Jolan Marchese
Tony pushed the wooden door inward as a silver bell jangled. Inside, vanilla candles struggled to hide the musty smell. There was no way around it. Old things smelled old. Antiques were scattered haphazardly, leaving a narrow path where customers could wander through the hidden treasures.
As he navigated through the room, memories of Saturday afternoons with Sandra sprang up around each item. They’d come here to find knick-knacks or a piece of furniture that could be taken home and refinished. Sandra had strange ideas about discarded items. She believed that each item had a life of its own. Sandra mourned their lack of purpose sitting uselessly on the shelf of an antiques shop.
Tony smiled. Sandra was the heart of their marriage. Without her, there was a void that could n
