Part 8: The Open Door

A year after Poppy first appeared in my library, the station shop was still open. Its sales had improved gradually, though not every event succeeded. Farah canceled a workshop that drew too few registrations and replaced it with a monthly book exchange. Tomas adjusted the collection schedule after commuters said the evening window was too short.

The shop's sign could be seen from both directions now. The landlord had approved a second, modest sign, and the team kept the entrance clear. The loose handle had been repaired. Poppy checked it on every visit, with Lena reminding her to let other people through.

The household staff policy had been reviewed twice. Some details changed after staff found the first version confusing. Martin posted the updated procedures and made sure each employee had a copy. Lena's schedule had changed too; she was taking an evening course in bookkeeping, something she had wanted to do before Poppy was born.

She did not need my permission to have ambitions beyond her work in my house. I helped only when she asked for a reference, and I wrote about the skills I had actually seen. She thanked me and submitted the application herself.

One Saturday Farah invited families to celebrate the shop's anniversary with a reading. Poppy arrived with Lena and her grandfather, carrying the toy badge in her pocket. She had outgrown several pairs of shoes but still enjoyed pretending to run a security office.

Before the reading she approached me with a small notebook. “I have a question,” she said.

“Am I in danger?”

“No. Do you want to sit with us?”

The question caught me by surprise. I had spent the previous year learning to attend events without finding a reason to leave early. I had also learned that accepting company did not require me to fill every silence.

“I'd like that,” I said.

We sat together while Farah read. Poppy's grandfather translated a word quietly for her when she asked. Lena held the book open afterward so Poppy could see the pictures. A new customer asked Tomas where to find the large-print shelf. At the counter, Martin bought a novel he had been recommending to everyone else for months.

Afterward I walked through the shop and stopped beside the window. Sarah's old handwritten shelf labels had been preserved in a small frame. The new signs were clearer and easier to read. Keeping her memory had not required leaving everything exactly as it was.

Poppy joined me. “Your water?” she asked.

I showed her the bottle in my hand. “Full.”

“Your toast?”

“Eaten.”

She nodded with satisfaction. “You don't need a bodyguard today.”

“What do I need?”

She looked toward her mother and grandfather, who were waiting by the door. “A bookmark. You keep losing your page.”

Farah handed me a plain card, and Poppy drew a purple handle on it. I put it in my book. Then we joined the others outside, holding the door for the next family as they came in.