by D. B. James
“Okay, I’ll do it. Don’t worry about paying me, I want to do this. Actually, I need to do this. Getting out of the house will undoubtedly help with my depression. Mama seems to think my going out in public and getting to be around people will help leaps and bounds. And I’m inclined to agree, but don’t tell her I said that. It’s time I admit to myself after two years my Michael isn’t coming back. It’s time I move on and help heal myself. I’d like to start doing it here,” I admit.
Wow, those words are more than I’ve said to anyone in days. Maybe weeks. It felt…oddly good.
“Sounds great to me. You can start tomorrow evening around four. I’ll be here and show you everything you need to know about running my little slice of heaven.”
And with those words, I’m hired. I’m a writer and now a bookseller. Let’s not forget a therapy patient, widower, and a depressant. Aren’t I a bucket full of shit and rainbows?
Before I know it, the month of May greets me. The flowers are in full bloom and the tourists are flooding our small coastal Alabama town. This time of year is normally my favorite time, but sadly over the last couple of years it’s lost its appeal. Flora blossoming to life disheartens me. Truthfully, most occurrences do these days.
Michael’s birthday is rapidly approaching and I’m dreading the day. Especially knowing I’ll celebrate it as I have the previous two—in bed all day with a few bottles of wine for company.
He’d have turned thirty-seven this year. He died just shy of his thirty-fifth birthday.
Our plans were immense ones for his celebration of birth.
We were going to visit France.
Yeah, I know it’s an odd birthday to plan such a vast trip, but we prearranged it anyway. Whatever people thought of us could be damned, we were going to France. He was French by birthright and was always curious to see where he was rooted. His family was from the south of France: thus, our trip was going to take us there.
Instead of visiting, I’ll toast his birth with some nice French wine instead.
Our vacation was to include such towns as Carcassonne with its medieval citadel. Collioure with its castle, beach-side restaurants, and narrow streets. Ending in Nimes to visit its monuments including the Maison Carree and the temple of Diana. It would’ve been the vacation most people dream of. Now it literally is only a dream for me. One that’ll never happen.
The dream died with Michael.
Walking into Dr. Beesley’s office, I’m greeted by Gabby while signing in for my appointment. I’m not entirely sure why I continue to come; I’ve yet to open up about anything of actual importance. One thing has been working for me though. The sleeping pills. Since the first visit—and the change in dosage—I’m pleased to say I have been sleeping better. Yes, it’s with the aid of a pill. But I’ve been sleeping most nights for a solid nine hours.
Nine blissful hours of complete and utter silence.
“Tenley? Come on back, dear,” Dr. Beesley calls from the door leading to her office.
Not answering, I get up out of my chair and follow Dr. Beesley silently, choosing my place on her comfy chaise quickly.
Today, I will open up.
Taking a deep inhale, I hold it for a few seconds before exhaling deeply. Before she has a chance to ask how I’m doing I start talking, words flowing freely from my mouth. “My husband of twelve years died two years ago in a plane crash off the gulf…his body has never been found. I’m severely depressed and can’t seem to find a way out of the darkness. Most days I feel like I'm drowning, struggling to tread in the shallowest of waters. I know I'm in dire need of help, which oddly enough is why I'm here. I'm finally able to admit defeat and seek the help needed to stay afloat, to crawl out of the darkness and into the light.”
Exhaling, I sit and stare blankly at my feet, which are nervously shaking near the end of the chaise. There, some of it is out and in the open and not only written on my paperwork. She’s heard the words directly from the horse’s mouth. Me.
“Thank you for opening up today, Tenley. Now we can focus on his death and help you heal properly, instead of my throwing medication at the problem and talking in circles without you actually talking to me. We can finally start to make progress. Focus on getting you above water, like you stated. Would it be easier for you to talk to me about Michael, or would you like me to ask certain questions?”
What would be easier? Hell, if I know.
“Um...honestly, I’m not sure. Hell, it took me almost three weeks to open up. Maybe you asking questions and prompting answers may be better. It’d make me focus on one thing at a time instead of everything all at once,” I admit.
“We can work any way you feel works best. And if at any point you don’t feel like answering anymore, we can stop. Sound okay?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I silently nod my head in agreement.
“When did you and Michael meet?”
Thinking back to the day we met makes me smile. Michael was the brightest thing on a day that started off as dark and stormy. One crooked grin from him and suddenly my day was filled with blazing sunlight. As cliché as it sounds, it was real.
“We met at the airport, actually. It was a spring morning sixteen years ago. It had been storming outside and I was frantic, scared, and in one hell of a hurry. My flight was ready to take off in less than thirty minutes and I was running late. Up till a few minutes earlier, it was grounded due to the wicked weather. There I was running through the airport rushing to meet my flight when I ran straight into him. A solid brick wall of a man. My Michael.” The thought makes me laugh inside. Literally running into Michael was one of the best events to happen to me. “Instead of getting upset I basically ran him down, he smiled. His grin was as bright as the sun; he lit up from the inside out. I swear, I’m not trying to sound cheesy, but his grin was the stuff of legends. He grabbed my elbows to keep me from falling and his touch was electric, like a bolt of lightning struck and it jolted me straight to my core. It’s like I knew this man was my future. With one smirk and a small touch. Suddenly, I found myself not caring if I made my flight. There would be another.”
Getting lost in the memory, I fall silent. Remembering the way I stayed lost in Michael’s bottle-green eyes for what seemed like hours but was truly only seconds. The way his touch felt on my elbows, how his smile not only lit up his face, but my insides. He made me feel...alive.
Glancing over at Dr. Beesley, I see she’s staring back at me. I continue, “After the first day, he became my whole world. For nineteen years prior, it was like I ceased to exist until the moment we met. Which believe me, I know sounds completely certifiable. In-frickin-sane. But, like they say, love knows no rules. He asked for my number and I took the chance and gave it to him. Then I barely made my flight to New York. Afterward the days there seemed to drag by. He’d texted a few times, tried calling more than once, but we always missed each other. The day I arrived home, we met up for coffee. From there it rolled like a boulder out of control, our relationship. He was already a senior in college, I was a sophomore, but my trip was to meet with a publicist. My degree was put on hold after I finished my current semester.”
Stopping to grab a tissue, I dry my tears and blow my nose. My silent tears surprising me, crying has become something I do often enough I don’t know when I’m doing it anymore. Why did I open up today?
Because it’s May, Tenley. His birthday is rapidly approaching.
“Can we please stop for today?” I plead.
“Of course. You’ve made great progress, Tenley. It may not feel like it, but you have. We can continue where you left off tomorrow. During our first meeting, I know we agreed to three meetings a week for the first month and we’d drop it to two after a month, but I’d like to keep it at three meetings for a couple of extra weeks. Would you like to set up those appointments now or tomorrow?”
Shit. You’d think opening up would mean less time spent in her office, not more. It’s probably better to set them up now and I’ll be ab
le to let Luellen know. It’s not like all my time is my own anymore. It’s strange to actually have a boss. Especially when I’ve only ever had a publicist as the only ‘boss’ I’ve known.
“We can set up them now, the sooner I let my boss know, the better,” I mumble.
After making the appointments, I swiftly exit her office, running out the back door. It’s only once I’m inside my car I feel like I can breathe again. It was the first time I’ve spoken about the day we met aloud in a long time. Oddly, it felt comforting. Thinking of the day made me happy if only for a moment.
The ice around my heart crackles a tiny bit.
Maybe it’s thawing after all.
The next few weeks fly by and suddenly it’s the day before Michael’s birthday.
My appointments with Dr. Beesley have been going well. She’s convinced me not to spend the day wallowing in pity and grieving him alone tomorrow. Instead, she’d like for me to celebrate his life, with someone.
I’ve asked my parents to accompany me on a beach-side drive and picnic lunch. Something low-key I know Michael would’ve loved doing on a normal day. I’m planning on having his favorite picnic foods and sharing them at the beach. Breathing in the salty air and listening to the waves would’ve made him happy. Therefore, we’ll celebrate his life in a place I know he adored.
Today, I’m working a short shift at Bookmark It! alone.
There’re no customers in the store and I’m singing along loudly to Adele on the sound system while unpacking boxes of new releases. The bell jingles alerting me to a customer coming in. Shit, exactly when I was about to belt out my best high note to date. Insert sarcasm here.
Making my way to the front from the stock room, I stop dead in my tracks.
The man standing near the new releases is panty-dropping hot. The kind of hero I’d write about in my novels. Hair as dark as the midnight sky, it has this blue-ish tint when it glints in the sun streaming in the windows and is long enough to be considered messy, with a slight curl at the ends. He hasn’t seen a pair of scissors in at least six months, easily. He has the perfect beard stubble, at least from the side visible to me. He’s built like a linebacker, solid, firm, tall with muscles going on for days. He’s dressed in burgundy colored jeans, a black band t-shirt covered by an open flannel. Best of all? He’s wearing Chuck Taylors.
He screams hipster bad boy.
He also screams he doesn’t belong in this small coastal Alabama town. Before he turns around to face me, I know he has dark chocolate brown eyes. I can feel it in my bones. Eyes so rich in color a woman like me could melt into their depths for days. It’s like God has a sense of humor and had to send me the perfect eye candy. On today of all days. He’s the exact opposite of everything Michael was. Where he’s dark, Michael was light. This guy has tattoos covering both arms, and he’s making my mouth water. In fact, I’m positive I need a tissue to dab at the corners of it before speaking. I may be depressed, but I’m not dead. My eyes are appreciating all of this deliciousness.
“Hey, do you happen to have any older King novels in stock?” he inquires.
Come again? He’s talking?
“Ex-excuse me?” Great, I stuttered. Real attractive there, Tenley.
“You work here, correct?” he asks.
“Yes. I’m sorry, forgive my rudeness. Welcome to Bookmark It!, my name is Tenley. You’re considering older Stephen King? Any title in particular?” Please don’t mention my stutter, Hot Dude. It’s not my finest moment. Don’t mention my singing either, I know you heard it when you entered.
“Pleasure, Tenley. I’m Case,” he replies with a wink. A wink! “I’m trying to find a copy of ‘Pet Sematary’ if you have it, any of his older books would do the job though. I need something other than this fluff most authors are putting out these days.”
“Lu makes sure to keep quite a few of his books in stock. Have you read his son’s work? I’m positive if you like Stephen’s, you’d enjoy Joe Hill’s novels as well.” Or you could be like me and love basically any genre. On the way back to the older releases we pass by a display of my work, with a picture of me placed behind them. Lu demanded on having a nice display if I was going to be helping her out around here; she wanted to push my books more than she already was. It’s embarrassing and has come up with the customers more times than I’m comfortable with. Before I was the way I am now, I would’ve been fine with the display.
“Wait a moment, please.” He stops directly in front of the display. “This is you? You’re an author?” Case asks.
I’ve never been embarrassed by what I do. Never once have my cheeks blushed from someone asking a simple question, but they do now.
“Yes,” I answer briskly.
Without waiting for anymore questions, I continue on to find the novel he’s searching for. It must be his lucky day because we have one in stock. Grabbing it, I walk back to find him still in front of my work. I’m not sure why I’m uncomfortable or why he affects me, but I’m choosing not to give it one more second of thought.
“I’m sure if you’re a fan of horror novels, you’ll find my work sorely lacking. Here’s the book you were asking about. If you haven’t read any of Joe’s novels and are interested, you can find them in the next aisle over under ‘H’. If there’s anything more I may help you with, I’ll be near the front counter,” I inform him.
Walking away, I attempt to make a haste exit to the front end of the store. I’m halted to a stop when he starts speaking.
“I’m not sure what I did to offend you, but I’m sorry. I’d also like to state you shouldn’t be as quick to judge what type of novels I do and don’t enjoy. I may like horror, but it doesn’t mean I don’t find pleasure in other types of books or that I’m not a fan of a decent romance novel. FYI, I’ve read all of Joe’s novels. I’ll take the King book and all of yours, thank you.” Brushing past me, he walks briskly toward the front of the store, leaving the smell of clean linen in his wake.
Shit, he called me out on my rudeness.
He’s extremely hot, well read, outspoken, and smells amazing. If he comes in the store again, I’m fucked.
Having already apologized once to this man, I bite my tongue and take the book to the front counter, in silence. Ring up his purchases, in silence. Give him my latest release, in silence. Sign it, in silence. He leaves the store, in silence. The only sound accompanying his exit is the jingle of the bell. Even Adele has stopped singing.
CASE
She’s a firecracker. I’ll give her props for having a set of solid lead lady balls.
When I walked into the quaint bookstore, I was expecting to find an older lady running it, or a quirky hipster type. Maybe a few cats running around between the shelves. What I wasn’t expecting was pure perfection. She may have been checking me out, but I was doing the exact same thing to her.
Slim build, she could stand to add a few pounds, but she still looks great. Tall, maybe five, six inches shorter than my height of six foot three inches, which would make her the perfect height for me. Those hips, mmm, those hips. They swayed when she walked. I loved watching her move. She had eyes the exact color of the ocean when the sun’s the brightest in the sky. A turquoise blue with flecks of green. A shade I’d never encountered before in all my thirty-six years.
Beautiful.
She has honey blonde hair, with darker shades reminding me of whiskey, the curls flowing down her back in loose waves.
If she would’ve smiled at me, I’d have been fucked.
I’m in this small coastal town for one thing and one thing only. Teach my trade to a newbie apprentice. Once my gig is up, it’s back to Austin for me. Until the next training session comes along.
Shit. Why did she have to have a cool as fuck name like Tenley?
Son of a bitch, grandma was right, I think I’m screwed.
Lu comes into the store shortly before closing later the same evening, completely throwing me off guard and surprising me. She wasn’t supposed to be in at all today
. It was my first full day solo run of the joint.
“Hey, Lu, what brings you by tonight?”
Instead of answering she sets a bottle of wine on the counter, a vase full of flowers made from—are those made from book pages? —and a rectangular shaped gift box. “This wine is for you, Tenley. Actually, everything is for you. But…” She hesitates to continue. The expression on her face scares me, in fact it causes me to stop lifting one of the flowers to inspect it further. What the hell is going on? Why is she bringing me wine and gifts on the eve of what would’ve been Michael’s birthday?
“Well, um, thanks? I guess?” Yes, I’m questioning this. Who wouldn’t? This is all extremely strange.
She still hasn’t finished her thought, not verbally anyway. She’s staring at me with what looks like tears starting to glisten in her pretty irises.
“Spit it out, Lu. You’re scaring the heck out of me,” I demand.
“I’ve had a touch over two years to prepare for this day, you’d think I’d be ready. Truth is, I’m not. I’m terrified, Tenley. This wine, these flowers, the gift box, all of this,” she makes a gesture to include everything she’s placed before me on the counter, “is from Michael.” She blurts the last three words out so fast it comes out all marbled.
What did she say? There’s no way I could’ve heard her correctly, even with the mumbles. She must be mistaken. One glance at her proves I’ve heard her correctly. This is from Michael.
All of a sudden, the room around me begins to spin.
The colors blur.
The floor drops out from under my feet.
