I stood on my tiptoes and scanned the room for someone who looked like a salesperson, and then a teenage girl popped up from behind the counter, startling me into laughter. “Hey,” she said. “You need some help?”

“I didn’t see you.” I leaned over the counter to see from where she’d actually emerged.

“Filing …” She pointed to the floor, where papers were arranged in piles.

“I’m looking for a book on Atlanta history, especially the time from about the 1950s through 1970s. With pictures,” I said.

“Hmm …” She stared off past me, toward the street. Her long dark hair fell down her back, and her blue eyes squinted against her thoughts.

“Got it,” she said, walking out from behind the counter and motioning. “Follow me.”

She walked and talked at the same time, and I held in laughter because she was obviously an adolescent with her jaunty step, swinging hair, and cut-off jeans, but she talked and acted as if she owned the store. “We have a variety of history books, but I’m thinking the best for what you need is called Atlanta and Environs. Then we also have these lovely picture books that are done for all the places in the South. We have one from the 1960s, I do believe. If we don’t have it, the library will, or I can order it for you.” She stopped in front of a shelf with piles of large books; she pulled one off the shelf. “Here.”

This book was as big as the family Bible, and I opened the cover. “Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. You can browse through these if you want.” She ran her finger over the spines of the books as if they were children. “And if you have any questions, my name is Ashley and I’ll be at the front desk.”

“Okay, then, Ashley. Thank you.”

I tried to imagine my Lil or Sadie’s daughter, Kenz, speaking like that, but I couldn’t. I had always bit my tongue so as not to tell Lil to eliminate “like” from her vocabulary. I chose two books and then noticed the pungent aroma of oil paint, which I followed like a perfume to the back room to hit upon treasure: an art store connected to the bookstore.

The building itself was a cat curled in sleep, bending around the corner so that the bookstore resided on the main street and the café and art store on the side street. I placed the books on a café table and then browsed through the art supplies to find poster board and paper for a timeline. When Hutch’s voice filled the room, I was already smiling.

He wasn’t saying my name, but I knew his voice. “Ashley, you’re late for swim practice. Come on. Your dad is gonna kill you and then me.”

Then Drew’s voice. “Ashley, come on.”