We stopped in front of a shop whose display window was crammed with all kinds of candles. The smell that wafted out made my eyes water.

“Ooh!” Mom’s face lit up. “Let’s go in here. I love smelly-good stuff.”

Mo looked like she was going to throw up. I scanned the shops, looking for an excuse to get out of going inside. Across the street was a small bookshop with a sign in the window that said Buy One Get One Free.

“I’m gonna go check out the bookstore,” I said.

“Sure, baby,” Mom said as she hooked her arm under Mo’s. “I’ll text you when we’re done so we can figure out where we’re gonna eat.” They disappeared into the candle shop.

My phone buzzed as I crossed the street. I took it out of my pocket and checked the text.

Mo: How dare you

She was staring out the front window of the candle shop, a pained look on her face. I shot her a grin.

An older woman in an orange apron walked up to Mo and handed her a basket. Mo nodded and waved me on. The woman followed her gaze and as she made eye contact with me, she did a double take. Her eyes grew wide with what I could only figure was shock, and then she smiled the cheesiest grin I’d ever seen.

Manically grinning ladies, old dudes with machetes in the woods, and strangers in the driveway—I was starting to understand what Mrs. Redmond and Dr. Grant were hinting at. Some of the people in Rhinebeck were clearly on some other shit. I turned and hurried toward the bookshop.

Almost every single shop I passed had potted plants outside or hanging from their awnings, and I could feel them rustling in their containers as I went by. Maple trees rooted in squares of dirt dotted the sidewalk for as far as I could see. Ignore. Breathe. I couldn’t stretch here, not out in the open.

The bookshop sat tucked between a tailor’s shop and a pharmacy, the door propped open with a half-dead cactus. As I went in, it greened up and stretched toward me. I nudged the container away from the door and let it clang shut behind me.

Dust floated in the shafts of sunlight shining through the shop window. As I wandered through the closely fitted stacks, the musty smell of books, most of them more than gently used, stuck in my nose. I spotted a stack of old Audubon field guides in a plastic crate on the floor. Priced at $2.50 each, they were in perfect condition. The pictures were still bright and I’d always loved the rainbow-colored covers.

A huge crash suddenly rattled the shop. I spun around to see a young guy, probably my age, sprawled on the floor. A stack of books he’d been holding lay scattered around him like fallen leaves.