Tommie Lyn

The Usefulness of Books

Loneliness carved a wide swath through the bravado Shirley had so carefully maintained, and the pieces of it collapsed around her. She laid the heavy book on the coffee table. Why had she believed the assurances of the bookstore clerk?

"Oh, you'll love it!" The clerk's plump cheeks shone like polished apples as the smile pushed them into round evidence of happiness. "It helped me soooo much!"

"Well, I don't . . ."

"Really, it does! Look here." She turned the book over, read a paragraph aloud.

And raised Shirley's hopes.

So Shirley bought it. And read it. But it failed to deliver the promised contentment and peace. Aloneness lay across her shoulders like a chill cloak. But worse, her ever-present nagging fear still clawed and chewed its way through her. She shook her head and berated herself.

Help me? Ha! Why did I fall for that hype?

Shirley looked at the book with its cleverly designed cover and sighed. What a waste of money. She switched off the lamp and padded into the bedroom. She laid her robe on the chair and climbed into bed.

* * *

A sound penetrated her dream and jostled her into wakefulness. An awareness that she was not alone shot through her and the last vestiges of sleep dissolved in the surge of fear that engulfed her.

"Hey, Shirley," he said softly.

She could barely breathe.

"What made you think you could get away from me?" He chuckled, low and lazy. "That was stupid. Like everything else you do."

She tried to speak but could not.

"So. Where is it?"

She merely stared at him.

"I know you don't have it here. Or do you?" He moved silently to the side of the bed and stood looking down at her. "No. You wouldn't be living in a dump like this if you had it with you. You never could resist spending money."

He leaned over, grasped her arm with one iron-hard hand and dragged her from the bed. She saw the gleam of the gun in his other hand. He shoved her into the living room, where the slanting shafts from the streetlight outside fell across the book, highlighting its shiny cover.

Shirley stumbled, almost fell, but caught herself, landing with both hands on the coffee table. She grasped the book, swung it around as she raised herself and slammed it into his hand, knocking the gun from it. His eyes widened and he raised his hands, but too slowly, as Shirley slammed the heavy tome into the side of his head. As he toppled, Shirley retrieved the gun from the couch where it lay, a smile forming on her lips.

She glanced at the book, lying beside his head. Her smile broadened.

The clerk was right. The book did help me.