to leave when he caught a glimpse of the staircase. The one that led to what had been the upstairs living room, the place where he and Molly had spent two years of afternoons.
He set the book down on the counter and walked gingerly across the wood floor. It creaked more loudly than before, and some areas didn’t feel quite solid.How hard it must’ve been for Charlie, knowing he couldn’t repair the planks, couldn’t fix the walls and fill the building with the books he loved. Ryan walked up the stairs, and each one seemed to take him further back into the past. The upstairs looked as bad as the main floor, the furniture gone, the place painfully empty. Just like Donna had said.
Ryan couldn’t stay, couldn’t stand to breathe in the dank musty air where once life had shone so brightly. He took a final look and returned to the counter for the scrapbook. Then he drove home and sat at his desktop computer. It was time to get busy.
Time to tell Charlie Barton’s family what had happened.
T he opening page of Charlie’s scrapbook doubled Ryan’s determination. The book was a gift from Edna Carlton, a woman Ryan didn’t know. But her words gave him a single-minded purpose. She wrote that The Bridge had given her a second chance at life.
It was exactly what Charlie needed. A second chance.
Ryan made a few phone calls and easily convinced the owner of Sally’s Mercantile to set up a donation center for anyone wanting to help Charlie. He worked through the scrapbook like a detective, and by three o’clock that afternoon he had written private Facebook messages to thirty-seven former customers of The Bridge. His message was the same to all:
You don’t know me, but we have something in common. At one point we found solace at Charlie Barton’s bookstore in downtown Franklin. The Bridge made a difference for me, and I know it made a difference for you because I found your name in Charlie’s scrapbook of customers .
People he considered family .
Now Charlie is in trouble. He was in a serious car accident yesterday afternoon and today he’s fighting for his life at Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville. That’s not all. The Bridge suffered devastating damage in the flood that hit eighteen months ago. Charlie tried to reopen, but he didn’t have the funds or the books and the place remains closed. The accident happened after Charlie had given up all hope of ever opening his doors again .
I’m not sure how you can help. But I’m asking you to join me in praying for a miracle for Charlie Barton. The miracle of a second chance. Beyond that, if you’re in the area, there’s a donation drop-off set up at Sally’s Mercantile. We’re looking for books, new, old, used, anything you can give. I’d like Charlie to wake up to more books than he knows what to do with .
Charlie loved all of us. Now it’s our turn to love him .
Sincerely, Ryan Kelly
Ryan felt his hope rising. Certainly, this many people could make a difference. But by late that evening he was deeply discouraged. Though he checked every hour, none of the former customers had responded. Then Donna called with an update. Charlie was clinging to life, but he’d made no improvements. Please, God . . . don’t let it end this way for Charlie . Ryan stayed by his laptop through the night, but by the time he turned in, he had heard from only twocustomers, both of whom promised to pray. But since they now lived out of the area, they couldn’t do much more.
What good could possibly come from such a weak response? The prayers were great, but where would the books come from? Ryan felt drained physically and emotionally. He would try again tomorrow, contact the Tennessean about the city getting behind a book drive for The Bridge, and maybe try to find the rest of the customers. He was surprised how many weren’t on Facebook, but maybe if he Googled their names, he’d get further. Even then he doubted he’d find the one person he was desperate to find. The person who
He set the book down on the counter and walked gingerly across the wood floor. It creaked more loudly than before, and some areas didn’t feel quite solid.How hard it must’ve been for Charlie, knowing he couldn’t repair the planks, couldn’t fix the walls and fill the building with the books he loved. Ryan walked up the stairs, and each one seemed to take him further back into the past. The upstairs looked as bad as the main floor, the furniture gone, the place painfully empty. Just like Donna had said.
Ryan couldn’t stay, couldn’t stand to breathe in the dank musty air where once life had shone so brightly. He took a final look and returned to the counter for the scrapbook. Then he drove home and sat at his desktop computer. It was time to get busy.
Time to tell Charlie Barton’s family what had happened.
T he opening page of Charlie’s scrapbook doubled Ryan’s determination. The book was a gift from Edna Carlton, a woman Ryan didn’t know. But her words gave him a single-minded purpose. She wrote that The Bridge had given her a second chance at life.
It was exactly what Charlie needed. A second chance.
Ryan made a few phone calls and easily convinced the owner of Sally’s Mercantile to set up a donation center for anyone wanting to help Charlie. He worked through the scrapbook like a detective, and by three o’clock that afternoon he had written private Facebook messages to thirty-seven former customers of The Bridge. His message was the same to all:
You don’t know me, but we have something in common. At one point we found solace at Charlie Barton’s bookstore in downtown Franklin. The Bridge made a difference for me, and I know it made a difference for you because I found your name in Charlie’s scrapbook of customers .
People he considered family .
Now Charlie is in trouble. He was in a serious car accident yesterday afternoon and today he’s fighting for his life at Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville. That’s not all. The Bridge suffered devastating damage in the flood that hit eighteen months ago. Charlie tried to reopen, but he didn’t have the funds or the books and the place remains closed. The accident happened after Charlie had given up all hope of ever opening his doors again .
I’m not sure how you can help. But I’m asking you to join me in praying for a miracle for Charlie Barton. The miracle of a second chance. Beyond that, if you’re in the area, there’s a donation drop-off set up at Sally’s Mercantile. We’re looking for books, new, old, used, anything you can give. I’d like Charlie to wake up to more books than he knows what to do with .
Charlie loved all of us. Now it’s our turn to love him .
Sincerely, Ryan Kelly
Ryan felt his hope rising. Certainly, this many people could make a difference. But by late that evening he was deeply discouraged. Though he checked every hour, none of the former customers had responded. Then Donna called with an update. Charlie was clinging to life, but he’d made no improvements. Please, God . . . don’t let it end this way for Charlie . Ryan stayed by his laptop through the night, but by the time he turned in, he had heard from only twocustomers, both of whom promised to pray. But since they now lived out of the area, they couldn’t do much more.
What good could possibly come from such a weak response? The prayers were great, but where would the books come from? Ryan felt drained physically and emotionally. He would try again tomorrow, contact the Tennessean about the city getting behind a book drive for The Bridge, and maybe try to find the rest of the customers. He was surprised how many weren’t on Facebook, but maybe if he Googled their names, he’d get further. Even then he doubted he’d find the one person he was desperate to find. The person who
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