The Subject Line
677 Words
Clara turned on her laptop to occupy herself. Email notification from the Town Council of Everlight Harbor flashed on the screen. Clara looked at it before clicking.
And the silence was unbearable.
Clara let her hand drop off the glass and moved away from the window. In case it reflected herself again. Then she walked across the room and sat down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. A sweater sleeve covered her knuckles.
Distract. This is what she intended to do.
Opening the laptop that lay on the coffee table, she brought the computer back to life with a cold stream of light. For a moment, her face was projected on the screen; it disappeared in a few seconds after the system had been fully loaded.
Thirty-two unread emails on the screen.
She clicked.
Requests for consultations. A new request for revised renderings from an old client. Automated New Year greetings from the company—We appreciate your dedication this year. She scanned them absentmindedly without comprehending anything.
Scrolling the inbox, she froze at the halfway point.
The name of the sender was modest and inconspicuous.
Everlight Harbor Town Council
Her heart rate changed—not quickened, but somehow altered.
The time stamp was 4:12 PM.
She had missed it the first time she opened the email.
The first thing that came into her mind was pragmatic.
Was it about property tax documents? Was she invited to consult on something again? Years ago, she had volunteered to advise them for some coastal preservation project. It wasn't uncommon for communities to contact you several years later if you had helped them with something.
But another thought was faster.
Why now?
Her cursor was hovering above the unread letter.
The theme was straightforward.
Structural Assessment Inquiry – Everlight Inn
She felt her throat tighten.
The Everlight Inn.
She could visualize it in the next moment without having to try. White clapboard siding faded by years of harsh lake wind. Green shutters. Porch adorned with twinkling lights each Christmas month. The scent of cedar and cinnamon lingering in the air of the lobby. Bell hanging at the reception desk which nobody ever rang since Mrs. Hargrove had always known who came in.
She hadn't mentioned it aloud in seven years.
Her finger tapped on the trackpad without clicking. Then she withdrew her hand from the laptop.
It was a building.
A mere building.
Standing up, holding her laptop precariously in her hands, she moved it to the counter in the kitchen, like she wanted to reduce its significance by relocation. She put the laptop beside a fruit basket that never got any use. Leaning her hands on the countertop made from marble, she spoke.
"Structural assessment," she muttered silently.
A whirring sound was the refrigerator's answer.
Her eyes returned to the screen.
Everlight Harbor Town Council.
They hardly ever reached out to outsiders for help. Traditions prevailed. Local contractors were preferred. Knowledge acquired from generations of people working in stores and at boat docks.
Why ask her for advice?
Pain stabbed under her ribs.
Because you left.
Straightening up, she pushed it away.
No.
Because she knew what she was doing.
Because she was good at that.
Her finger moved more slowly this time but came to rest above the trackpad.
She could feel the image of her face appearing again on the glossy screen, creasing her forehead slightly.
Wind hit the exterior of the building; she saw faint traces of snowflakes flying by the window diagonally.
She could close the laptop now.
Forget about it.
Let another person deal with it.
The town existed much longer than she was alive.
Her pulse thumped loudly in her ears.
Then she clicked.
The content of the email filled the screen with neat rows of black letters on white background.
She did not read it yet.
Staring at the first line of the text, she took a deep breath.
Dear Ms. Bennett,
Not Clara.
Not anything familiar.
Professionally.
Coldly.
Carefully.
Her breath became slow and even.
She started reading.
- Writer
