for decades. My folks named the store as a way to pay homage to the town they both adore. I grew up among its shelves, graduating from the children’s stacks to young adult and eventually to books about college and dating.

My summers were spent here watching the tourists browse, wondering what far off points they hailed from.

There’s a wooden bench in front of the shop, taking the place of the one I remember. This one has a bronze plaque dedication.To Gertie, thanks for fifty years of life-changing stories.

I imagine an older gentleman still in love with his wife after a half a century, finding the perfect gift for his book-loving partner.

The store window is smartly arranged with colorful book covers, each hue creating a rainbow. Dispersed among them are trinkets and souvenirs with the Silver Quill logo. Rue did an incredible job.

A sign on the easel by the door catches my eye and I pause, enamored. Jasper Kensington reading tomorrow afternoon.

As I walk inside, the little bell above the door jingles and I’m immediately accosted.

“Ivy!”

In an instant, my sister’s arms are around me, her Basset Hound, Darcy, at her heels. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she cries with characteristic exuberance.

“Me too.”

I look around the bookstore that once belonged to our parents. It’s the same but different. A cozy reading nook, thick leather armchairs, a colorful kids’ corner.

Mom’s old fashioned register is gone, replaced by a tablet.

I’m inexplicably emotional. It’s only old wood and books. I swallow hard. We can’t lose this place.

Rue eyes me. “It’s good to be home, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“What do you say we go next door and get started on bringing the Quill back from the brink of disaster?”

As if sensing Rue’s dismay, Darcy snuggles close to her leg. Rue pats the dog’s head.

“You won’t get an argument from me.”

Rue flips the door sign toBack Soonand the two of us head out.

---