One night, I sat in a bookstore and cried.

I was reading Jim DeFede’s wonderful book, “The Day the World Came to Town: 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland,” and thinking about all of the people who wouldn’t make it home on September 11, 2001. I remembered attending the vigils for NYC firefighters in the years following the terrorist attacks. The sound of a bell tolling for the lost will always remind me of first responders and the dangers they faced. Then, I thought about the kind Canadians featured in the book, the ones who welcomed people from all over the world — scared and worried people, but still strangers — into their homes and schools. In the most trying of times, they offered food, clothing and showers.

That’s when I started to cry.

I could’ve felt ashamed or embarrassed to experience such emotion in public, but I did not. For I was in the company of my Silent Book Club chapter. My family of readers sat around a large table inside the cafe of our local Barnes & Noble, together yet lost in our own books. None of them would ever judge a fellow reader for having such a genuine response to a story. They understood.

For those who are unfamiliar with the concept, a Silent Book Club is an assembly of people who love books. They meet in person or online and discuss their latest reads. They chat about authors. They recommend novels and nonfiction tomes. They eat and drink and make merry. Eventually, the club’s members will settle down with a book of their choosing and simply read, together, in silence. Think of it as the adult version of quiet reading time from school.

Prior to the pandemic, these meetings required advanced reservations as well as the effort of blocking off time in the calendar. M and I would drive across town to attend and then return home as quickly as possible so that I could eat something before rushing to work. Now, due to the coronavirus pandemic, our group meets via Zoom.

I love how effortlessly our Silent Book Club chapter transitioned during such difficult times. Oh sure, we’ve encountered the odd technical glitch now and then. Instead of getting frustrated or mad, though, we laugh when someone’s screen freezes and adopt their strange and halted position so they can also enjoy the silliness of the moment when their connection clears. Book recommendations continue to fly fast and free at the beginning of each meeting and we always spend an hour reading together. Our individual rooms, separated by miles, joined by technology, are silent. Even the sounds of turning pages are muted. However, the connection to each other is tangible. We are still there for each other.

Our book club has been meeting for several years. When we first gathered, it was predictably awkward getting to know each other. Having a shared love of books and reading was a great unifier and always offered us a topic to discuss. Now, we also use these meetings to check in with each other. How’s the pregnancy going? Are you enjoying your art class? Have your migraines subsided? How is your new job? How are you holding up?

How are you holding up? This is a question asked with curiosity and without judgment. These men and women genuinely want to know. They care.

Over the last year and a half, I turned to gardening for a challenge and a way to create beauty in dark times. But it was in books — and with my Silent Book Club — that I truly found comfort.

–Title quote from William Nicholson.