A Contract of Hearts

Dust on the Shelves "Is this place going to close?" The question comes in quietly, yet it hurts more than it should. I don't look up immediately away. I keep sweeping my fingers over the same row of books, brushing off dust that comes back quicker than I can clean it. "No," I repeat. "We're still open." A break. Then, "Nope." I swallow and finally lift my head. The guy at the door is correct. Half of the lights are off to save energy. The shelves appear old. When he walked in, the bell above the door didn't even ring. For weeks, it hasn't worked. I still make myself grin. "Can I help you find something?" He doesn't answer right away. His eyes carefully scan the store, taking in everything: the vacant corners, the faded signage, and the stack of unpaid bills behind the counter that look like they aren't there. "Just looking," he finally says. That typically signifies they won't buy anything. I nod anyway and keep washing the same shelf. The material in my hand is already grey. I shake it out and watch the dust float in the air for a moment before it goes away. As he moves deeper into the store, the floor creaks behind me. It used to be noisier in here. People would chuckle. Talk. Argue over the ends of books as if they were more significant than actual life. My mum would stand behind the counter and smile at everyone, making them feel comfortable. It's only me now. And the sound of footsteps that don't endure long. "Do you have anything new?" the man says. I don't know. "Not lately." Again, a break. This time it lasts longer. I can tell he's looking at me, but I don't look back. I pick up a book that doesn't need altering and change it nevertheless. "What about bestsellers?" he asks. I almost laugh.How old are you willing to go? Less noise. I finally look back and see him holding a book with a cover that is a little bent. It's one of the older ones. He seems to care about it. "Do you run this place by yourself?" he asks. Before I can stop myself, I say, "My mum did." Then, in a softer voice, "I just... keep it open." "How long?" I won't answer that. I don't know. Or maybe I do know, but I don't want to say it out loud. He nods slowly, as if he understands what I didn't say. He then walks to the counter. For a moment, I thought he might actually buy the book. Instead, he gently puts it down. "Keep the change," he adds. I blink. "You didn't—" But he's already walking away. "I know." That's when I saw the envelope. It wasn't there previously. It is clear and sealed, and it is on the counter where the book used to be. My name is on it. Not printed. Written. "Wait," I say as I walk around the desk. "My chest feels tight.""Don't forget—" The door swings open. This time the bell works. A ring that is clear and crisp. But when I get outside, there is no one on the street. No male. There are no footsteps. Nothing. I could only hear the wind and the vehicles in the distance. It seemed like it knew something I didn't. I stand there for a little longer than I should, staring at people who aren't him. Then I went back inside. The door closes behind me with a gentle click. The store looks smaller today. Not as much noise. I look at the envelope again. It looks like my name has been waiting for me. I slowly pick it up. It has more weight than it should. There is no letter in there. Just one piece of paper. And a photo. I can't get enough air. For a time now, it's been around. The edges are a tad blurry. In the middle is a younger version of my mom, who is smiling like she always did, as if everything would be OK. But she isn't alone. There is a person next to her. Very high up. Sharp. Wearing a suit that costs too much right now. His face is turned a little, but not enough. That face looks like someone I know. Everyone does. It makes the news virtually every day. Alexander Vaughn. I hold the photo tighter with my hands. That's not what gets my heart racing. It's what's on the back. I slowly turn it over. The writing looks the same as it does on the letter. Take care. On purpose. "You were never meant to find this." Every word is crucial. The lights above me keep going out. One time. Twice. Then— Once more, the door behind me opens. I don't turn around. I can feel it. Someone is standing there. Seeing. Waiting. Then a calm, deep voice breaks the hush and says, "We need to talk now that you have..."