Something simple. Something straightforward.

B. came into the shop with her husband. She only comes in with her husband now. They were looking for a book for her. He suggested something and then I suggested something and she said, “Oh no, this is too much for me.” He pulled me aside and told me she has Alzheimer’s, which I had suspected for some time but now had it confirmed. “She sees me reading and wants to read, too,” he said. “We need something simple. Straightforward.”

I grabbed Foster by Claire Keegan and brought it to her. “It’s about an Irish girl who goes to live with her aunt and uncle for the summer,” I said, even though a moment later I wasn’t sure it was her aunt and uncle, perhaps just distant relatives, were we even told, I couldn’t remember.

“Oh,” B. said, “Irish! Oh, yes, that sounds good.”

“It’s a really nice story,” I said, handing her the book, which is small and short, not overwhelming at all.

It was also a $20.00 hardcover, on the cheap side for a hardcover, which made me feel less bad about selling it to them. Should I feel bad taking their money for a book she will probably not read? What is the etiquette here?

“Yes, this is just what I want,” B. said.

We went to the counter and he paid and they both stood there and I handed him the book and the receipt and he said thank you and I said thank you and I looked in his eyes and tried to convey understanding (though what do I understand?) and compassion and then I quickly smiled at B., trying to be normal (what is normal?). She had always been a good customer, kind and thoughtful and to the point, and I’ll miss her.

It’s hard watching these women, all regular customers - B. and S. and L. - losing their memories. What are we to each other when our relationship is based on the transactional? Bookstore transactions feel like they must carry more meaning somehow. That helping someone decide which books to buy, whether for themselves or loved ones, means we learn something more personal about the customer. It’s more intimate than — than what? I suppose every transaction out in the world tells you something about the person. We are constantly sharing little pieces of ourselves. Our grocery store checkout person probably knows a lot more about me than I realize. If we had the same checkout person each time.

I knew B. well enough to not have to ask for her phone number when she came to the counter to pull up her account, to know she bought gifts for grandkids, that money didn’t seem to be an issue, to know she still put cards in the mail, and she has a loving husband. What is that really?

And how do their spouses cope and how do we all cope and how do I know when to stop selling to them, how do I know when is the right time, how does anyone know?