“You have got to read a memoir.” I marched over to the memoir section and pulled down three books. “Try these.”

“But I don’t like memoirs.”

“Now you’re repeating yourself. You’re irritating my brain. What’s your favorite genre?”

“I like books about vampires.”

I sighed. I groaned. I slapped my forehead so my brain didn’t fall out of my ears. “Look. Vampires are fine now and then, but you can’t build a personal reading library on vampires!”

“What’s a personal reading library?”

I groaned again. “Sit down.” I pointed to the seats by the windows. “Sit. Open the book. Read it.”

“I have to meet my mother soon.”

“Text her. Tell her to come here when she’s done doing whatever. You have got to expand your closed mind and read about other people in this world who don’t bite necks and have long teeth.”

The young woman sat down and sulkily opened a book while I crossed my arms and waited. I stood there for one minute.

She liked the memoir so much, she didn’t even notice when I left. Because I felt bad about getting mad at her, I brought her a piece of peppermint cake and chamomile tea. Her mother walked in. “How come your daughter reads only about vampires? I mean, bite me. That’s a very limited scope of reading.”

“What? You blame me? I can’t control her. She’s weird. She likes vampires. Look at her hair. She always wears black. Did you see that snarky serpent? She snuck out and got two tattoos on her butt last weekend—one of a skull, the other of a skeleton. Yeah, she has a skull and a skeleton on her butt. She listens to music that sounds like the devil banging on drums. She’s out of my control. What can I do?”

I pointed to her. “Your daughter is reading, wait for it”—she raised her eyebrows—“a memoir.”

Her mother gasped. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

The mother bought her daughter three memoirs. The mother winked at me when she left. “No more vampires for a few days.” She mimicked chomping down on someone’s neck, and I laughed.

* * *

Jules had to leave the island the next day. She came into town to hug me at the bookstore.

“Whew. Got a lot ready and done for the wedding, but Mom and Aunt Iris and Aunt Camellia are all quiet and secretive. I can’t figure it out. It’s something about the DNA test. It’s confusing.” She ran a hand through that long blonde hair of hers, then started playing with her three necklaces. “They seemed almost angry about the whole thing. Or worried.”

“It’s both, I think. Mom won’t talk to me about it. I don’t get it.”

“I don’t, either.”

“Maybe they do think it’s a violation of their privacy.”