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“Martha? Martha Stewart?” Rory raised a brow, ready to doubt another name drop.
“No, silly, Martha from the bakery. She’s making her way to the door right now.”
Rory turned and a smile grew on her face. Martha, the old lady who owned the German bakery and who was her grandmother’s closest friend, was walking in the door. Jeez, when was the last time I saw her?
“How are you, hon’?” Martha asked, as Rory embraced her. Right behind her was Sharon, one of the neighbors. Sharon was stay-at-home-mother to three children, who were not the most well-behaved.
“I’m good. And you... you look good too.” Rory smiled back.
“You still got this one around, I see.” Martha nodded at Lizzy, who in turn went bright red. Martha was always chiding the girl to be more ladylike, and Rory was convinced that Lizzy was terrified of the old lady. If it weren’t for the insanely good cupcakes Martha made, Lizzy probably wouldn’t step within a hundred feet of her.
“Sharon was at the bakery and mentioned that she was coming here, so I thought I’d surprise you as well. Not like you ever bother to visit this poor old woman,” Martha went on.
“It’s not that and you know it. It’s just been so busy.” Rory was looking for excuses, but her mind was going blank. “You know Tara’s getting married and there’s so much to do, and the shop and …life in general,” she sighed.
“That little sister of yours? Married? God save the poor fella.” As Martha made the sign of a cross, even Lizzy let out a chuckle, though sheepishly. Tara had never been kind to Lizzy, bullying her constantly.
“Yes, in two weeks. He’s in the same line of work as she is. My mother is pretty excited.” Rory kept a polite smile on her face.
“Well, good for her,” Martha replied. Rory could feel that there was a question in there somewhere. And what about you, Rory?
“Rory, I need some storybooks. Some with a lot of pictures to keep my boys quiet. I barely have a moment for myself and I am not sure how much more of it I can take,” Sharon said as she browsed the shelves.
“Sure thing. There are tons of them here. Lizzy, show her around, will you please?” Rory replied and escorted Martha to the coffee table they had set up by the counter for people who wanted to read in the store. It hadn’t seen much occupancy of late.
As curious as she was, Martha didn’t prod much or ask questions Rory wasn’t ready to answer. Instead, she spent the next hour gossiping with Rory—about people they knew, about people only she knew and about her incompetent kitchen staff.
Lizzy had prepared some tea and opened the bag of goodies that Martha had brought for them. It had been a long time since they had tea like this. When Grandma Colleen was alive, it happened almost daily. It had a sense of familiarity, of comfort. Like slipping into a comfy, old pair of jeans.
By the time the two women left, it was well past lunchtime and Rory was left with Lizzy blabbing on and on in her ear. Lizzy’s lack of ambition and intelligence got to her at times, but she reminded herself that not everyone has to have the same kind of goals that she herself had in life.
Goals that I have not done anything about. Rory stopped herself before she slid down a dark hole of self-pity. She had enough to worry about already, like fitting into that damn dress and making it through another family gathering.
To divert her mind from such thoughts, Rory logged onto her online store again. Gone were the days when she checked her sales data with excitement. Now she just prayed that a few pieces would sell everyday so that she had enough to make ends meet. There was nothing she wished for more than financial freedom, and the more she strived for it, the more it seemed to evade her.
Three new sales, it said. Rory stared at the screen numbly. Maybe sales will pick up later in the evening. She repeated the mantra that she told herself almost on a daily basis. Her only saving grace through all these years of struggle had been her ability to stay positive and keep a straight face. Of late, she hadn’t been sure if she would be able to maintain it for long.
Irritated, she walked away from the computer. Only a total of two other customers walked into the bookshop for the rest of the day. One had just browsed around silently while the other had bought a map of the island.
Lizzy left at five as she had a Zumba class, an invitation to which Rory declined. Forty dollars to dance
around? No, thank you. Besides, evenings were her favorite time to sketch, and she was not going to give that up for anything.
The day before, she started on a new T-shirt design: an overly smiley, plumply cartoonish garibaldi fish with thick lips and a sarcastic smile. She was sure it would appeal to kids. After trying all sorts of designs from faux artistic impressions to vintage cars to stuff with a lot of text on it, she had no qualms about diversifying further. Nothing had really worked for her so far except that one time when a lot of those “Keep Calm” T-shirts had been trendy.
Rory was really hoping that this cartoon character that she had envisioned in a weird dream would take her to the next level and provide her with financial security. She was sick of skipping dinner every other day and cutting costs wherever she could. At one point she even thought about giving up the house to her sister, but found it incredibly hard to let the memories of her grandma go.
She smiled as she thought of Grandma Colleen and got down to sketching again. Even though she was no longer in this world, just the memories of late-night talks with Granny strengthened her resolve to do more with her life. Rory just wished that she had such a strong resolve twenty-four hours a day.
She was lost in sketching and thinking up a name for the character when the rain started lashing down. Nothing like a long, deep sleep in the rain to rejuvenate the body and the mind, she thought to herself as she got up from her desk to head to her bedroom.
Her footsteps echoed around the huge, Victorian-style house where every rustle of the wind sounded like reverberating waves of the ocean. Rory wrapped herself in a comfy nightgown and was about to get in bed when she felt the floor shake and heard a loud booming noise, like that of a bomb exploding.
Chapter 3
Arsen felt like he often did after a very heavy workout in the gym. Except this was much worse, as every single muscle in his body ached more like he had been beaten with a club. He wasn’t even sure whether he was alive or dead. The sound of whirling winds still surrounded him, and he felt a trickle make its way down his face. Water, or maybe blood? His vision was limited to the blur that was in front of his eyes.
Am I dead?
