bookstore for home, but he must’ve decided to take a drive. The accident happened five miles out of the way on a winding back road.” She put her hand over Charlie’s. “He must’ve been so upset.”
Again Ryan felt like he’d been kicked. Charlie was the town’s eternal optimist, always sure he could help a neighboring store owner or a customer in need. “He didn’t hit another car?”
“No. He hit black ice and lost control.” She ran her fingers lightly over Charlie’s hand. “That’s all we know.”
For a while they sat in silence. Ryan stood and walked around the bed to the other side. “Can he hear us?”
“Probably not. His brain isn’t showing a lot of activity yet.”
Ryan picked up on the hope in Donna’s choice of words. Proof that a lifetime with Charlie Barton had rubbed off on her. “Charlie.” Ryan kept his voice low,bringing his head close to the older man’s. “It’s Ryan Kelly.” He swallowed, fighting his own tears. “Hey, man, we’re praying for you. It’s almost Christmas, Charlie. You need to get better so we can get that store of yours up and running.”
On the other side of the bed, Donna covered her face with one hand and turned away. Ryan heard her tears, anyway.
“Listen, Charlie, we’re going to pull together here, okay? You just get better. God’s not finished with you yet.” He paused, looking for any reaction, any sign, that somewhere inside his battered head, Charlie could understand.
There was none.
Ryan backed up slowly from the bed and returned to Donna’s side. Once more he hugged her and then asked her to sit back down. “I have an idea.”
Donna dabbed at her tears again. “Sorry . . . I thought I was done crying.”
“It’s okay.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Does Charlie still have the scrapbook? He used to keep it in the top drawer near the register.”
“He does.” She sniffed. “Neither of us could believe it survived.”
A plan began to take shape, and as it did, Ryan’s heart was filled with hope. This was something he could do, something to help repay Charlie for the decades of kindness he’d given to the city of Franklin. “Is the building locked?”
She nodded. “The key’s in the potted plant beside the front door. Charlie left it there so the cleanup crew could come and go after the flood. There’s nothing inside for anyone to take.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to go through the scrapbook and contact Charlie’s customers. Let them know what happened.” He didn’t want to go into detail. No telling whether people would respond, and the last thing he wanted was to get Donna’s hopes up.
She agreed to his plan, and before he left, he took Donna’s hands in his and prayed for Charlie. For the miracle of healing and for Charlie to know the difference he’d made through his bookstore.
Half an hour later, Ryan was standing in front of The Bridge.
Traffic passed behind him and the occasional bundled-up pedestrian. Ryan barely noticed them. He stared at the sign over the door, the old lettering that might as well have been something from a CharlesDickens novel. THE BRIDGE—NEW AND USED BOOKS . Ryan stared at it, and for a moment it wasn’t the middle of December, and the store on the other side of the door wasn’t gutted. It was seven years ago and springtime and Molly was at his side.
He blinked away the images, found the key, and walked in. The sight made him catch his breath. The place was unrecognizable. Even the single piece of furniture—an old leather sofa—wasn’t the one that had been here. He closed the door and leaned hard against it. No wonder Charlie had been broken. No wonder he couldn’t focus when he left here yesterday.
A quick search, and he found the scrapbook, the treasured collection of notes and thank-you letters and signatures from hundreds of special customers over the years. The cover of the oversize book was water-damaged, but the inside looked intact. Ryan was about
Again Ryan felt like he’d been kicked. Charlie was the town’s eternal optimist, always sure he could help a neighboring store owner or a customer in need. “He didn’t hit another car?”
“No. He hit black ice and lost control.” She ran her fingers lightly over Charlie’s hand. “That’s all we know.”
For a while they sat in silence. Ryan stood and walked around the bed to the other side. “Can he hear us?”
“Probably not. His brain isn’t showing a lot of activity yet.”
Ryan picked up on the hope in Donna’s choice of words. Proof that a lifetime with Charlie Barton had rubbed off on her. “Charlie.” Ryan kept his voice low,bringing his head close to the older man’s. “It’s Ryan Kelly.” He swallowed, fighting his own tears. “Hey, man, we’re praying for you. It’s almost Christmas, Charlie. You need to get better so we can get that store of yours up and running.”
On the other side of the bed, Donna covered her face with one hand and turned away. Ryan heard her tears, anyway.
“Listen, Charlie, we’re going to pull together here, okay? You just get better. God’s not finished with you yet.” He paused, looking for any reaction, any sign, that somewhere inside his battered head, Charlie could understand.
There was none.
Ryan backed up slowly from the bed and returned to Donna’s side. Once more he hugged her and then asked her to sit back down. “I have an idea.”
Donna dabbed at her tears again. “Sorry . . . I thought I was done crying.”
“It’s okay.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Does Charlie still have the scrapbook? He used to keep it in the top drawer near the register.”
“He does.” She sniffed. “Neither of us could believe it survived.”
A plan began to take shape, and as it did, Ryan’s heart was filled with hope. This was something he could do, something to help repay Charlie for the decades of kindness he’d given to the city of Franklin. “Is the building locked?”
She nodded. “The key’s in the potted plant beside the front door. Charlie left it there so the cleanup crew could come and go after the flood. There’s nothing inside for anyone to take.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to go through the scrapbook and contact Charlie’s customers. Let them know what happened.” He didn’t want to go into detail. No telling whether people would respond, and the last thing he wanted was to get Donna’s hopes up.
She agreed to his plan, and before he left, he took Donna’s hands in his and prayed for Charlie. For the miracle of healing and for Charlie to know the difference he’d made through his bookstore.
Half an hour later, Ryan was standing in front of The Bridge.
Traffic passed behind him and the occasional bundled-up pedestrian. Ryan barely noticed them. He stared at the sign over the door, the old lettering that might as well have been something from a CharlesDickens novel. THE BRIDGE—NEW AND USED BOOKS . Ryan stared at it, and for a moment it wasn’t the middle of December, and the store on the other side of the door wasn’t gutted. It was seven years ago and springtime and Molly was at his side.
He blinked away the images, found the key, and walked in. The sight made him catch his breath. The place was unrecognizable. Even the single piece of furniture—an old leather sofa—wasn’t the one that had been here. He closed the door and leaned hard against it. No wonder Charlie had been broken. No wonder he couldn’t focus when he left here yesterday.
A quick search, and he found the scrapbook, the treasured collection of notes and thank-you letters and signatures from hundreds of special customers over the years. The cover of the oversize book was water-damaged, but the inside looked intact. Ryan was about
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