Placid (Luke Hemmings)

Chapter Seventeen

| emma’s pov |

The bell ringed as I opened the door to the bookstore I’ve always loved coming to, as a child.

“You’re back again, Emma, honey. Where’s your boyfriend? He just went away, running, earlier. And if I’m not mistaken, you followed after, hurriedly, too,” Miss Victoria, the owner of the shop, said. She was concerned.

At least someone, other than me, was worried about Luke.

I nodded, a deep sigh escaping from my mouth. “He’s not my boyfriend, though. But anyway, I… I’ll go to the back.”

She rubbed my back, attempting to comfort me somehow. “Alright, honey. If it makes you feel better, you can get one book, for free.” Vicky, as I fondly called her, gave me that warm smile of hers.

“Thank you, Vicky,” I said and made my way to the back.

I knew exactly what I’d get.

“The Prince and the Spirit.”

The colorful and child-friendly cover was irking me. It wasn’t as favorable as I thought.

I moved to the page I stopped at, anticipating what would happen next. After all, it was the princess’ turn; what would the spirit do? What was going to happen?

Expecting another one of its appalling illustrations, I was left with torn pages.

“No, I’m sure this wasn’t torn earlier.” I helplessly turned the pages again and again, but there was nothing. It didn’t come back, just as I stupidly hoped.

But it wouldn’t hurt to keep it. This might be the answer to all my questions. I just had to think more and put the pieces together.

I approached the counter, where Vicky was seated, reading one of her books. She noticed me, in a flash, and grinned. “Is that what you’re getting?”

“Yes, please.” I handed it over to her, and I could’ve sworn there was a puzzled look on her face.

Nonetheless, she placed it in a paper bag and gave it to me.

“My daughter actually made that,” she informed. Vicky inhaled and exhaled, as if she was trying to fight back something. “She… she was going through hard times when she wrote that. I apologize for the… explicitness.”

I waved it off, though I was shocked that she had a daughter. She didn’t have a husband; I knew she was all alone. “Where is she?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “She passed away, just before I moved here. That… that was nine years ago. Oh, you were just eight years old.” Vicky wiped the tears that formed at the corner of her eyes.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright, Emma. I’ve… accepted the fact that she’s gone.” She cupped my cheeks. “You’re the closest I’ve had to a daughter, since then.”

My heart sank from sympathy. “What’s her name, Vicky?”

“Tabitha. Her name’s Tabitha.”