We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

“Well.” Ike pauses to load a wad of tobacco into his lip. “It better be someone’s call. ’Cause it needs doing.”

Just then Ira shambles onto the porch, looking like Jesus in a Pendleton blanket. “You’re back.” He sneezes. “Did you get the medicine? I think I do have a fever.”

“Did you tell them they could paint?”

Ira pauses to consider, as if he doesn’t remember, even though this conversation has to have taken place in the last hour.

“We got two days of relative sunshine,” Ike says, “which in November is a gift.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Ira says.

“I can. We don’t need the building painted.”

Ira follows Ike’s gaze to the facade: the paint is patchy, some shingles are missing. “Respectfully disagree,” Ike says. “In fact, I suspect a lot of your water damage inside is coming from leaks on the outside. I’ll hazard that’s what split that beautiful mahogany shelf. The one you’re gonna replace with . . .” He trails off and shakes his head before spitting out the rest of the sentence. “Metal.”

“We couldn’t afford to buy a new wood shelf,” Ira tells Ike.

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

“Why would you buy anything new when you could repair the old one?” Ike asks. “But if you don’t find the source of your water damage, it’s gonna start all over again. So before you even think about fixing the inside . . .”

“Hold up!” I yell. “No one’s fixing the inside. Or the outside.”

“Why not?” Ira asks. “I mean, we’ve wanted to for a while now. It just keeps getting away from us. And now these gentlemen want to help. For free.”

“Ira,” I say levelly. “There’s no such thing as for free.”

“Ike swore it wouldn’t cost us anything.”

I laugh, hard and caustic. “That’s because he thinks we’re stupid. They all do.”

“Probably not half as stupid as you think we are,” Garry shoots back.

A sharp whistle cuts through the morning. Ike pulls his fingers from his mouth. “Like I told your father, you don’t need to worry about the money, but we’re wasting clear skies, so can we stop all this bickering and get to work?”

“Telling someone not to worry about money is like the opening to every swindle ever perpetrated.”

“Aaron!” Ira scolds. To Ike, he says, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“Nineteen years of living in this town is what’s gotten into me. And I know that when people like you say something’s free, it’s not.”

“People like us?” Garry asks. “You don’t know us.”

“You’re Caleb’s brother, right?”

His face hardens. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“He was an asshole to me.”

“Got news for you. He was an asshole to a lot of people. Doesn’t make you special.”

“Excuse me . . .” A middle-aged woman approaches the store. She’s wearing turquoise nursing scrubs, bright-green Converse high-tops. Rainbow-framed glasses hang off a purple chain around her neck. Everyone stops to stare at her, and not just because of the outfit. The woman is Black and there are about as many Black families in our town as there are Jewish ones. “I was told this was a bookstore,” she says, taking in the Lumberjacks and Jesus-Ira. “But perhaps I was misinformed.”

“No. It’s a bookstore!” Ira practically shouts. “Bluebird Books. It’s our bookstore. Mine and my son’s, Aaron’s. I’m Ira.”

“Hello, Ira. Aaron. I’m Bev.” She taps herself on the chest. “I just moved to town to work in the clinic. I thought it would be nice to build a small library for our younger patients because sometimes the wait can be a while and I’d like to give the children something to look at that isn’t a screen.”

Oh, what sweet music to Ira’s ears. He straightens up a bit. Smiles.

“I have a few requests.” Bev pulls out a piece of paper. “And I’d love some recommendations.”

What Bev is requesting is a hand-sell. The effect on Ira is dramatic. He stands up tall, shrugs off his blanket. “I can certainly help you with that.” He opens the door for Bev. “Aaron, I’ll leave you to sort this out with Ike.” He nods at Ike and disappears inside.

Garry starts unfolding the tarp all over the porch.

“Stop it!” I snap.

“You don’t want us to use a tarp?” Garry asks. “We’ll get paint everywhere.”

“I don’t want you to use a tarp.” I look at Richie. “I don’t want you to use the one hundred or the two hundred or the thousand grit.”

“Thousand grit’s overkill,” Richie says.

I look at Ike. “I don’t want you to paint.”

“Well, then, what do you want us to do?” Ike asks.

What do I want them to do? For starters, not kick a man when he’s down. But that’s what guys like these have always done. Whether it’s Caleb picking on me in high school, or Ike trying to pull a fast one on Ira now.

“I don’t want anything from you,” I tell Ike.

I have no idea that this is the most hurtful thing I could’ve said to him.

After I get rid of the Lumberjacks, I come inside to find Ira failing at the hand-sell.

“We have it. We have it,” he’s saying, his voice high and reedy. “I know we used to have it.”

“Have what?” I ask.

“Oh, Aaron.” Ira is flushed and miserable. “I can’t find anything on her list.” He shakes his head. “I used to know where everything was.”

“Maybe I can help.” I turn to Bev. “What are you looking for?”

She puts on the rainbow glasses. “Anything Percy Jackson. Anything Dog Man. Something about a unicorn rescue society. A book called Ways to Make Sunshine. Oh, wouldn’t that be nice around here. Any of the Wonder books. Anything by someone named Jason Reynolds. Anything from the Walter the Farting Dog series. A book about A Wrinkle in Time but not A Wrinkle in Time.”

“I think we have A Wrinkle in Time,” Ira says.

“Oh, I have that entire series,” Bev says. “This one is about A Wrinkle in Time. It has a map on the cover.”

“A map on the cover, you say?” Ira says.