The Bookshop Of Yesterdays - Amy Meyerson

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embrace. The storeowner suggested I let her run around the store. We watched her sniff the dusty corners and pounce at the metal bases of the birdcages. Billy rested his arm on my shoulders, and I was ready to tell him that he was positively, absolutely my favorite person in the world, then I remembered Mom.

      You talked to Mom? She’s okay with this?

      Billy lifted the dog off the floor, laughing as she lunged at his face. How could your mom say no to this face?

      Seriously, Uncle Billy. She said I can’t get a dog.

      You want a dog, don’t you?

      More than anything.

      Billy put the dog on the floor and put his arm around me. Sometimes your mom needs a little help seeing things clearly. Once she sees how much you love this dog, no way she’ll say no. Trust me, okay?

      Even as he said it—Trust me—I knew I shouldn’t. Mom was never going to let me keep the dog. But I wanted to believe in the power of Billy, the magic that everything would turn out fine simply because he promised it would. And I wanted Mom to believe in it, too.

      * * *

      Joanie’s going to be so jealous, I gloated on the drive home. A puppy. A freaking puppy. Uncle Billy, this is the best birthday present ever.

      We pulled up outside my house, and Billy held the puppy as I lugged the dog supplies out of the back seat. When I went to collect the dog, he didn’t let go. He rubbed behind her ears, suddenly serious. I’m sorry you had to see that, between me and your mom.

      It’s no big deal, I said uncertainly.

      It is a big deal, he asserted. The dog squirmed in his hands. Things with me and your mom, whatever happens, I just want you to know it isn’t your fault. I tried to take the puppy, to run into the house so Billy would stop talking, but his grip was too firm. It hadn’t occurred to me that anything was my fault until he said that. Just keep her out of your mom’s shoes, and your mom won’t be able to resist her. Billy handed me the dog. I’ll see you soon, and I decided to trust those words more than the ominous ones that preceded them. We would see Billy soon. Everything would be fine.

      Mom, I screamed as I ran inside. Mom, come quick, you won’t believe what Billy got me.

      Mom tore open her bedroom door and raced into the hallway above the foyer. She was in her robe. Dark circles engulfed her eyes. Jesus, Miranda. She put her hand on her chest. You frightened me. I thought something was wrong.

      Look. I held the dog toward her.

      Stillness immobilized her face as she looked between me and the yelping puppy. You can’t keep that. Mom raced downstairs and lifted the puppy from my hands. We’re taking this back immediately.

      You haven’t even met her yet. The dog licked Mom’s face. See, she’s sweet?

      You know it’s not about that, Mom said. The puppy continued to bark.

      I just thought once you saw her you’d change your mind.

      Miranda, we’ve been over this. We’re all too busy to take care of a dog.

      I’ll take care of her by myself. You won’t have to do anything.

      It’s too much responsibility, she said.

      I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need you to tell me what’s too much responsibility. My tone shocked us both. Mom waited for me to calm down. When it became clear she wouldn’t engage, I stomped upstairs, screaming, You won’t let me do anything. I knew I was being dramatic, prematurely acting the temperamental teenager, but I slammed the door so hard my bedroom floor shook.

      Mom threw open the door. Don’t you slam this door. Her voice was calm, her golden eyes clear and furious. You broke the rules. You knew you weren’t allowed to get a dog. You do not get to throw a tantrum.

      I knew she was right, but I was at that age where it didn’t matter if she was right, not if it meant I couldn’t do what I wanted.

      Where’s the dog? I said instead. She was no longer holding it.

      Crap. Mom raced downstairs and cooed to the puppy. Miranda, she called up to me, where’d Billy take you to get this dog?

      I’m not telling you, I yelled. When she didn’t shout back, I admitted, A pet shop in Culver City. I didn’t tell her it was a bird store.

      Once Mom had left with the puppy, I called Billy to tell him what had happened. He didn’t answer his car phone, so I tried him at home. You won’t believe it, I screamed into his machine. Mom made me return the dog. She’s such a bitch. After I hung up, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I’d never called Mom a bitch before. I said it again to our empty house. You’re such a bitch. I kept saying it, hoping it might feel fair. It never did.

      All afternoon, I stayed in my room. I heard Mom come home. I heard Dad return from the tennis club. I heard them talking in the kitchen. I knew she was telling him what had happened, that Dad would come upstairs and act the mediator.

      At six-thirty, Dad knocked on my door.

      I’m not hungry.

      Dad opened the door and sat on the bed beside me. I know you’re upset. We’ve been over this. It isn’t the right time to get a dog.

      That’s bull—Dad shot me a look. It’s never going to be the right time.

      Maybe so. You have to respect that, Mimi. We’re a family. We make decisions together. Why don’t you come downstairs. We’ll have a nice dinner. I think that will be best for everyone. Dad nodded approvingly at me, a gesture I knew well. I would make the right decision. I wouldn’t disappoint him.

      At the table, I watched Mom poke her chicken breast without taking a bite, uncertain what I should say to her. I wanted to apologize for calling her a bitch even if she hadn’t heard me.

      Instead, Mom broke the silence. I’m sorry we fought. Billy shouldn’t have put you in that position. That wasn’t fair of him.

      I stabbed a bite of chicken and threw it into my mouth, chewing aggressively. So this was how she wanted to play it. It wasn’t my fault. It sure wasn’t her fault, either. It was all Billy. He had chosen to buy me the dog, just like he had chosen to do whatever it was she’d blamed on him the night of my birthday party.

      So, this was Billy’s choice, too? You’re saying I shouldn’t blame you? I’ll never forget the wounded expression on Mom’s face as she realized I was referring to the fight I’d overheard, that I was using her words against her.

      It doesn’t have to be anyone’s fault, Dad said. We can all take responsibility for our actions.

      I’m sorry I slammed the door, I said, but the damage was done. Mom nodded, accepting my apology. Accepting what had shifted over that dinner.

      * * *

      Later that night, I called Billy again.

      Me and Mom are done, I shouted into his machine. I’m going to stay mad at her forever.

      When Billy didn’t return my message, I figured he probably didn’t want to risk Mom answering if he called me back. I tried him again the next day. He didn’t pick up, so I told his machine, I’m going to call you tomorrow at exactly 4:15. Make sure you’re home, so we can talk. The following afternoon, he still wasn’t there. The only other place I knew to reach him was at Prospero Books.

      In addition to his work with earthquakes, Billy was the owner of a neighborhood bookstore, not in his neighborhood in Pasadena, but in Silver Lake, Los Angeles. Billy called seismology his real job, Prospero Books his fun job. When I asked him why he didn’t make his fun job his real job, he said he had a responsibility to protect people because he knew how to learn from earthquakes what others couldn’t.

      On afternoons when he hadn’t planned a scavenger hunt, he would take me to Prospero Books, and the store was its own kind of adventure. We’d walk through the maze of shelves, and

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