information about his personal life and
she was too hesitant to ask him.
At her apartment, Linda checked the
mailbox for the invitation. A huge black
envelope with the End House return
address caught her attention. She
believed that black was a much too
morbid color for a party. She unlocked the
door and tossed the mail—along with the
curious invitation—onto the hall table.
She glanced up into the mirror hanging
above the table and noticed her very tired
reflection.
It was Friday and she’d worked a
long, hard week already. She had been
planning to work the whole weekend—
even on Sunday—to catch up on her
mounds of paperwork. She had to finish
stocking her shelves with the piles of
books that were stacked up high in her
office—still in their original cartons.
At least she had friends to come
home to. When she’d lived in New York
with her family, she had attended college
and worked part time at a bookstore—not
leaving her much free time to develop
long-lasting friendships.
She remembered the day, right after
graduating from college, when she’d
been searching through the newspapers
for a job. She’d run across an ad for a
bookstore to rent in Oasis that appeared
large enough to also accommodate a
coffee shop. At the time she recalled
thinking that the name Oasis sounded
perfect for a place to start over. She was
only twenty-two at the time, but she’d
wanted to find a new, more exciting
direction for her life.
That week she’d visited Oasis for the
first time. As soon as she’d entered the
bookstore, she’d known that this was her
oasis. The prior tenants had already
moved out but had left behind rows and
rows of bookcases. She’d stood by the
entrance, contemplating the empty store,
visualizing: a long coffee counter by the
entrance; tables, chairs, and comfortable
couches in front of the wide, corner
windows;
and
long
lines
of
bookshelves filled with books covering
a broad range of topics,extendin r