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“Seeing as though you thrive in chaos, I wonder what youdiddo with your time.”
Willow gasped dramatically. “You did not just go there.”
Montgomery could only guess what she meant by‘go there’but he knew he’d crossed some kind of line if her heated complexion offered any inclination.
At length, he let out a sigh and drifted to the bar to take a seat. The stools were covered in midnight blue velvet-like cushions and had brass arm rests. He could at least admit, reluctantly, that Willow had good taste in decor. He would have loved to afford such luxurious embellishments when he ran the Moonstone.
“I do not find joy in bickering with you, Miss Ravensong,” he said at last. “In fact, I have not found joy in anything these past one hundred plus years. Death. The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.”
He hung his head over the bar and, after a length of silence, thought Willow had left the room. But then felt a quickening when he sensed her presence beside him.
“I suppose I can forgive a guy who quotes Shakespeare,” she said, settling onto the next stool. “I mean, slapping you in the throat isn’t an option, so…”
“The world has changed a great deal, has it not? It is quite jarring.”
“Yes, it has. But you’ve seen it all take place, haven’t you? You’ve haunted this place for over a hundred and ten years. It’s like witnessing history firsthand. The world wars, the moon landing…”
“I do not experience time like the living,” he said. “My consciousness fades in and out, like it’s all a dream. Sometimes I find myself in a vast, dark room, other times it’s like walking through fog. And when I’m present in the Moonstone, this dimension seems jumbled up… and there are pieces missing from one day to the next. I haven’t had a full day of cognizance for over a century. Until recently, when you came.”
“You don’t remember all the ways this town has changed?”
“I remember some things. For a time, there was always music. Rock and roll, playing constantly.” He shook his head.
“Back when this was a record store?”
“Yes.”
Willow laughed. “And you hated rock and roll. You’re such an old fogey.”
“I don’t hate rock and roll now,” he said defensively. “It grew on me. There are quite a few artists I enjoy, actually.”
“And then they opened the sports bar,” she said. “Do you remember that?”
“Oh yes. The enormous food servings. And even bigger electric telescopes—colorful and distracting—each one displaying a different sporting event. And the patrons shouting at the images on screen. The awareness of those times are few but there are some that stuck with me.”
“Seems rowdy,” said Willow, and Montgomery reflected on the soft jazz or classical music she liked to play when the bookshop was open.
He lifted his chin, fixating on a thought. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I guess.”
“What does…a cheeseburger taste like?”
Willow let out a little chuckle and regarded him curiously. “Like a hamburger but with cheese.”
He thought as much, but felt unsatisfied with the answer.
“The burgers they served in the sports bar looked quite a bit different than the hamburger steak sandwiches of my time.”
“You think about food a lot, don’t you?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” he replied, eyebrows raised.
Willow gave him a pitying look, and after a few moments of quiet thought, said, “Well, you aren’t missing much.”
Then she hopped off the stool, went over to the sales counter with a determined stride, and tossed her Chinese food in the trash.
“That’s going to leave a smell,” Montgomery said, even as Willow strode toward the back of the shop, waving him over to join her.
