The Pages of Her Life

by James L. Rubart

  “It’s a weird story.”

  “Hit me.” Parker leaned his chair back against the cabin wall.

  Allison started with the first time she saw the journal and finished with her writing changing the morning after she’d written it. When she finished, Parker let out a low whistle.

  “So the guy’s name was Alister Morrison, and it changed to Allison Moore.” He squinted at her. “You sure you weren’t smoking a little weed and wrote your own name in there?”

  Allison glowered. “I’m not the one on this porch who’s indulged in that area.”

  “Jus’ saying . . .”

  “No. I did not write my own name in there and give the journal to myself as a gift and forget I’d done it.”

  “Then you have some serious crazy-train action going on here.”

  “You could say that.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t forget what you wrote?” Parker tilted forward and the front legs of his chair thudded onto the wooden porch.

  “Yes.”

  “Positive?”

  “Yes! I’m not a wacko.”

  “Okay, okay!” Parker held up his arms. “I’m just saying I’m not sure I believe the writing in the journal changed.”

  “It did.”

  “Whatever.” Parker rubbed his hands together.

  “Not whatever.” Allison gave him a light shove.

  “Moving on. From what you’ve told me, you getting this journal wasn’t random.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You see the two guys in the coffee shop, this Alister and this Richard, then the Alister guy gives you this knowing look, and wham, a few days later your friend at the coffee joint is handing you the journal.”

  “Yes.”

  Parker studied the journal again, a look of concentration on his face as he bit his lip. “I’ve read about these journals, I know I have.”

  “What? There’s more than one?” Allison’s heart sped up.

  “There’s something about them that’s . . . Wow, I’m blank. But . . . these are more like from legends I’ve read about.”

  “I need to find out more, Parker.” She leaned toward him.

  “Okay.” He nodded, a strange look in his eyes as he handed the journal back to her. “I know someone. He’s into unusual artifacts, runs a store in Ballard. Antiquities, curiosities, art, the stranger the better. If anyone can tell you anything, it will be Carl.”

  Parker jotted down Carl’s name and the name of his store, then handed the slip of paper to Allison.

  After cleaning up breakfast, they drove up to Rainy Pass and took a long hike north till they reached Cutthroat Pass. The view was spectacular and their conversation playful. For eight glorious hours there were no problems, only her and Parker and the mountains and lake and streams.

  But that evening, before bed, Allison brought up their mom.

  “One thing before sleep,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to talk to you about something serious.”

  “What?”

  “Mom’s in trouble, Parker.”

  Parker’s head pulled back. “Not cancer.”

  “No, not her physical health.”

  “Then what?”

  “Money.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Allison told the story, and when she finished Parker stared at the last embers of the fire in the woodstove and gave a few slow shakes of his head. “Never saw that one coming.”

  “Nor Mom. Nor me.”

  “He screwed us over, Al.” Parker kicked the floor hard. “In life and now in death. So now we get to deal with all his crap.”

  “Yeah, he did. And yeah, we do.”

  “It’s going to take a while to get over this one,” Parker growled.

  “No question about that.”

  Allison stood and stared out the window at the last traces of light above the mountains to the south.

  “I have to sell this place. Give Mom the money. Move in with you guys.”

  She turned to him. “This is all you have.”

  “So what?”

  “How much could you get for it? Total. Land and building?”

  “Thirty-five thousand.”

  “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t. It’s going to be okay. Kayla and I split up, and I’m going to be a partner in the firm I’m working at. And I’m going to have a very generous wage and a percentage of profits. I can cover it.”

  Parker blinked in surprise. “When did this happen?”

  “Four weeks back.”

  “Big firm then?”

  “It is, and once we get the deal finalized I’ll be able—”

  “What do you mean? It’s not done?” Parker crossed his legs and scowled.

  “Not yet.”

  Parker turned and stared at her.

  “It’s going to get done. Soon. Let’s talk about something els—”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. We’re going to talk about this right now. You have to get this done.”

  Allison slumped back into her chair. “I know.”

  “What’s the holdup?”

  “Derrek has to finish things with his old partner. And he’s been busy.”

  “Finish what?”

  “There are a few issues. A payout, a—”

  “What you just told me is that he invited you. Not the other way around, yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the deal with his old partner is not your problem. It’s his. He brought you over as his partner. A month ago. You trusted him. And now he’s stringing you out.”

  “No, he’s not, he’s . . .”

  But Parker was right. That’s exactly what Derrek was doing.

  “Yeah, he is, Al. And you know it.”

  She did.

  “You need to take care of this. If you don’t, I think I might show up—”

  “I’ll get it done, Parker.”

  “I’m just saying the longer you wait, the easier it is to—”

  “I’ll get it done.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair.

  She hoped her voice held more confidence than she felt. All she could picture was Derrek continuing to deflect and put her off. But the hard truth was, it wasn’t his fault. It was hers. She shouldn’t have started working there till their deal was finalized.

  But going to work for Derrek was more than an answer to her prayers. It had come directly from God, as direct as those kind of decisions can be. Hope had extended her hand and Allison had taken it. It would happen—the partnership, the increased salary. She simply had to be patient and trust God it would get wrapped up soon.

  “I’m not saying you need to take care of it for Mom and her money issues, although that might be part of it. You need to do this for you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think you know exactly what it means.”

  She did know. And it scared her.

  twenty

  THE NEXT DAY, AFTER THE long drive home and a long conversation with her mom in which Allison assured her over and over that Parker was well both physically and emotionally, Allison took a hot shower, then settled into her chair in the den to jot a few notes in the journal before bed.

  Monday, May 27th

  Seeing Parker was wonderful and horrible. I ache for him. Still trying to get Dad’s approval. It will never happen. He’ll never get accurate enough with his gun, never be in good enough shape, never dive off a tall enough cliff to turn Dad’s spotlight in his direction.

  I want to shout, “He’s gone, Parker!” But of course Dad isn’t gone. He’s right there in Parker’s head every moment. He has to let it go. So do I. But how?

  And then there’s Derrek. Am I letting him string me along because I don’t think I’m worth better? Parker’s right, I have to get the partnership finalized. Why haven’t I? Because I don’t stand up for myself. I start, but then I don’t stay standing and I back d
own.

  But it’s there, deep inside, like a fire hidden by too many trees, but I can feel the heat. I like the strength of that fire. And I like the moments when I let it out. Like with Nathan. I like that Allison. Where do you go? Why don’t you come live with me more often?

  And why does it matter what Linda thinks of me? Why do I long for her to compliment me?

  ’Cause I’m messed up inside, of course. And I continue to wonder if I did the right thing going to work with Derrek.

  With that, she closed the journal, made her way upstairs, and was asleep in minutes.

  In the morning Allison woke a few minutes before her alarm was set to go off. She lay on her side with only one thought streaking around her mind. Her entry in the journal from last night. And whether it had changed.

  Part of her didn’t want to look, but the stronger part did, and she made her way downstairs, adrenaline pricking at her body. By the time she reached the den, her pulse had jacked up as if she were in the middle of a low-minutes-per-mile run.

  She strode up to the journal, pulled it off the stand next to the chair, and unwound the leather cord. Closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and the journal. Allison skimmed through the entry. No, nothing had . . . Wait! At the bottom. Again. Words missing. And a few added.

  I stand up for myself. I stay standing and I don’t back down.

  I like the strength of the fire inside me.

  I live with that fire often.

  It doesn’t matter what Linda thinks of me.

  I did the right thing going to work with Derrek.

  Heat washed through her. She shoved the journal off her lap, rubbed her eyes, and waited for her mind to stop spinning. Then she picked up the journal and peered at the page again. How could this be happening? Impossible. But obviously not impossible.

  What was the name of that shop? The one Parker told her to call? Ballyhoo Curiosities. That was it. Carl something. She opened her laptop with shaking hands and did a search for the store. Three seconds later she had it. They opened at ten o’clock.

  During a quick breakfast, Allison’s mom asked if she was okay.

  “I’m fine. Work pressure, you know.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Allison sighed. “I’m not telling you that I wrote in the journal again last night.”

  “And?”

  “The writing changed again.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “I know. And it wasn’t me, so that leaves only one option. And it’s freaking me out.” Allison motioned in the direction of the den. “Right in there, some Twilight Zone, sci-fi/fantasy thing is going on just like on TV, except this isn’t TV, and—”

  Her mom shook her head. “It’s not science fiction and it’s not fantasy. I think it really and truly is God.”

  “That would be amazing, but I’ve never heard of God ever doing something this weird.”

  “Sure you have. We just talked about this. How in Daniel, God wrote—”

  “No, not some story from a million years ago. This is today.”

  “God hasn’t lost his power of creativity. He can still reach people in extremely unusual ways. Do you remember me telling you about the time my Bible study group was supposed to be praying for Sue Rowley’s situation at work, and she ended up getting healed of asthma right there at the meeting?”

  “I have to go.” Allison grabbed the rest of her toast and filled her coffee cup. “Traffic is going to be heavy today with the rain.”

  “Don’t work too hard, Allison.”

  “Okay, Mom. What are you going to do?”

  “Look for money in your couch.”

  Allison wished her mom was kidding, but she probably wasn’t. They had enough, barely, to take care of next month’s payment. After that? No idea. That home equity loan had to come through!

  She made it to work with two minutes to spare and tried to work on a proposal for a condo project in downtown Seattle, but she couldn’t remember what she’d written for more than a few minutes and kept repeating herself. Her mind was too consumed with her watch, which seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  At nine fifty, Allison started glancing at her watch every few seconds as if doing so could speed things up. The moment her watch hit ten o’clock, she dialed the number for Ballyhoo Curiosities.

  twenty-one

  THE PHONE WAS ANSWERED ON the seventh ring.

  “Ballyhoo Curiosities.”

  “Carl Pugliese?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is Allison Moore.”

  Carl didn’t respond.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He coughed. “We’re not open yet.”

  “I thought you opened at ten.”

  “We do.”

  “It’s ten.”

  “So it is.” The mumble that followed could have been an apology. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to show you something. My brother, Parker, said you might be able to help me with an unusual item.”

  “Ah, Parker.” Carl’s voice grew a few degrees warmer. “Yes, a good man, your brother. How is he?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Good, good.”

  She glanced at the office lobby and saw Linda looking her direction. Allison went to her door and shut it. She didn’t need Linda, or anyone else for that matter, overhearing the conversation.

  “Now,” Carl said, “what, pray tell, is the item you’d like to talk to me about?”

  “A journal.”

  “Journals are not unusual.”

  “This one is.”

  “How so?”

  “I’d rather discuss that in person.” She pictured the journal tucked away safely in her desk drawer at home.

  “Fine. Do you have the store hours?”

  “I’d like to show you the journal in private.”

  “And I’d like to keep my policy of never meeting with clients outside of store hours unblemished.”

  “I’m not a client.”

  “You’re not looking to sell this item?”

  “No, I have no desire to sell this journal. But I do want to try to understand some things about it. Learn the history. Ask you questions about it.”

  “That will cost you.”

  “I see.” Allison swallowed. “How much?”

  “That depends, naturally, on how long I need to examine the journal to provide you with the answers you seek. And since you have not deemed me worthy enough for you to describe the journal over the phone, I have no idea how much time it will take.”

  “It’s old. Seems to be, to me.”

  “And do you mind telling me what that assessment is based on?”

  Allison blushed. “I felt it.”

  “Ah, I see. A serious scholar.”

  “It’s just a feeling.”

  “Anything else you’d like to tell me before we meet?”

  Allison paused. Should she tell Carl now or wait? She swallowed and said, “Words that were in the journal when I got it disappeared. And new words showed up a day later. And then I wrote in it, and then those words that I wrote changed.” Allison paused, then added, “And I’m not crazy.”

  Carl didn’t respond.

  “Are you there, Mr. Pugliese?”

  “Not Mr. Pugliese. Carl, please.” The voice warmed at least five more degrees.

  “Sure.”

  Again, silence.

  “I’m not making this up. It happened. I’m an extremely stable person.”

  “Hmm.”

  All Allison heard was Carl’s breathing.

  “Carl?”

  His voice was quiet and almost monotone. “Do you mind repeating what you said a moment ago, so that I’m clear? About the words?”

  “I said there are words that have disappeared and reappeared in it. And words I wrote—and I know what I wrote—have changed.”

  Carl’s voice was now quite warm. “When do you want to meet?”

>   “I can leave work today at six. I can be to your store by seven, maybe a few minutes earlier.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you then.”

  A few clusters of people wandered up and down the sidewalks on both sides of the street as Allison parked her car on Main Street in downtown Ballard. She got out and clipped toward the address she’d pulled up on her phone. The two restaurants she passed were crammed to capacity. The smell of Mexican food surrounded her as she scanned the buildings to her right for Ballyhoo Curiosities.

  There. Found it. Allison read a wood sign that hung from a thick iron beam.

  WHAT ARE WE? SOMETHING BETWEEN A LIBRARY OF THE STRANGEST TOMES, A NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM, AND AN ANTIQUE STORE. STEP INSIDE TO DISCOVER AN ECLECTIC ARRAY OF ALL THINGS UNUSUAL, UNIQUE, AND POSSIBLY NOT FROM THIS PLANET. WE CELEBRATE THE ART THAT EXISTS IN NATURE AS WELL AS THE ART THAT HUMANKIND HAS ACHIEVED BOTH CROSS-CULTURALLY AND THROUGHOUT HISTORY.

  Allison cupped her hands around her face and peered inside. Darkness shrouded the store. She could make out shelves on the right and left, walls full of books and what looked like masks. In the middle of the store, three long tables sat but were covered in too much shadow for her to make out the objects lying on them. One looked like a skull.

  At the very back of the shop, a thin slice of light pressed out from under a door. The light dimmed, then grew bright again, then dimmed, as if a person paced behind the door.

  Allison knocked and the light held steady. She waited. Five seconds. Ten. The door stayed shut. Allison rapped on the doorframe again. Harder. A few seconds later the door at the back opened a quarter inch, maybe less. A finger of light now framed the door in a warm gold tone.

  Another ten seconds ticked by. Allison was about to level a third knock on the door when the door at the back swung halfway open and the person Allison assumed to be Carl stepped into the frame. The lean man couldn’t have been over five six. He was backlit, the light from his office putting him in silhouette.

  He stood that way for three or four seconds. Staring at Allison? Allison couldn’t see Carl’s eyes, but she felt them. Five more seconds before Carl patted his doorframe twice, then strode toward Allison, weaving in and out of the tables like a cobra. As he did, a shiver slid down Allison’s neck. Not from standing in the cool night air. From a thick sensation she shouldn’t have come.