The Devil's Storm Page 7

  Madeleine shook her head and scoffed. “This is insane. It isn’t happening. This is just me, overthinking everything. This is just part of the anxiety. I can get through this.”

  “Overthinking?” Evelyn laughed. “Or thinking with real clarity for the first time in months? You’ve been so blinded by what you thought was love you couldn’t see straight!”

  Madeleine closed her eyes tight for a moment. “There’s fact and fiction here. I’ve got to be able to separate it…. I need a pen and paper.” Then she opened her eyes. She was standing on Liberty Street, busy in mid-day hustle and bustle as tourists prepared to leave the city to return to their Monday nine to fives. Serendipitously, across the busy street was an adorable shop that she’d been meaning to visit since they had first moved to Savannah.

  BellaLuna Books stood out proudly on Liberty Street. With its purple-painted trim and bright, painted half sun, half-moon logo on the glass-paned door, it had an air of the mystical. In the shop window, there was a display of books old and new—all the covers in varied tones of blue, along with a sign that said, “I can’t remember the title, but the cover was blue.” It was a display set-up she’d seen a million times in bookstores, but this one beautifully arranged. Madeleine appreciated the wide range of genres included in the display.

  She waited for the walk light to turn in her favor.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Evelyn asked as they waited. “You’re

  going through this huge problem and you’re going to fix it in a bookstore?”

  “What problem can’t be fixed in a bookstore?”

  Evelyn shook her head, but she wasn’t willing to disappear either. She followed Madeleine across the street as soon as the walk light turned, and into BellaLuna books.

  When she walked in a set of bells on a sun-and-moon wind chime gave a soft greeting, announcing her presence. The inside did not disappoint. The smell of books was overwhelming—and Madeleine caught the whiff of both old and new mixing in perfect harmony. At the front counter, a tall, 40s style imposing piece in dark oak, a light vapor billowed from a large color-changing oil diffuser. As Madeleine walked by, she breathed in a heady mix of tangerine and peppermint.

  In the center of the store was a sofa and two Victorian-style velvet chairs, none of which matched, and a coffee table in the middle with a sign encouraging readers to please keep their feet on the furniture.

  “Hey there,” a light, melodious voice called from some distance away. Madeleine couldn’t find the source of the voice but heard it through the rows of tall shelves. “Anything I can help you with today?”

  “Um, no thanks, just browsing. On second thought, do you have a paper and pen set? I need to jot something down.”

  A petite woman with a dark purple head of hair popped out from the side of a bookshelf, staring at her peculiarly through her black-rimmed, Ray-Ban glasses. “Do I know you?”

  Madeleine shrugged. “Um, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

  And then it occurred to Madeleine that someone who worked in a bookstore probably knew exactly who she was. But she wasn’t exactly going to pop out and announce she was Madeleine McCollum, semi-famous author extraordinaire.

  “Hmmm. Weird. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she continued with a frown as she floated towards her in her teal ballet flats. “Did you say you needed to jot something down?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “What do you consider a jot? Like a post-it or an actual piece of paper?”

  Madeleine considered it for a second, but she immediately knew

  the answer. “A piece of paper would be great.”

  “I have some super cute Bella Luna Books pen and paper souvenirs if you’re interested,” she chimed. “And nope, I’m not one bit ashamed to promote my business.”

  Madeleine laughed. In a way, this purple-haired woman with her teal shoes reminded her of Lee. “I’ll take it,” she replied.

  “Sweet.” She began ringing up her purchase, a lavender pad with the sun and moon logo, with a matching pen tied up in a purple ribbon.

  “So you own this?” Madeleine took another fascinated gaze.

  “Guilty. Freya Alvarez, owner, and proprietor.”

  “Maddie Atwood,” she murmured before she could even realize she’d said Atwood instead of McCollum. Old habits died hard. Madeleine took another look around. It was a beautiful bookstore. The walls were bare brick, and book after book neatly lined each shelf. Strings of Edison bulbs swaged across the store, providing an extra element of whimsy.

  “Okay, it’ll be five thirty-five.”

  “Oh, damn. Hold on a second,” Madeleine started, fumbling in her pockets of for cash she hoped was there. “I left my purse at home. I never do this. Hold on.”

  Freya waited patiently while she dug through all four teensy-tiny pockets in vain. “It’s okay,” she interjected, handing her the pad and pen. “They’re not selling very well, anyway. Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

  “Look, I just live around the corner,” Madeleine replied. “I can be right back—” Then she stopped, remembering that would mean having to go back and face Adrian. There was a long silent pause as Madeleine considered the best course of action.

  “Are you sure we’ve never met?” she began again. “I’m sorry to keep asking, but it’s one of those things that just drive you crazy until you figure it out.”

  She shrugged. What the hell. It wasn’t as if she was trying to keep her identity secret or anything. “Got any Madeleine McCollum novels?”

  “There’s a whole section in the M’s. Fifth row of shelves toward the back. Not that I recommend them unless you’re planning on taking a long walk off a short pier. God, that woman is depressing.”

  A deep-bellied laugh rolled right out of Madeleine. She wasn’t wrong.

  “For land’s sake, what would be wrong with a happy ending for once?”

  Madeleine smiled. “So you have read them?”

  “Well, yeah, the writing is great, but the plots and oh my God,

  you are her, aren’t you?”

  Madeleine couldn’t help but smile. “I might be.”

  Freya’s cheeks grew red, and she buried her face in her hands. “Oh my gosh, you’re not going to tweet about this are you? You could probably bring down my entire business in a single tweet.”

  “Well, I’m not in the habit of tweeting, period, but I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe it could make a dent in my ex-husband’s business.”

  “Breathe, breathe breathe,” Freya instructed herself in a whisper. “You didn’t recognize a major author. Easy mistake. You can’t memorize what they all look like.”

  “Nope, you can’t,” Madeleine confirmed as she eyed an elaborate green leather-covered book displayed with pride on the shelf behind the counter. “Hey, is that an Arlington edition Jane Eyre?”

  Freya looked up, and Madeleine could have sworn there were tears in her eyes, but she didn’t mention it. “Yes,” she answered in a choked tone. “Good eye. I bought it at an estate sale years ago. They didn’t have a clue what a treasure it was. I’ve had it here ever since. No one else seems to know what a treasure it is, either.”

  Madeleine raised a brow. “Is it for sale?”

  Freya shrugged. “Everything here’s for sale.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. When I have the money. Which obviously isn’t now.”

  Freya laughed, finally relaxing. “I think you’re good for it. I’ll put it on hold for you. Did you say you lived close?”

  “Yeah, I moved here about a year ago,” she reported.

  “Moving to Savannah was one of the best decisions of my life. Hands down.” Freya smiled as she took a hold slip and Sharpie from the desk. “So what name did you give me earlier? I’m thinking you don’t want your pen name displayed out in the open.”

  “Oh, well… funny thing, it’s not a pen name, it’s my real name, and the name I gave you isn’t e
ven my name anymore.”

  “Divorce?” Freya winced. “I know you mentioned an ex-husband.”

  “Yeah,” Madeleine nodded. “Part of the reason I moved.”

  “I moved here after my husband died. After losing him, I needed some charm and beauty back in my life.”

  Madeleine felt her face fall. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

  She gave a light smile. “I miss him every day, but I’ve got two girls

  that are just his spittin’ image, so at least I’ve got a little of him still here with me.”

  Madeleine spotted a picture on the wall with the same purple-haired woman and two, gorgeous identical girls with tawny skin and long, dark hair. They looked to be about seven or eight in the pictures, both of them grinning with gap-toothed smiles. “That must be them,” Madeleine said, motioning towards the picture. “They’re beautiful. Twins?”

  “Nah, we just photoshopped the older one in over her sister.”

  “What? Oh—” Madeleine stopped herself as soon as she realized.

  “Sorry, when you have twins, you come across that question a lot. You get creative with your responses. Bella’s on the right; Luna’s on the left.”

  “And you named your shop after them,” Madeleine cooed. “That’s sweet.”

  “They’re my everything. Who better to name my store after?” Freya smiled in response. “What name should I write?”

  Madeleine stopped and smiled. “You know, put Madeleine Atwood on there. You’re right. Wouldn’t want to go advertising my new whereabouts just yet.” Complete lie. She didn’t care one bit. It wasn’t as if the paparazzi were banging down her door.

  “One ex-husband’s last name coming right up.”

  Madeleine watched as Freya wrote her name, old name, maybe future name, down in perfect calligraphy script and she placed it inside the cover to where it was just visible. Would it be her future name? Something she knew forty-eight hours ago was looking like less and less of a possibility today.

  She had to admit she liked that Madeleine Atwood. Mrs. Atwood. Mrs. Adrian Atwood, just for clarification’s sake. Mrs. Adrian Flynn Atwood. Mother of a young mister Atwood, herself. Perhaps Adrian’s middle name…Yes. That was it. Flynn Atwood.

  She wondered if Adrian would like it. She wondered if Adrian still liked her.

  God, she hoped so.

  “Okay, I’m going to give you a hold receipt. Not that you’ll be the type to forget a 1900 Arlington Edition Jane Eyre.”

  Madeleine reached out for the receipt. “Oh, no way. I’ve been on the lookout for one for a while—” She stopped when she felt Freya’s eyes, burning into the scar on her wrist.

  “Is that—”

  Madeleine immediately grabbed the hold receipt and drew her wrist close to her body.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, I heard, but you know how you can never trust rumors.”

  Madeleine felt a swarm of emotions—anger, pain, embarrassment reigning supreme over all the rest. She pivoted, ready to escape this charming hellhole of a bookstore when Freya spoke. “My Gil—my husband—he…shot himself. Four years ago. I didn’t even know how much he was struggling.”

  “My husband certainly didn’t notice or care until it was too late,” Madeleine tried to say in an accusatory tone. She had meant to hurtle it as an insult. How could a spouse overlook the struggle? But, it hadn’t come out that way, and when Madeleine saw Freya’s face, she was grateful her tone had betrayed her true intentions. Her eyes watered with tears and she was far away, hidden somewhere in the recesses of memory. Madeleine wondered if she was imagining her husband as dead or alive. If she’d been successful, how would Lee recall her? What about Adrian? And hadn’t Henry told her a thousand times that depression could manifest in so many ways? It was possible to hide depression. People did it all the time. She had hidden hers long before they’d lost Thomas or their marriage had grown sour.

  “Is that why you got a divorce? Because he didn’t understand? I certainly never did. Gil always seemed so even-keeled.”

  Madeleine narrowed her brow. “Anyone ever told you you’re kind of direct?”

  Freya shrugged. “I’m from the north originally, so yeah, plenty of times. But I don’t see the point in beating around the bush. I wear my heart on my sleeve and say whatever is on my mind. It’d be a lot easier if everyone said what they meant.”

  Madeleine agreed. If she and Lee had been more forthcoming with one another, they could have avoided a ton of heartache. “That’s true,” she admitted.

  There was a long, awkward pause. For all the ability she had to create the dialogue between two or more non-existent people, Madeleine was sometimes at quite a loss for words. “I’m very sorry about your husband,” she finally said. “I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

  Freya seemed lost in thought, numb to the world. “I have more

  good memories than bad. I am thankful for that.”

  A weak smiled blossomed across Madeleine’s lips. She admired how this direct, slightly nosy, purple-haired bookstore owner saw a silver lining to something as life-altering as losing her husband to suicide.

  Chapter Eleven

  Adrian had spent the better part of the past two hours telling himself he wouldn’t be out looking for Madeleine if she had left the house with her purse and cell phone. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. She could totally take care of herself. Even if she was walking alone in a city without her cell phone or purse. Wherever she was, Madeleine was perfectly fine.

  He hoped.

  In fact, they probably needed the time apart. Time to cool off, to sort out their emotions.

  Time for Adrian to figure out how to fix this. Because in Madeleine’s mind, he had equated falling in love with her (the best-damned thing that had ever happened to him) with Lee’s biggest mistakes. Loving her would never be a mistake in his eyes.

  Adrian had slowly cruised the shaded streets of Savannah in his Aston Martin convertible, his heart taking a leap at every blonde walking all alone on the sidewalk, but he had cruised most of the squares and there had been no sign of Madeleine. He had himself convinced to stop trying to track her down and give her time. The best he could do at this point was to concentrate on making amends, and convincing her that he loved her no matter what, and he would have loved a baby, too. He thought it should be obvious by now, enough for her to at least give him the benefit of a doubt, but Adrian also knew that Madeleine’s past had left plenty of wounds that needed healing.

  He just had to bide his time and be patient, and give her what she needed when she needed it.

  On his way home, he spotted a bookshop that practically screamed Madeleine— BellaLuna Books. Even the alliterative, whimsical name sounded like something she would put into a novel. He managed to find a parking spot down the street, hoping it was a sign that fate was on his side.

  A tinkling wind chime whispered welcome as he entered. “Hello there!” said a woman with striking purple hair. She was small, very petite and thin, almost dwarfed by the tall counter she stood behind. Adrian thought she looked like Tinkerbell's long-lost Hipster sister.

  “Hi,” he replied in a dull tone. He sounded less friendly than he would like, but his mind was on Madeleine. Perhaps a good book would make an apology easier. With the eclectic mix of books new and old, it could never hurt to ask—“You wouldn’t happen to have an Arlington Edition Jane Eyre, would you? I know that’s oddly specific but my—”

  He had to stop. The fairy-chick behind the counter was staring at him as if he were some freak of nature. “Um, yeah, maybe too oddly specific, I guess…sorry.”

  She suddenly shook her head, the messy purple bun on the top of her head shaking with her. “Three years, three years, I’ve had an Arlington Edition Jane Eyre sitting on my shelf and no one’s even shown the least bit of interest. Today, two people want one. What are the chances?”

  Adrian’s ears perked, but he didn’t even really think about what the f
airy-lady had said. “So, you have one, right?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s on hold for someone else now. I’m sorry.”

  Adrian took out his wallet. “Name your price. I don’t care how much it is. I’ll double whatever you’re charging the other guy.”

  “Or woman,” she corrected with a harrumph.

  “Offer still stands. Seriously."

  The lady shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s a very tempting offer but I couldn’t do that to a customer. Especially this one.”

  Adrian knew he might have to invoke his brother’s spirit. He wanted that damned book. As cheesy and terrible as it sounded, he knew bringing that book home would be the highlight of Madeleine’s day, and looking a bit more like the hero she needed him to be wouldn’t hurt either. He’d apologize, tell her how much he loved her, and all would be well again. At least he hoped. “Listen, I know bookstores are really getting hit right now by the e-book industry, and times can be rough trying to sell an actual paper copy of a book these days. And then, you’ve got to compete with those personality-less big box stores that everyone flocks to because they double as a Starbucks. I mean, you’ve got this fantastic, inviting space in this gorgeous tourist city, but that’s a challenge in and of

  itself, right? The rent here must be astronomical—”

  “Well, it is, but—”

  “Listen, let me make your rent for you this month. Hell, I’ll

  make it for next month, too, because that’s how much I want that book. Your other customer will have to understand, business is business.”

  The purple fairy laughed. “Are you kidding me? You have no idea who this customer is. Trust me, she could ruin my business.”

  “Must be some feisty character.”

  “Not really. She was a lot more chill than I would have imagined,” she replied, brow furrowed in thought.

  Adrian narrowed his eyes and leaned towards the counter. “I’m Adrian,” he said, extending his hand. “And you are?”

  “Freya,” she said, turning her nose at his outstretched hand.