She replied, “Okay. Anything going on?”

“Always. I have something for you. A little gift.”

“I’m bored. Be there in an hour or so.”

The bookstore was empty when she strolled in. The clerk at the front counter nodded but seemed too sleepy to speak. She went upstairs and ordered a latte and found a newspaper. Minutes later, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs and knew it was Bruce. Yellow-striped seersucker today, little green and blue bow tie. Always dapper. He got a coffee and they went outside to the balcony overhanging the sidewalk along Third Street. No one else was there. They sat in the shade at a table under a ceiling fan and sipped coffee. Bruce handed over his gift. It was obviously a book that had been wrapped in the store’s blue and white paper. Mercer tore the paper off and looked at it. The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan.

“It’s a first edition, autographed,” he said. “You mentioned her as one of your favorite contemporary writers, so I tracked it down.”

Mercer was speechless. She had no idea what the book was worth and was not about to ask, but it was a valuable first edition. “I don’t know what to say, Bruce.”

“ ‘Thanks’ always works.”

“It seems inadequate. I really can’t accept this.”

“Too late. I’ve already bought it and already given it to you. Call it a welcome-to-the-island gift.”

“Then thanks, I guess.”

“And you’re welcome. The first printing was thirty thousand copies, so it’s not that rare. It eventually sold half a million in hardback.”

“Has she been here, to the store?”

“No, she doesn’t tour much.”

“This is incredible, Bruce. You shouldn’t have.”

“But I did, and now your collection has begun.”

Mercer laughed and placed the book on the table. “I don’t exactly dream of collecting first editions. They’re a bit too pricey for me.”

“Well, I didn’t dream of being a collector either. It just sort of happened.” He glanced at his watch and asked, “Are you in a hurry?”

“I’m a writer with no deadline.”

“Good. I haven’t told this story in many years, but this is how I started my collection.” He took a sip, leaned back in his chair, put an ankle over a knee, and told the story of finding his deceased father’s rare books and plucking a few for himself.

5.

Coffee became a lunch date, and they walked to the restaurant at the harbor and sat inside, where the air was substantially cooler. As usual for his business lunches, Bruce ordered a bottle of wine; today’s was a Chablis. Mercer approved and they ordered salads and nothing more. He talked about Noelle, said she called every other day, and the search for antiques was going well.

Mercer thought of asking how her French boyfriend was doing. Once again, she found it difficult to believe that they could be so open with their affairs. It might not be unusual in France, but Mercer had never known a couple so willing to share. Sure, she knew people who had cheated, but when they got caught there was everything but acceptance. On the one hand she almost admired their ability to love each other enough to allow the other to stray at will, but on the other hand her southern modesty wanted to judge them for their sleaze.