Page 63 of Smoke and Glitter

I read it twice. Normal enough. Autumn has sent me shorter messages while sitting six feet away from me. I put my phone in my pocket and go downstairs.

The following day, I do inventory before open.

I'm halfway through the back stock when I lose my place in the tequila. I look down at the sheet. Then back at the shelf. No idea where I stopped. I start again.

The second time, I make it to the bourbon before my eyes catch on the space beside the shelving where Autumn was standing the first time I kissed her back here.

The front door opens downstairs. My head comes up.

Delivery.

I look back at the shelf. I counted the Bardstown already.

Probably.

I start the row again.

A day later, my phone buzzes while I'm opening.

Unknown number.

I grab it fast enough to knock the bitters against the rail.

Linen company.

I answer their question, hang up and put the phone down. That's when I see the envelope on the back counter where Autumn left it. Somebody put a wet glass on one corner, and there's a ring dried into the paper. I pick it up.

I remember her standing across the bar explaining the filing. Pilsen. The old company. The call she thought I should make.

Mostly I remember her saying, Let me be useful.

And what I said back.

I don't need you interfering in my life.

It was a shitty thing to say. I knew it the second it came out.

Tony comes through the service door carrying a case of wine against his chest.

"Where do you want this?"

"Back wall. Bottom shelf."

He disappears into storage. I look down at the paper in my hand.

Autumn doesn't do vague. There won't be three ideas and a good-luck note inside. There will be names. Order. Probably exact sentences because she doesn't hand somebody a problem without building them a way through it.

Opening it means sitting down with all of that. I put it back on the counter.

Later.

Marisol comes in early the next day with Lucia because her sitter fell through.

Lucia takes over the office couch with a ladybug backpack, three coloring books and enough crayons to furnish a kindergarten classroom.

I bring her a plastic cup with a couple of cherries. She takes it with both hands.

"Thank you, Sam."