Page 11 of Spotlight
“No thanks. I have leftover soup and homemade bread today.” The level of excitement in her expression seems to contradict the idea of leftover anything, but Grandpa has been packing her lunches for as long as I can remember, and they are the gold standard. He packages things up like a pro, always adds something from every food group – including dessert. When Gigi pulls out her lunch, anyone nearby always stares in fascination at the spread. But my favorite part is the notes he writes her. Every single day her lunch comes with a handwritten note, usually on a Post-it, occasionally a receipt or lined paper. Sometimes the notes are sweet, sometimes funny. Poems, jokes, drawings, or just a simple I love you.
After I put away the ladder, I grab my purse and leave Ruby with Gigi to sign books. Outside, the weather is sunny and warm. We had a rainy, cold Valentine’s Day last week, but since then, it’s felt like spring has arrived.
The pizza shop is only two blocks away and I’m early enough that I beat the lunch rush.
“Hey, Olivia.” Tim, the owner, smiles from behind the cash register. He’s wearing a Mustangs hat and reading the newspaper. “Dining in or carrying out today?”
“To go, please. The usual.”
He puts down his newspaper to ring me up. It’s open to the sports page and the top headline mentions the Mustangs. There’s a grainy black and white picture underneath of what I assume is one of the players. Tim notices me looking and smiles.
“I bet your grandfather is excited about the season. Hope this new guy is as good as they’re saying he is. I’d like to see them win just once in my lifetime.”
“He’s always excited during baseball season,” I say, handing him my card and stealing another glimpse at the paper. The photo is upside down and not all that clear, but the guy looks familiar. Something tickles in my brain, a memory or connection I can’t quite make, but before I have time to decipher it further, Tim hands me my card back and the receipt.
“Give us about fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks,” I say and head back out the front door. There are tables and chairs underneath a blue awning, but instead of sitting, I walk down the sidewalk enjoying the sun and fresh air.
I love downtown Lake City. Small businesses line the streets. Most have been here since the 1950s. Other areas around downtown have grown, putting in chain restaurants, department stores, and housing subdivisions, but everything in this five-block radius is filled with the old city charm and character. It’s a mecca for art galleries, cozy restaurants, and bookstores. In fact, this area is home to three of the city’s best bookstores: a used bookstore, my family’s, which is The Book Nook, and Plot Twist. They are the newest of the three to the area but have won best city bookstore two years running. Not that I’m counting or anything.
I stop in front of Plot Twist. They have a great location at the end of the block where people park and walk up to the other stores. The front window always has original artwork and changes weekly. It’s part of their schtick. People stop just to stare at the window display and this week’s is an ode to the start of baseball season. The linework is incredible, depicting a man’s profile as he winds up to throw a pitch. And underneath are a variety of books about baseball – from fiction to memoirs. It’s good, not just the artwork but the concept. So good I’m mad that I didn’t think of it.
By the time I get back to our bookstore with lunch, my brain is buzzing with new ideas for the front display. I’m obviously not going to copy their idea, but at the very least we should move some of our most popular baseball books to the front tables. Spring training starts next week, and people around here love the Mustangs – even if they have been on a fifty-year losing streak.
I set the food down on the back table with a thunk.
Ruby and Gigi look up at me from where they sit on the opposite side. Gigi’s lunch is already laid out in front of her, and just like always, it’s a masterpiece. Soup, bread, cut carrots and celery with hummus, mixed fruit, a thermos of tea, and an oatmeal raisin cookie.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ruby asks, lifting one eyebrow as she reaches for the pizza box.
“Did you see Plot Twist’s new window display?”
“Yes,” she says slowly, like she can’t understand why that’s caused my mood to shift.
“I feel like such an idiot. It didn’t even cross my mind to do something for the start of baseball season. Grandpa must be so disappointed in me.”
“Your grandfather doesn’t care one bit about window displays and you know it.” Gigi lifts the spoon to her mouth and takes a small bite, still watching me.
She’s right. I know she’s right, but no one loves baseball more than him. I should have at least considered it.
“I want everyone to love this store as much as I do. We just need to get them in the front door.” I believe that with my whole heart. After all, that’s what happened to me. My earliest memories are sitting on a bean bag chair in the children’s section with a stack of picture books while Gigi helped customers and worked around the store. It’s a magical place, filled with love and books – and really aren’t those the same thing?
“Is that why you’ve changed the front display three times this month?” Ruby asks.
I slump down in my seat and take a slice of veggie pizza from the box. “I’m figuring out what appeals to sidewalk traffic.”
“She’s trying to beat Plot Twist for best bookstore this year,” Gigi says so matter-of-fact that my jaw drops.
I have never spoken that dream out loud.
Picking up on my shock, she says, “You stomped around here for a week when last year’s awards came out.”
I hadn’t realized I was so obvious about my disappointment. I know it’s a silly dream, but this bookstore means everything to me, and Gigi created something really wonderful that has been a part of the community for thirty years. I want the entire city to love it as much as I do.
“Do you still have that old pink bike with the basket on the front?” I ask Gigi.
She nods thoughtfully. “Yes. I think it’s in the shed at home. Why?”
