Marc is as complex as a Rubik’s cube. I was never good with Rubik’s cubes.
Beth Stilton’s Diary
Lee left Sunday morning. I had taken over the cooking, and I made us waffles with strawberries for breakfast. Marc came down and joined us before I drove Lee to the airport and saw him off. My heart ached. He would be gone for sixteen days. It seemed like an eternity.
Three hours later, I went back to the airport for my own flight home. Marc had told Lee that he would get me to the airport, “get” being the operative word. He booked an Uber. I didn’t take it personally. He was a recluse.
Frankie picked me up in Lancaster and took me to the house. It was strange seeing their things in there with mine. I packed up what I planned to take back in my car, then we moved the rest to one corner of the front room. I had dinner with her and Arlo, then slept on the couch.
The next morning the movers came in a truck that was much too big for the few things I had. They transported what I had over to the storage unit Frankie had arranged for me. There wasn’t much, so we were done by noon. Frankie and I got a burger, then I dropped her off at the house and went into my office. I thought they would be upset at me for all the time I’d missed, but honestly, I don’t think they even noticed. I met with a few of my colleagues, then went back to the house.
Frankie was making dinner and had all sorts of questions about Lee and where I was living. I showed her pictures of the house and the view from the backyard. She just kept shaking her head and saying, “I always knew you were going places.”
Tuesday morning, I said goodbye to Frankie and Arlo and drove back to the Cape. Halfway there, Lee called, and we talked for more than an hour. He had just finished a book signing at a Little Professors bookstore in Birmingham and gone back to his hotel to rest. It was lovely to hear his voice. He bemoaned the fact that so many of his favorite bookstores were gone, especially the Books-A-Million in Hoover where he’d had one of his first signings. Carlie, unfortunately, had caught Covid and flown back home to Michigan to recover. Lee’s next stops were Cincinnati and Dayton.
I got back to the Cape by six. I made myself a salad, then took everything from my car into my room.
Wednesday morning, I went for a swim. Afterward, I dried off, then, still in my bathing suit, made myself some avocado toast. It was one of those days that I just didn’t feel the need to get dressed. I brought my computer out to the main room and signed back in to work. The house felt so empty without Lee around.
After work I went through the house library looking for something to read. Lee had an eclectic collection, from century-old classics to advanced readers copies that hadn’t been released to the public yet. There were two entire rows of his books, some in languages I didn’t recognize. I picked up one of them to see if I could figure out where it was from.
“That one’s in Farsi,” Marc said, startling me. “That’s Iran.”
“How are you?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“It’s how I roll,” he said. “Now you see me, now you don’t.” He looked me over. “Are you going swimming?”
“No. I went this morning. I just never bothered to get dressed.”
“Oh,” he said. I couldn’t tell what he thought of that. “Have you talked to Al today?”
“Not today. We talked yesterday for an hour.”
“You talked a whole hour? About what?”
“Life on the road and things…”
“Things,” he said.
“So, Lee’s books are in Iran?”
“Not legally. The US doesn’t have copyright agreements with Iran, so they just take them. We don’t get royalties.”
“That’s not good.”
“It’s no big deal. We’re doing okay.”
“How many countries are Lee’s books in?”
“Laurie would know that. We count languages instead of countries. Last count, we were translated into forty-three different languages. Have you read them all?”
“All the languages?”
“No. All his books. In English.”
“Yes. More than once.”
“And?”
“I love them. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re here because he loves you.”
I smiled at the thought. “You’re right.”
“Do you have a favorite of the books?”
“I loved them all. I think Jacob’s Ladder was his best critical work, but if I had to choose just one, I’d say Bethel. That’s the book that saved my life.”
“You mean figuratively, of course.”
“No, literally. It was a really hard time in my life. That book spoke to me. It gave me hope.”
He nodded. “Do you remember what part?”
“It was when he got to the city line and looked back and realized that nothing was really holding him to his past. There was a line about the shackles we wear.”
“?‘The greatest shackles we wear are those forged by our own fears.’?”
“That’s it,” I said. “It gave me hope.”
“You like to read.”
“I always have.”
“Have you read Steinbeck?”
“I read The Grapes of Wrath.”
“Grapes of Wrath, Cannery Row, Of Mice and Men, East of Eden, The Winter of our Discontent. He wrote some remarkable books.”
“I’ll have to look into them.”
“Just a minute,” Marc said. He ran up the stairs, returning a moment later with two books. They had leather covers, and the titles were imprinted in gold. “Of Mice and Men helped inspire Bethel.” He handed me one of the books. “You can read it.”
I took the book from him. “These are nice. They’re leather.”
“They’re just slipcases to protect them.”
“This book inspired Bethel?”
“Helped,” Marc said.
I opened the cover. On the title page was a signature.
“That’s not really John Steinbeck’s signature, is it?”
“Yes, it’s a signed first edition.”
I tried to give it back to him, but he just put his hands in his pockets.
“I’m not going to read this copy. I shouldn’t even be touching it.”
“What good is a book if you don’t read it? It’s a short read. You’ll notice the impact this little book had on popular culture. Steinbeck was a very powerful writer.”
“I’ll be careful with it.”
“This one is my favorite of Steinbeck’s works, East of Eden. Steinbeck considered it his magnum opus. He said everything he’d written up to that point was practice. He didn’t win any major awards for it, but he should have.”
“Is it autographed too?”
“No. I still haven’t found one of those.” He handed me the book. “But it’s also a first edition. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Thank you. I’ll have lots of time to read now that Lee’s gone.” I looked at him more closely. “What do you do when he’s gone?”
He didn’t answer me for a moment, then he said, “Same thing I do when he’s here.”
“And what is that?”
“A lot of reading.”
“Maybe someday you’ll write a book too.”
“Maybe,” he said. He looked me over again, then said, “You should probably wear clothes.”
“Sorry. I’ll do that.”
He walked back up the stairs. I wondered when I would see him again.