6 - Pages of Sin

not a good answer. “You’d have to do it alone. I’d be lying unconscious from all these books battering me in the head.”
    She looked over and smiled indulgently. “Then don’t do anything yet. I’ll help you in a minute.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    As Mom continued exploring the room and making notes, I stood and skimmed the book spines for titles. Besides looking for books to repair, I was looking for books to read for pleasure.
    I’d always thought I could never get enough books, but I think Wanda had come close to it.
    In one stack alone, there were three copies each of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. Wanda was obviously a fan of the Bronte sisters, as well as Jane Austen, Trollope, Mary Stewart, Raymond Chandler, and a huge number of contemporary authors.
    Two tall stacks were devoted to romance novels. Another two or three were all mysteries and thrillers. I noticed she didn’t mix hardcovers with paperbacks. And as Mom had promised, there were piles of leather-bound classics in abundance. It was a booklover’s fantasy and a bookbinder’s dream.
    “What makes someone start hoarding stuff like this? I mean, I love books, too, but this is ridiculous.” I stretched to reach a book at the top of a stack of leather-bound classics, but couldn’t get hold of it.
    Mom glanced at me from thirty feet away. “I have no idea.”
    “Is it a control issue?” I said, then added, “But then she lost control. Sad and weird.”
    “Maybe she always planned to buy some nice bookshelves to organize everything, but then couldn’t decide what style to buy.”
    “So she never bought any?”
    Mom shrugged. “Who the heck knows?”
    “They’re just bookshelves,” I muttered, then felt guilty for judging the deceased woman. “I guess some people have a hard time making a decision.”
    “That was Wanda.” Mom chuckled, but there was a touch of sadness to the sound. “She used to drive me to distraction over the simplest little choice. Chocolate or vanilla? Coffee or tea?”
    “Now wait a minute,” I argued. “Who wouldn’t have a problem deciding between vanilla and chocolate? I assume we’re discussing milkshakes.”
    “Yes,” she said, chuckling again. “But Wanda would act as if the fate of the world depended on her decision. Whenever we went out to lunch, I would have to grab the menus and order for her. She couldn’t handle reading all the choices. We used to laugh about it, but I can see now how that little quirk might have developed into a real sickness with her.”
    “That’s so sad.”
    Mom looked thoughtful as she gazed around the room. “At least she surrounded herself with beautiful things.”
    “That’s something, anyway,” I murmured, glancing at the profusion of “things.” I wondered if Mom was trying to picture her old friend living amidst this overabundance. “Did Wanda and Byron have children?”
    “No, they never did. I imagine she wanted to. I think she would’ve been a good mother. She always loved you kids.”
    “She was always so nice to us.” As I studied the cracked leather spine of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence, something sparked a memory and I looked over at Mom. “What was that cake she used to bring us?”
    “Oh.” Mom smiled, reminiscing. “She used to make a cinnamon coffee cake for you kids. It came from an instant mix, I think, but it didn’t matter. You loved it.”
    “That’s right.” I smiled, too. “We would shadow her from the front door to the kitchen table. As soon as she set the plate down, we’d gobble it up like piranhas. She must’ve thought we were little monsters.”
    “You were,” she said, chuckling. “But she enjoyed you all.”
    I put the Wharton in the packing box. Then Mom joined me and we worked as a team for the next twenty minutes. We filled four boxes quickly, despite my rule that we keep the selection limited to leather-bound books that needed repair. I noticed Mom sneaking a few current paperback thrillers into the box and I have to admit I did the same.
    I was perversely thrilled to find that a number of the leather bindings were indeed warped and peeling from being compressed together so snugly. Despite wincing each time I spotted any damage, I reminded myself that these books would give me and my students more to work on and learn from.
    I leaned back to look up at all the books I hadn’t reached yet. Pointing, I said, “She’s got three volumes of Jane Austen at the top of that stack, but there’s no