Livre Cafe

After her aunt's sudden, unexpected passing, Grace Belliso finds a business in her seemingly-uncapable-hands while she struggles to come to terms and discover the truth behind her recent loss.

 

            There was something about the smell of old books that brought me comfort. The leather bound pages, worn from the countless times they’d been turned, would breathe the words upon them to life and transport me from where I stood to another world entirely. It made me believe that there was much more to existence than whatever I was feeling at that moment, in endless possibilities, and that I wasn’t alone. This is the aroma that filled the air every time I wandered into The Livre Cafe: pure warmth. 

            For a long time it was home, The Livre Café. My aunt, Valerie Belliso, created my haven when I was a child. The small seaside town she’d moved to was in between tourist cities; it was close enough to a university that a stray student would wander in for a cup of coffee occasionally, but far enough that people who wanted to enjoy the beach, but not the people who inhabit it, would flock to the historic district for relaxation and some country charm.

            The brick townhouse had been converted for business when she’d purchased it, as had much of the neighboring buildings. What was once a small neighborhood become a shopping zone, full of creativity and love. My aunt was deemed insane by my mother, who criticized her for moving out to the “middle of nowhere”, abandoning her career to start an antique bookstore and coffeehouse. Before she moved to Sesliburg, Valerie was involved in insurance sales. She made decent money, yes, and said everything she did was for the wellbeing of her clients, but she wasn’t happy. The elderly woman she purchased her building from had just lost her husband, and didn’t have the heart or energy to maintain the property; Aunt Val managed to secure it at a more-than-reasonable price, and moved in the next week. The top floor had been converted to her living spaces, full of modern furniture and flowers; the bottom floor was where all the magic happened.

            The focal point was the brick fireplace that drew your eyes to it when you walked past through that large wooden door, surrounded by chairs and couches of various colors. A small bar rested on the right hand side, elevated slightly by a step or two. Fresh pastries always rested on the counter top, delivered daily from the bakery down the street, and the back counter was lined with miscellaneous spices and syrups.  Mahogany shelving lined the back walls, full of the books I’d help Aunt Val select to sell while I was growing up�"sometimes they were acquired at an estate sale in town, a field trip for us to gather some items for the shop, other times they were donated by the random townsperson.

Summer was the busy season in town, vacationers passing through consistently for a latte and a place to rest. Every teenage summer I had was spent in Sesliburg, sleeping in Aunt Val’s apartment during the night, and helping her around the shop during the day. She had been a single-handed-operation since the shop’s creation, with her neighboring business owner, Celeste, stopping in to assist her as needed.

I chose to go to Sesliburg University because it was close to the town I’d grown to love, and then I’d be nearby if Aunt Val decided she’d needed help. My junior year of college she’d decided she hadn’t needed me there: she’d manage alone during the school year, and hired a neighbor’s grandchild during the summer. I sulked, naturally, feeling unwanted by someone who had always said there was a place or me�"someone that said I’d always be wanted.

Senior year passed, and Aunt Val lost touch with me. She’d become distracted, had even shut down business for a few weeks. I’d attempted to visit on weekends, but she’d always seemed to come up with excuses as to why we couldn’t just talk.

“I’ve got to go upstate to an art dealer,” she’d said once. “I should be gone for a day or two, it’s a huge auction”. When I was younger, I’d have been invited to tag along. This clearly wasn’t the case anymore.  She was starting to disappear from my life, and I wanted to know why.

I reached out to my mother, wanting to know if she’d heard anything from her younger sister, anything that would help me make sense as to why she suddenly didn’t want me there. Mom knew nothing, but nevertheless tried to contact Valerie because I was so distraught.

Aunt Val didn’t come to my graduation, despite the numerous invitations I’d extended via phone, email, and postal service. I called Celeste, who tried her best to be soft spoken and kind to me. “Oh sugar,” she’d said, “Your Aunt Val is just in a rough spot right now. She loves you dearly, but her heart can’t take it”.

I had no idea what she meant, but I suddenly didn’t want to be near Sesliburg anymore.

            Valerie and my mother were never close growing up, but the one passion they shared was me. It had always seemed as if my mother was the flighty, flirty, older sister who had just done the best with what she had been dealt. Valerie was more focused, more concerned with what she could give to the world rather than what it would do for her. When I was born and my father left, Valerie was there to help put together the pieces of my mother’s broken heart: we moved in to her home shortly after my life began. She was there to feed me when my mother was too depressed to get out of bed, there to help me with homework when my mom had to work late at the office, and there to coach me through life when I felt alone. As my mom saw the relationship that had developed between me and my aunt, she finally realized the role that Valerie had taken on was the one she was supposed to have. We moved out of Valerie’s apartment while I was still in grade school. Shortly after, Valerie moved to Sesliburg to find her purpose.

            I don’t know what she found, but for the longest time I thought it was happiness. Over the past few years though, I wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

#

“Grace, can you hear me?”

There was a voice speaking, I was sure of it. It was quiet, soft, but it was there. My blue eyes refused to open, sure that if they did there would be an onslaught of sunlight or bright colors. No, that simply wouldn’t do.

“Gracie, I need you to open your eyes and look at me, baby.”

It was a male voice, I’d realized. It was familiar, and while it was soft, still remained strong at the same time.

“Please, I need you to look at me. I need you to hear me. Please talk to me.”

Tony.

Tony Lanoix was rugged. He was tough, mentally and physically, with a tan complexion and a smile that made me drool. We’d met that summer I wasn’t wanted at the Livre Café, when I’d stayed on campus and took classes during the summer. He’d stayed too, and tripped over me while I was laying out on the grass reading, clearly ruining his run. He was covered in sweat, and suddenly I was covered in him.

I knew then that he was mine.

I know now that I needed him to shut up.

            Hesitantly, I managed to crack one pale eyelid open, and was assaulted with brown bangs poking me in the eye. I felt the bed shift, and a sigh come from the large man that was on the other side of it.

            “Your mother’s here,” he said solemnly. The other eyelid snapped open immediately, my small frame was suddenly trapped as I turned frantically in the sheets that adorned our mattress. Tony had a small apartment near campus that I’d stayed at frequently during my senior year, and now that I was out of school I was officially living here full-time. It was a small studio apartment, with brick walls and bad heating, but it was ours. Well, it was his, but he gave me the whole “what’s mine is yours” spiel as I threw my giant color coordinated containers of clothing in front of his sofa.

            My mother didn’t visit. I’d been here for months, and she’d never so much as called.  

            I remember grimly walking to the living room, still in my sweatpants and t-shirt, and walking straight into a hug of tears and emotion.

            I said nothing.

            I felt nothing.

            I remember hearing her speaking incoherently, sobbing into Tony’s shoulder, who awkwardly patted her back, unsure of what to do.   

            “I have to go,” I said quietly, hearing my own voice for the first time in hours. It cracked slightly, and I felt that miserable lump in my throat that I knew would rise to the surface if I spoke anymore. My mother looked up at me as I spoke, as if seeing me for the first time, and she silently pleaded with her eyes for me to stay. Tony glanced at me from where he sat, and just gave a small nod in approval. He would handle my mother, though it wasn’t his job.

            It took about an hour for me to get over to Main Street that evening. Night had fallen, and the streetlights blanketed the old townhouses on Main St. with a sort of somber glow. I parallel parked my vehicle behind my aunt’s small silver hybrid and walked down the street to where I hoped I would find peace.

            There was a single white candle at the front door when I walked up to the Livre Café. It had not been lit long, but I was grateful for its presence. The door was slightly cracked, unlocked thankfully, as the keys were no longer in my possession.

            The lights switched on after a second of thinking about it, the wiring in this old building had never cooperated with me very much. The counters were slightly dusty, a table or two moved from where they had originally been, but it was otherwise still the same.

There was something about the smell of old books that brought me comfort. It made me believe that there was much more to existence than whatever I was feeling at that moment, in endless possibilities, and that I wasn’t alone. This is the aroma that filled the air every time I wandered into The Livre Cafe: pure warmth.  It felt like home.

The warmth was gone though, and so was Aunt Val.

Author's Note

It's been ages since I've written, and this is a rough draft of a first chapter for a potential NaNo project--input is greatly appreciated as to how I can make this flow a little better.