Tag: drama

prompt:  Write about a character who’s stuck in a shopping mall.

available at Reedsy

There were, no doubt, better places to hide out, but this one was available. The storm was coming. Already, the heavy rains pounded against the large glass wall of the main mall entry.

Deciding that the glass was likely to turn into shrapnel when the storm fully hit, Angel moved deeper into the pitch-black mall, the crowbar she’d used to break in hanging from one hand. Her phone provided a little light, at least for now. She didn’t dare check how much battery it had left.

The drumming of the rain echoed in the empty promenade, louder now. A bright flash illuminated the empty store fronts, followed by the boom of thunder that hurt her ears.

She looked up to realize that the entire promenade had massive skylights for a roof. That, combined with the sheer amount of glass in the empty store fronts made her more nervous.

Angel tried to remember the last time she’d been here. What brought her back to the city she’d fled she couldn’t say. Years ago, when the stores were still open and the mall was packed daily, this was a happy place for her. She wasn’t sure what had killed the mall, but it was a dead, dusty thing now long faded like her memories.

Aside from some graffiti, though, the inside looked untouched. Another bright flash followed immediately by the boom of thunder pulled her head back into the present and presented a possibility.

She shined her phone’s light at the sign she’d glimpsed in the lightning flash. The restrooms and mall office were down a hallway just ahead. No exterior windows, no skylights, it would do.

The end of the hallway presented her with the restrooms and a heavy door to the office. She tried the door, but it was locked. Angel tried to break the lock with the crowbar, but the door was sturdier than the outside door she’d jimmied.

The sound of glass shattering and the sudden increase in pressure motivated her to run on to the restrooms. There was no door on the men’s, but the women’s restroom was still whole.

Angel sat down against the inside wall, feeling the air pressure pulsate as the door opened and closed, pumping like a bellows in response to the gusts. She turned off her phone’s flashlight to save her battery and darkness made her eyes strain to get the light that didn’t exist.

She closed her eyes, listening to the storm raging outside. The door was spending more time opened than closed, the wind raging past in the hallway outside. The steady drumming of the rain was punctuated with the percussive sound of branches or other detritus striking the skylights like mallets on a giant drum.

The faint echo of a whimper caught her attention. It was a dog, she was certain, and it sounded as scared as she was. She turned on her phone’s flashlight and called out, “In here, puppy! In here!”

The whimpering drew closer. A small mutt, curly brown coat soaked, showing the emaciated frame beneath, slunk in, ears down, tail between its legs. It bumped its nose against her hand and rolled on its back, shivering.

Angel turned off the flashlight and lifted the feather-light puppy into her lap. “You look how I feel,” she said. She stroked the wet fur slowly, giving the scared pup time to trust her.

“I think,” she said, “you’ve been living on the streets as long as I have. If we make it out of here I’ll make sure you get some food, okay?”

The dog licked at her hands, tentative at first, then gaining confidence. It tried to burrow under her sweatshirt, and she helped it. “Yeah, I don’t have much, but I can share some warmth at least.”

Every crash of thunder, sound of breaking glass, and large strike of rubble against the skylights made the dog tense and shiver. Angel cradled the scared animal under her sweatshirt and rocked it slowly, as she had rocked her baby once.

“I never got the chance to be a mommy,” she said, “but I’ll be one for you.” She remembered the day, what should have been the best turned into the worst day of her life. Her small son, cradled in her arms, umbilicus freshly cut, as he lay still and lifeless. The doctors tried, for what seemed like hours, but there was nothing they could do but let her say goodbye. Tears ran down her face, mirroring the rain outside, as she remembered the day that made her run away from her own life.

By small measures, the puppy she cradled calmed, until it finally slept, sucking on her sweatshirt. A sad smile crossed Angel’s face, as she continued to rock the sleeping puppy.

The storm tailed off so slowly Angel didn’t notice until it was silent. Her hips and back hurt from sitting on the tile floor. She realized that she could make out the sinks and stalls. Light was coming in from somewhere.

Angel rose, careful not to drop the puppy, that stirred and tried to lick her face as she took it out from under her sweatshirt. She put her phone in a pocket and picked up the crowbar with her free hand.

The door to the restroom stood open a crack, a small branch wedged under it. She forced it open the rest of way with her shoulder and stepped out into the hallway. Leaves and small pieces of branches littered the hallway. She turned the corner to the main promenade, where the morning sun poured in the shattered skylights.

What appeared to be an entire tree lay in the main walk, surrounded by shards of glass. Not a single skylight had survived the storm.

The puppy squirmed. “No, I can’t set you down in here, you’ll cut your feet. Let’s get out of here.”

She walked out of the shattered main doors to the path of the storm’s destruction. The river had flooded and taken over the lower parking lots. Pieces of building material and trees were piled against one wall of the mall. The construction site to the south had been scrubbed clean.

A heavy sigh escaped Angel’s lips as she realized that her squat was gone. She’d known it wouldn’t last forever, but at least until the construction was done would’ve been nice. She walked to a grassy island in the parking lot and set the puppy down.

Her phone still had a little charge, and she still had the one important number in it. She looked at the number and locked her phone. Was that why she’d come back? She would have to get something to eat soon, and she wasn’t likely to get any water at the fast-food places, since they’d all be closed.

She wondered if the water in the downtown park bathrooms, four miles away, was working. At least she wouldn’t die of thirst, then. The park was a good place to panhandle, too. She could get at least enough to buy something off the five-dollar menu at the taco place…assuming it was even open.

A whimper at her feet brought her back to the present. The puppy was begging to be picked up. She picked it up, holding it on its back Ike a baby.

“You’re a cute little girl, aren’t you?” She scratched the puppy’s belly. “Well, I promised to feed you, and I can’t do that without help, can I?”

The puppy nibbled at her fingers, play biting turning into an attempt at suckling. Angel took a deep breath, unlocked her phone and hit the “call” button before she could change her mind. The line on the other end rang once, twice, then was answered.

“Mo—mom?” Angel’s voice broke. “I—is it okay for me to…I mean, can I come home?”

prompt: Begin your story with somebody watching the sunrise, or sunset.

available at Reedsy

Something woke me before dawn. I hoped it was a ship, but I couldn’t see any lights. Instead, I watched the sun rise over the ocean. Low chop, there would be no merciful breeze today.

A whale breached and blew, and then another and another. If they were this close to the island on their migration, I knew there must be a shoal of fish out there. I readied my net and hoped they would drive the fish toward me.

I waded out to where the water was just above my knees, the waves reaching just below my chest. How long I stood there, net at the ready, I don’t know. When the whales herded the shoal using bubbles, a portion of them broke off, and swam straight towards the shore in their panic. I caught thirteen on the first cast, waded back out and caught another eight. They weren’t big fish, but they’d be a nice supplement to coconut, roots and leaves of whatever didn’t make me sick, and the tiny crabs that I sometimes roasted and crunched up shells and all.

The island was, I figured, about an acre, give or take. There were plenty of coconut palms, some sparse grass, and a few plants growing in the shade of the palms. Every now and then, a coconut would wash ashore with the high tide, explaining where they came from. The other plants must have hitchhiked in on them as seeds.

Smallish grey and white gulls returned every year to nest. The noise and stink were nearly unbearable at first, but by the time they left I was used to it. It gave me the opportunity to gather eggs, and the weak chicks that were either hatched too late, or too slow to develop and were left behind. The eggs were far tastier than the chicks, but I couldn’t afford to be picky.

I had stopped keeping track of the days a couple of years before, so it was always a pleasant surprise when the gulls showed up to nest. With the whales passing through, it should be sometime in the next few weeks. I replaced the palm fronds on my hut’s roof. I didn’t mind the rain so much, when it came, but could do without being covered in guano while I slept.

I gutted the fish and hung them to dry in the salt air. Fire was a luxury, and not one I employed often. My fuel was limited to coconut husks and dried guano, unless I wanted to cook; then I’d leave out the guano, as the flavor it imparted was horrendous.

The only things left of my sailboat were the now tattered and faded flags that flapped on a pole strapped to one of the palms, my logbook, and the few tools I had rescued before the broken hull washed out to the deep water. A machete that was noticeably thinner of blade than when I had started, a hatchet, now in need of a handle, fifty feet of nylon rope that I had unwound and worked into a net, and a titanium spork that had been a joke birthday gift.

With the fish hung to dry there was little to do for the rest of the day, so I checked the state of my palm skirt. I’d been living nude for at least the last seven years, but I figured out how to make a skirt like I’d seen in travel brochures, in case I was rescued. My skin had gone leathery and dark, and I probably had skin cancer by now, but that was a concern for another day. The skirt was starting to get brittle, so I mentally added replacing it to my to-do list and lay down to a nap in the shade.

A stiff, damp breeze woke me in the late afternoon. It was coming from the west, rather than the east. A storm was brewing, and the dark skies to the west confirmed it. There wasn’t much I could do, besides ride it out. Everything that could blow away was gathered and secured to one of the posts of the hut. It swayed in the wind, and I knew the roof would be blown away again, but that was just normal. I hadn’t seen a storm quite like this one since the one that had stranded me here, though.

I carried the logbook, machete, hatchet, and spork with me to the center of the island to get as much protection from the storm as possible. The tops of the palms were already bending toward the east, dropping coconuts and losing fronds to the high winds. The rain started, coming in sideways, and I had to sit, lest I be blown over. I watched as the flags, and the pole they were tied to, flew away in the winds. Now there was nothing to differentiate this island to passing ships.

I knew, at least intellectually, that the flags made no difference. I’d been here for over ten years and never saw a ship. The shipping lanes were far away from here. Still, it snuffed out the little hope I’d had for rescue.

The ground grew muddy, and rivulets of water flowed in crazy directions all around me, driven by the shifting winds at ground level. The island was nearly flat, and the wind strong enough to push the water up whatever small gradient there was.

It was perhaps an hour later that the winds and rain stopped, and the noon sky cleared. I expected to see that I was in the eye of the storm, but it had passed me by, hitting me with the northern-most part of it. When I rose, the last foot of my braid was muddy from the point where it passed my hips.

The hut was in a shambles, only the corner posts, sturdy driftwood logs sunk deep in the earth, still standing. What I at first thought was my little catch of fish strewn across the beach turned out to be hundreds of live fish, flopping about where they’d been washed ashore.

Not one to turn down a free meal or ten, I gathered them all up, gutted them, and strung them up along with my original catch. “Thank you, storm,” I croaked. I hadn’t spoken in ages and my voice sounded foreign and strange to me.

The fish strung up, and the sun getting low on the horizon, I decided to leave rebuilding the hut for another day. I walked the island perimeter, combing the beach for anything useful that might have washed ashore. The first find was a hunk of plastic netting, brittle and degraded. I’d save that for a signal fire, as it would smoke terribly, but had no other use to me.

It was on the south side of the island that I found a treasure. A heavy-duty, waterproof, plastic box of the sort that one would carry electronics or a gun. It felt heavy enough to have something in it, possibly even a pistol. Rather than open it there, I carried it with me as I made my way back to the hut.

Exhaustion overtook me, and I set the box aside, to open in the morning. My sleep was deep, no dreams, and I woke to the rising sun far too soon. I checked on the fish, which would be sufficiently dried by the next day.

Finally, I opened the box, expecting to be disappointed. Instead, I found a small solar panel, and a satellite phone. The phone had no power, but the solar panel had a cable for charging it, so I plugged it in to do its thing. I would be rescued. All I needed to do was wait a few hours for a charge and then call…somebody.

I looked at the state of the hut. It wouldn’t matter once I made the call, but my skirt was gone, blown away in the storm. “Well,” I said aloud, my voice still croaky and unfamiliar, “I need to get ready for company.”

I spent the day gathering fronds for a skirt, and the hut, and then making the skirt. Once that was finished, I checked the sat phone’s charge. It was nearly half charged, and I figured I should let it charge all the way, so I started repairing the hut, taking a break only to chew on some mostly dried fish and a coconut.

The hut’s roof was finished, but I hadn’t started on the walls. The sun was setting, and the phone was completely charged. I picked up the phone and saw a button labeled “SOS.” I set the phone down and lay on the pile of remaining fronds. I ran a hand down my side, feeling my ribs. When they first started showing up, I worried that I was starving to death, but I’d gotten along just fine since then.

Am I really fine, though? The satellite phone sat next to me, untouched, and I wondered what was holding me back. Was it fear? Would I miss my little island? Why?

Some other part of me took over, turned on the phone, and pressed the SOS button. There was a beep, and then for a few tense seconds, no other sound.

“Maritime emergency response, do you require assistance?” The voice on the other end so surprised me that I was unable to speak for a moment. I hadn’t heard another human in so long. Tears ran down my face and I began to sob. “Emergency response, can you speak?”

“I—yes,” I croaked. “Hello.”

prompt: Start your story with someone accepting a dare.

available at Reedsy

…[P]eer power as an extrinsic force is a lot like radiation: a little goes a long way. 

Charles D. Hayes

Some people, perhaps even most, in the situation Sam found herself would wonder how they got there. She had no trouble pinpointing the moment that led her to be sitting in an interrogation room, wrists cuffed to the table, ankles shackled to the floor. It was the simple sentence: “I dare you.”

“I’m Special Agent Angela Mackey. You’re Samira?”

“Sam.”

“Samira Thibideaux, twenty-six, from New Orleans, Louisiana, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Angela leaned forward on her elbows. “You understand you’re in a lot of trouble?”

Sam nodded.

“Why did you run up on the President like that?”

“I didn’t know she was there. I saw Hector and was going to get a surprise selfie with him.”

“Wearing a cape and a ski mask?”

“Luchador mask. El Torito, his favorite. It’s a joke. Call him, he’ll tell you. We prank each other all the time…or we used to, back in high school.”

“We’ll involve Senator Valencia when we feel it’s appropriate,” Angela said. “Tell me about your day. Start from the beginning.”

#

Sam picked at her breakfast; her roommates’ chatter a warm comfort. She had the day off and had no idea how she would spend it.

“Hey Sam, that senator you went to school with is in town today.” Alicia was the unofficial “mother” of the group. “You should see if he can get some time to have coffee or something, reconnect.”

“Ooh, if you can get a selfie with him, that would boost your Insta.” Trish was, to all appearances, a shallow, vain, young woman, with little interest in anything beyond fashion and fun. “But not a plain selfie, you should do something wild.”

“She doesn’t have to do anything wild or ‘boost her Insta.’ If Sam wants to hang out with her friend, she should.”

“What’s Henry in to?”

“His name is Hector, and he was always into Lucha Libre. His favorite wrestler since grade school was ‘El Torito’—a little guy who fought like a bull. He told me in third grade that he sometimes had nightmares that he’d made El Torito mad, and he was coming to get him.” Sam turned to her phone to text Hector and stop herself from divulging yet more personal information.

Alicia began collecting the dishes. “I have to work a double today. Sam, tell Hector I said ‘Hi.’ Trish, try not to burn down the house.”

“Hey! That was one time in college, the dorm didn’t burn down, and it wasn’t my fault. I’m not the one that left a rag on the hotplate.” Trish scrolled through her phone, absorbed in whatever took her fancy at the moment.

“But you are the one that plugged it in without checking,” Alicia said.

“I’ll handle the dishes,” Sam said. “Have a good day at work.” In short order, Sam had the kitchen back to its normal, pristine state.

“Your phone went off while you were in the kitchen.” Trish held something behind her back. “Your friend says he’ll be at the coffee shop on 14th at two this afternoon.”

“What’re you hiding?”

“Oh!” Trish showed her phone to Sam. “This is the guy your friend likes, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, El Torito.”

Trish put her phone away. “Good. We’re going shopping before you meet your friend.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘your friend?’ His name is Hector.”

“Because it doesn’t sound like a real name when I say it.”

Sam sighed. “You’re weird. Why do we need to go shopping?”

“I know you think that Insta is a waste of your time, but it’s tied to your other online stuff, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

“How do you think you’ll get those freelance editing jobs if no one even knows you exist?”

“So, you’re trying to help?”

“I am.” Trish could be sincere and convincing when needed. “I’ll get you just enough internet fame to get jobs rolling into your inbox, hopefully without too many Insta creeps.”

“Fine, let’s go shopping. I guess I need to get something classier than my jeans and hoodies, huh?”

“Uh, yeah…classy.”

#

They stood in front of the store. Sam looked at Trish, unable to form the question that played across her face.

“Trust me, okay. This’ll be fun.” Trish gave a little tug to Sam’s hand and led her inside.

“This is a costume store.”

“And they have something waiting for you.” Trish walked in and called out in her best party-girl, carry-over-the-crowd voice, “Who’s got the El Tortilla mask?”

“El Torito.”

“Whatever, they know what I mean.”

Sam spent the next fifteen minutes feeling like the third wheel as Trish and the saleswoman talked about clubs, parties, brands, makeup, celebrities, and random trivia. Finally, the saleswoman brought out a bag containing a red cape and a luchador mask that was a close, if not perfect, replica of the mask worn by El Torito.

As they left the store, Trish having paid for the costume, Sam said, “Nice of her to let you use her employee discount. Why didn’t you introduce me?”

“Who? The chick that works there? I don’t know her.”

“I—I have no words.”

At the coffee shop, Sam looked in the bag, then back at Trish. “This is ridiculous. I’m not doing it.”

“You think he’ll be mad?”

“I mean, he’d probably think it’s pretty funny, but I’m not sure about it.”

Trish leaned close. “You’ve known the guy forever. You even know his favorite lecher-whatsit.”

“Luchador.”

“Whatever. This’ll blow up on Insta. And his team will probably tweet it, get you noticed. Unless you’re scared of him, or afraid he’s forgotten you.”

“I’m not scared of him, and we literally texted less than four hours ago. He hasn’t forgotten me.”

Trish leaned back and took a sip of her latte. She looked Sam in the eyes and said, “I dare you.”

“Ugh, fine.” Sam retreated to the restroom and put on the costume, waiting for the text from Trish that they were there. In a matter of minutes, it came: “They’re here. Streaming. Go time!”

She peeked out from the restroom and saw him, his back to her, with several other men and women in suits. She took a deep breath for courage, then burst into the main room shouting El Torito’s tag line, “¡Cuidado con los cuernos!”

Sam was no more than three steps into the room when she found herself face-down, covered by two large men who had her cuffed before she knew what had happened. The President’s shocked face swam into her vision and her heart dropped through the floor. “Hector! It’s me. I’m so sorry, Madame President!”

#

The interrogation room she found herself in was in a nondescript office building, not the police station. The fact that she hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Secret Service agents so far led her to believe that she was in a deeper hole than she could ever get out of.

“What happens now?” she asked. “Do I go to Guantanamo? Disappear?”

“Sit tight.” Angela left the room without saying anything else.

The minutes dragged on, and Sam feared the worst. She looked up at the camera in the corner of the room. “Please? Call Hector Valencia? Please?”

It was an hour later when a large man in a suit entered, carrying a briefcase. “Ms. Thibideaux? I’m an attorney. Let’s talk about your options.”

“No you’re not,” Sam said. “I saw you at the coffee shop. You’re trying to trick me into saying something incriminating, even though I haven’t done anything.”

He sighed and waved at the camera. The door opened again, and another agent entered, with Trish. She wasn’t in cuffs, but she looked like she was holding in tears.

“Hey, Sam.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“At least you got a funny stream out of it, at my expense.”

She looked down at her phone, dark and silent in her hand, and shook her head.

“I want a real attorney.” Sam would have crossed her arms if she weren’t chained to the table. “You’ll back me up in court, right Trish?”

“Please.” The agent who had claimed to be her attorney raised a hand. “You won’t see a courtroom.”

“Oh god, I’m going to disappear!”

The door opened and Hector walked in, holding the mask and cape. “All right, guys, that’s enough. Let her go. I win this one, Sam.”

The agent freed her wrists and ankles, chuckling quietly. “We figured out you weren’t a threat after the FBI searched your apartment, but Senator Valencia wanted us to wait until he got here to tell you.”

“After they searched…?”

“They finished up about fifteen minutes ago,” the agent said. “The senator has your phone, by the way.”

“When you wanted to meet up, I knew you’d try something silly, but not this silly.” Hector handed her the costume and looked at Trish. “Thanks for not spilling the beans before I got here.”

Trish broke down, laughing so hard tears streamed down, smearing her mascara. “Sorry, sorry. Can’t stop laughing. The stream went viral! And the President just tweeted that it was quote, ‘An ill-timed prank, no harm done,’ end quote.”

Hector gave Sam a hug. “It’s good to see you after so long.”

“You too. Sorry I couldn’t surprise you with El Torito the way I wanted to.”

“Oh, I was surprised, all right. Put that on, and let’s get a couple selfies for your fans.”

“My what?”

“They’re calling you ‘La Ternera’ online.”

“What is that?”

“The calf. You are smaller than even El Torito.” Hector put an arm around her shoulder and snapped a selfie with her phone.

Sam was glad of the luchador mask to cover her blush of anger at herself and knowing that a friend she respected had seen her mess up a simple prank so terribly.

“Let’s get some without…,” Hector reached for her mask and lifted it off. “Are you all right, Sam?” Hector’s voice was soft. “I went too far, didn’t I?”

Sam sniffled, then chuckled. “I guess it’s payback for the fake murder victim in the back of your car, senior year.” She broke off the pose and tried to fix her hair and compose herself.

“I never got the fake blood out of the seats,” he said. “It makes a great story, though.”

“Truce?”

Hector pulled her back in for another couple selfies with her phone. “Truce. I’ll be down for Christmas. We’ll have a big get-together. Craw-fish boil, gumbo, red beans and rice, tamales, gingerbread cookies, and buñuelos.”

“You know your family has the weirdest Christmas menu ever, right?”

“I know, but you love it.”

Trish was typing furiously on her phone. “This is so awesome! I can’t wait for Christmas! Alicia says she’s down too!” She paused and looked at the others. “I mean, um, am I…are we invited?”

“My friends,” Sam said. “They won’t let me be, and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Hmm.” Hector leaned in close and whispered to Sam, “Only if we can prank her together. She told me this was her idea.”

“You’re right.” Sam stood straight. “Tell Alicia that both of you are invited. Details when it gets closer to Christmas.”

Trish returned to typing on her phone. “This is exciting! I’m having Christmas dinner with a Senator!”

“Gentlemen, could you escort the ladies out?” Hector asked the agents. “I need to get back to my schedule, and I’m sure they have other places to be. Thanks again for waiting for me.”

#

Alicia returned in the evening to find Trish picking up the items scattered about the living room. “What the hell? Where’s Sam?”

“I didn’t do it, FBI did. Sam’s hiding in her room. She’s a little overwhelmed with the whole La Termina thing.”

“La Ternera.”

“Whatever.” Trish pointed at the open bottle of wine on the counter. “Her friend left that for us as an apology.”

Alicia sighed and poured herself a glass of wine. “I’ll go calm her down.”

“Hey, can you, um, tell her I’m really sorry. And not just for the dare, but the laughing too.” Trish sniffled. “It was scary, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I think I might have hurt her feelings.”

Alicia heard a muffled snort from Sam’s room. “I’ll tell her, but I think she’s okay.”

prompt: Write about a character coming out of a long hibernation (either literal or metaphorical).

available at Reedsy

The doctor said I have to go out today. I don’t know why she’s doing this to me. She doesn’t listen when I tell her I’m not ready. It would be better if she’d said I have to go “outside” today, because I’ve been doing my exercises. Yesterday I stood outside the door forever… well, five minutes, but it seemed like forever.

She’d show up, wearing her bright colors and cheery smile. I liked that. There wasn’t much about her I didn’t like, even when she was poking around in my head to find my hurts. It’s just that she’d been going too fast for me.

“Good morning, Effie! You ready to go for brunch?” She was her usual, ebullient self.

“Morning, Doctor.”

She pursed her lips. “Now, now. I know you only call me ‘Doctor’ when you’re unhappy with me.”

“Sorry, Julia,” I said, mostly under my breath.

“It’s okay, we’ll get through this together.” Julia gave me a big hug. “Now, let’s find your shoes and go out, yeah?”

I held her hand, trying hard not to squeeze with every step away from the safety of the front door. While I expected to be loaded into a car and whisked away, Julia led me down the block, our pace slow and steady.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d start out small,” she said, “with brunch at the cafe down the street.”

“There’s no cafe down here,” I said. “I should know, I’ve lived in the same house for forty-four years.”

“They opened three years ago,” she said. “Where the used bookstore used to be.”

“No!” Tears came unbidden and I froze in place. “Simon loves… loved….”

Julia held me close while sobs wracked my body. Another piece gone. I wept for the loss of another piece of our history. Most of all, I wept in anger at myself for not visiting it while it still existed. I’d never see it again and it was my fault.

“I know it’s hard, honey, but you’re doing really well.” The doctor’s voice was gentle, but it wasn’t helping.

I pulled myself together. “Let’s just get this over with, Doctor, so I can go back home.”

“I’m back to being ‘Doctor’ again, eh?” She smiled at me. “Maybe, when I’m Julia again you can tell me about the bookstore?”

I grunted noncommittally and walked faster. The sooner we got there, the sooner I could get back home.

The front of the store looked the same, except for the painted window. There never had been a sign other than that. The script was the same swirling letters that had marked the bookstore, but now it was called The Reading Room Cafe.

Stepping in, I was overwhelmed with the familiar scent of old books. For a moment I thought I smelled Simon’s cologne. Not the way it smells in the jar that still sits on the vanity, but the way it smelled on him. I held back another crying jag and looked around.

The front of the store was now open, with a few small tables and a coffee bar. It looked like the stock room had been converted into a kitchen, but the back part of the store still had shelves and shelves of used books.

I didn’t wait for Julia’s okay, but let go of her hand and walked to the books. As I ran a hand along the spines, the tears came again. Simon and I used to play a game. We’d each walk along, running our hands along the spines without looking. One of us would say stop, and we’d exchange the books we were touching. The rule was that we had to read the book the other had landed on, regardless of how awful it was.

“Julia,” I called, “I need you.”

She looked worried. “What is it, Effie?”

I explained the game. If I had gone first, I’d want Simon to still have the chance to play the game with someone else. I was sure he’d understand.

“I’ll let you tell us when to stop,” she said, smiling at me as she ran her fingers along the spines of the books.

“Stop.” I pulled the book I was touching, The History of Whaling in the New World. I offered her the book. It was a hefty book, and judging from the title, was probably dry.

Julia traded books with me. I looked at the book, Drums of Never. This was one that I’d pulled for Simon ages ago, and we’d traded back in the next week. I knew it was a fantasy, and terribly written, but he said the plot had promise. The memory dropped me to my knees. For the second time in less than an hour I was openly weeping.

“We can put it back,” Julia said.

“No, no.” I sniffled and tried to pull myself together. “I made him read it once; now it’s mine.”

When I was back on my feet, Julia paid for the books and we went to one of the small tables. I looked over the brunch menu. “They have eggs Benedict. I want that.”

“Sounds good. I’ll have the same.” Julia sat close enough that I could hold her hand if I needed to.

I watched the waitress taking drinks to the only other occupied table. “Julia! Mimosas! Let’s get snockered!”

“Effigenia Alice McWhorter! I’m shocked.” Julia laughed, her bright smile matching her canary and vermillion dress.

“Please? At least one?”

“Just one,” she said. “I need to drive later, and I want to get you home in one piece.”

As we ate, I looked around, taking in the new shape of the place. There was a wall filled with pictures that looked like they’d been taken in the bookstore. When Julia was looking elsewhere, I snagged the receipt to see how much I’d have to tip her to cover the cost of my book. Even if it was terrible, I wouldn’t trade it back in. This had been Simon’s, even if only for a little while.

The receipt still said Second Page Books. The book that sat on my lap had been $3.99. A bargain to regain a little piece of him. I opened the book and scanned through the first couple pages. It was poorly written, but it gave me an excuse to grab the receipt to use as a bookmark. There was no way I would tell her that it was just because of the name on the receipt.

After our meal, I was feeling a little more comfortable being in the bookstore; cafe, I reminded myself. “Can we look at the pictures?” I asked.

“Sure.” Julia held my hand as we looked over the wall of photos. I spotted them first; three pictures of Simon. The first was both of us smiling at the camera. I remembered the original owner taking a picture of her “favorite customers.” She had a camera in her hands most days.

The other two were candid. One of him laughing at something, and one of us walking on opposite sides of the same row, fingers on the spines, playing the game. Our eyes were on each other, smiles of contentment on our faces.

The tears that came were happy, this time. Memories that I’d thought long forgotten welled up.

“You two were head over heels,” Julia said. “It’s obvious in the way you looked at each other.”

“We were. From the very beginning.”

“Will you be okay by yourself for a minute?” she asked.

I nodded, lost in the memory the photo evoked. It was too far away to make out the titles on the books, but I imagined that it might be the one I held clutched to my chest.

I was startled by a tap on my shoulder. What would have panicked me earlier in the morning just got my attention. I turned to face Julia who held out a small paper bag with the Second Page Books logo. “It’s the originals,” she said.

“What?”

“I talked to the new owner. He said those on display are extra prints he made of his grandmother’s photos.” She held the bag out. “These are the original prints of those three.”

I couldn’t speak. Instead, I took the bag and gave her a hug. “Thank you,” I managed to squeak out.

“Are you ready to go back home?” she asked.

“No.” My answer surprised me. “I found a piece of him; I’d like to see if I can find any more.” When I turned away from the pictures, I felt faint. The weight of the last five years of isolated loneliness, of missing all the pieces of him, had been lifted and my head wanted to fly away.

“We don’t have to do it all in one day.” Julia put a hand on my shoulder. “How about we go out again next Sunday? You pick the place.”

“The seafood place by the wharf?” I asked. “We used to go there once a month. He’d always reserve table seventeen. You can watch the seals from there.”

“We can do that.” Julia took my hand and led me out. “It’s kind of a long drive, are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Not alone, no.” I hugged the book closer. “But now I know he’s still here, at least a little.”