Haunting Jasmine by Anjali Banerjee

asks.
    I give Ma a help me look. I hold my breath.
    Ma nods. “Ah, yes—we’ll bring it over later on. No room in the car right now.”
    I let out my breath.
    “Good. She must stay here,” Auntie says.
    “Just come back healthy,” I say. “One month.” I give her one last hug. I try to memorize the smell of Pond’s cold cream and the parchmentlike feel of her skin.
    She pats my cheek one last time before getting into the passenger seat of the car. She shuts the door, and Dad reaches over her to pull the seat belt across her lap.
    Ma and Gita pile into the backseat, Ma giving me a quick, questioning look. I shrug, then wave and back up toward the house.
    Auntie opens the window. “Wait, Bippy. Come here. I nearly forgot.”
    I rush to her side. She beckons me close, whispers in my ear. “Remember to have fun, Bippy!”
    I squeeze her shoulder and smile. “Fly safely.”
    Dad taps the steering wheel. “We’re going to be late!”
    “You must take care,” Auntie whispers. “Enjoy the moments while you have them.”
    I wave her off. “Don’t worry about me. You get well.”
    Dad starts up the car, and a plume of exhaust rises from the tailpipe. “We have to go.”
    “I’ll call you,” Auntie says.
    I step back onto the sidewalk, arms crossed over my chest as Dad pulls the car away from the curb. As my family disappears around the corner, I’m suddenly alone with the bookstore, the rain, and the rising windstorm.
    I’m in way over my head.

Chapter 10
     
    In Auntie’s messy office, I tackle the stack of paperwork on her desk. She has many unpaid bills and unsent invoices. She’s managed to run this business smoothly for years. Her illness must be distracting her, or the down economy is affecting her bottom line.
    When Tony arrives, he gives me a perfunctory nod and checks the answering machine. He’s dressed in various shades of evening—deep turquoise and black and gray—and sips espresso from a paper cup from Fairport Café. As he listens to the messages from customers, he jots notes, then looks around, shaking his head, hands on his hips. “I try to organize this place. Never makes any difference. Go figure.”
    I wave a Puget Sound Energy bill. “Should I pay these? Does she have a checkbook?”
    Tony snatches the bill from my hand. “Oh, girl, you don’t want to go there. I’ll pay these. She asked me to.”
    “Then what does she want me to do?”
    Tony makes a grand gesture with his arm. “Take care of the store. Get out there.”
    “But nobody’s here yet. I’m better with numbers. I could balance her accounts. I’m sure there are more bills to pay, invoices to check—”
    “And a bookstore to run. I’ll show you. Come with me.”
    Reluctantly, I follow him out into the hall. I spend the next hour helping him unpack boxes of books, shelve titles, rearrange displays.
    “Don’t put this up front,” he says, grabbing a hardcover thriller, Don’t Look Now , from the windowsill in the parlor.
    “But it’s new. I saw this title in the airport. Don’t you have more copies?”
    “We’re not a chain store,” he says, brandishing an old thriller with a tattered cover. “We provide an alternative, other possibilities.”
    “Fine. Since you know so much about making the bookstore turn a spectacular profit, I’ll leave you to it. I have better things to do.”
    “I’m sure you do.”
    I find a broom and a feather duster in a hall closet and set to work wiping every grimy surface. Tony comes up to me in the Antiquarian room and laughs. “You don’t expect your efforts to help, do you?”
    “A clean shop is a lucrative shop.” I try to open the window, but it’s painted shut.
    Tony keeps shaking his head, his sprayed hair remaining in place. “You don’t get it, do you? This store is special. You can’t force your will upon it.”
    “I can force anything I want.” I yank on the window again. No luck. “Does my aunt have tools? A screwdriver or something I can use to