Page 2 of Piece By Piece

“So Julie’s your friend who runs the inn?”

“Honey, Julie is everybody’s friend. You’ll meet her soon enough. She’s on every committee this island has and even a few she invented herself.”

They passed the reading nook, which was two mismatched armchairs wedged into an alcove by a window, with a small table between them holding a box of tissues and a small dish of individually wrapped peppermint candies.

“I call these the therapy chairs,” Dixie said, laughing.

“The therapy chairs?”

“Well, people sit there and cry sometimes. You’d be amazed at what a good book can shake loose. I just bring them tissues and a cookie and let them be. Costs a whole lot less than a real therapist.”

Liza smiled. There was something about this place, and about Dixie, that made her feel like the world just had a lower speed limit here. People didn’t rush around. There was no such thing as traffic. Like a clock wound back to a time that didn’t exist in most places anymore.

Then they reached the back corner. “Now this,” Dixie said, sweeping her hand out like a game-show host revealing a prize, “is the children’s section.”

Liza looked at it and wondered if this area had somehow been forgotten by time.

There was a small shelf labeled “Kids” in faded marker on a piece of masking tape. Below it was a beanbag chair with a slow leak, a plastic bin of picture books that looked like they had survived a flood, and a rug that might have been colorful at some point in a previous decade. A stuffed animal of indeterminate species was propped in the corner with one eye missing.

“Dixie.”

“I know.”

“This is…”

“Sad. The word you’re looking for is sad. I know, you can say it. It’s why you’re here, sugar.”

Liza knelt down and picked up one of the picture books. The spine was cracked, and someone had drawn a mustache on the main character using a green crayon. She put it back.

Her brain was already firing. That was the thing about Liza. Her marketing brain never fully shut off, even when the rest of her was running on fumes.

She could see it so clearly, as if she’d created a slide presentation in her mind. Low bookshelves at kid height, painted in bright colors. A huge reading rug with floor cushions. A mural on the back wall. Something whimsical, like a hot air balloon. A little chalkboard where kids could write their favorite book of the week. A monthly storytime event with people in costumes and themed activities. A display table that rotated with the seasons.

She stood up and dusted off her knees.

“I can work with this.”

Dixie smiled so wide that her eyes nearly disappeared.

“Now that’s my girl. I knew you’d see it. I told your mama, I said, ‘Linda, that daughter of yours has a gift. I know she can look at this mess and see a miracle.’”

“Well, I don’t know about a miracle, but I can definitely get rid of that beanbag chair.”

“Don’t you dare. That beanbag has been here since 2003. It’s our mascot.”

They sat outside the bookstore with sweet tea while Liza pulled out her phone to start a list. The square was quiet in the late afternoon heat. A couple walked by holding ice cream cones, and an older man in a fishing hat waved at Dixie from across the street. She waved back without even really looking up, which told Liza this was a several-times-a-day occurrence.

Dixie had her feet up on the railing and was fanning herself with a paper fan, which Liza suspected was less about the heat and more about the drama.

“So catch me up,” Dixie said. “How’s your mama?”

“She’s good. Busy. You know Mom. Doing too much no matter how she feels.”

“Oh, I do know your mama. She’s the only woman I ever met who could organize a church potluck and get her nails done at the same time.” Dixie took a sip of tea. “How’s that fancy job of yours? You still bossing people around in your big office?”

There it was, the question Liza had been rehearsing answers to for three months.

“You know, I’m actually between things right now,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Just ready for a change of scenery, I guess.”