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Authors: Rita Garcia
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windows.”
“If you’re thinking I had any part in it, you’r e wrong. I could n ever disgrace my daughter’s memory . I hope this person she left it to understands how much Anne loved her bookshop .”
“ John , yo ur granddaughter is a special young woman.”
“ We don’t have a grandchild—t hat was decided years ago—let it be. Why dredge up the sins of the dead?” He sliced his hand through the air and turned to go back inside.
The hound’s snarl had us back inside the cab in record time . I moved the gearshift and reversed out of the driveway .
“ H e’ll be think ing about Anne’s daughter . Have you considered talking to Thelma? D idn’t she grow up with Anne ?” He tapped his fingers on his knee.
“ Worth a try . Although Sam should be the one to tal k to Thelma. ”
“W ant me to take your shift?” He momentarily paused the tapping of the tune only audible to his ears.
“ I’m good . ” I shook my head as I zoomed into the station’s driveway.
“Catch you later.” He climbed out and gave the pa ssenger door a swift push .
In response to my rumbling stomach , I hit Rubi’s for a sandwich. I acknowled ged Tiffani , working behind the counter. “Corn beef on rye ,” I call ed out , saving her a trip.
I slid into a booth and looked out the window at the bookshop—g lad to see the windows had been cleaned . Other than a few shoppers who seem ed curious why the bookshop was closed, nothing looked out of the ordinary. I fini shed my dinner—still a little early for my shift , but a head start couldn’t hurt .
A gainst department policy, I use d my truck to make my routine rounds. I t wouldn’t stand out like the b l ack and whites. I made a couple of drives through Main Street between cruising my normal path. No luck.
The sun had set hours earlier and the shops we re closed by the time I made a turn onto Main Street to check out the shops one final time before the end of my shift . About mid way down , the bookshop caught in the beam of my headlights—I came to a screeching halt .
Chapter Eight
Anne’s apartment feels like home. W hy ? Can a mother who carried me under the rhythm of her heartbeat be considered a stranger? Had w e bonded during her pregnancy with a link adoption couldn’t sever ? Lord, help me be lieve what Miss Emmy taught me . God’s love n ever fails. I don’t believe God ’s responsible for the deceptions of others, but where does He fit in to the overall plan ? All I feel is His silence. ~ Journal entry
The polished room held a glow marred only by the dusty bookcase. With a final swallow o f my tea , I grabbed a cloth and began working on the top shelf , resisting the urge to peruse each book. I swiped the rag across the cover of a collection of poems by Robert Frost. I flipped it to dust th e spine , and a bright pink envelope floated to my feet—m y name scrolled across the face of it . Curious , I folded back the flap and removed the card. Happy Sweet S ixteenth sparkled in silver underneath a pink ribbon . I sat on the edge o f the sofa and opened the card.
My darling daughter, I’ ve never been able to think of you any other way. You turn ed sixteen today and I can only imagine how lovely you are. Have you gone to your first dance? Have you worn lipstick for the first time? Have you learned to drive? So many firsts are still ahead of you. Next year , you’ll be a senior in high sch ool. It doesn’t seem possible. In t he last letter and picture I received , you were two years old . I can’t mail this card , but I had to commemorate t his special year. I think about you every single day, and whisper a prayer for you. All my l ove forever , Mom
An intense s adness flowed through me , that I had missed the chance to know this person who’d given birth to me. My c ell phon e vibrated in my pocket . I was thankful texting was my form of communication—I couldn’t have spoken over the lump in my throat. Logan’s name read
“If you’re thinking I had any part in it, you’r e wrong. I could n ever disgrace my daughter’s memory . I hope this person she left it to understands how much Anne loved her bookshop .”
“ John , yo ur granddaughter is a special young woman.”
“ We don’t have a grandchild—t hat was decided years ago—let it be. Why dredge up the sins of the dead?” He sliced his hand through the air and turned to go back inside.
The hound’s snarl had us back inside the cab in record time . I moved the gearshift and reversed out of the driveway .
“ H e’ll be think ing about Anne’s daughter . Have you considered talking to Thelma? D idn’t she grow up with Anne ?” He tapped his fingers on his knee.
“ Worth a try . Although Sam should be the one to tal k to Thelma. ”
“W ant me to take your shift?” He momentarily paused the tapping of the tune only audible to his ears.
“ I’m good . ” I shook my head as I zoomed into the station’s driveway.
“Catch you later.” He climbed out and gave the pa ssenger door a swift push .
In response to my rumbling stomach , I hit Rubi’s for a sandwich. I acknowled ged Tiffani , working behind the counter. “Corn beef on rye ,” I call ed out , saving her a trip.
I slid into a booth and looked out the window at the bookshop—g lad to see the windows had been cleaned . Other than a few shoppers who seem ed curious why the bookshop was closed, nothing looked out of the ordinary. I fini shed my dinner—still a little early for my shift , but a head start couldn’t hurt .
A gainst department policy, I use d my truck to make my routine rounds. I t wouldn’t stand out like the b l ack and whites. I made a couple of drives through Main Street between cruising my normal path. No luck.
The sun had set hours earlier and the shops we re closed by the time I made a turn onto Main Street to check out the shops one final time before the end of my shift . About mid way down , the bookshop caught in the beam of my headlights—I came to a screeching halt .
Chapter Eight
Anne’s apartment feels like home. W hy ? Can a mother who carried me under the rhythm of her heartbeat be considered a stranger? Had w e bonded during her pregnancy with a link adoption couldn’t sever ? Lord, help me be lieve what Miss Emmy taught me . God’s love n ever fails. I don’t believe God ’s responsible for the deceptions of others, but where does He fit in to the overall plan ? All I feel is His silence. ~ Journal entry
The polished room held a glow marred only by the dusty bookcase. With a final swallow o f my tea , I grabbed a cloth and began working on the top shelf , resisting the urge to peruse each book. I swiped the rag across the cover of a collection of poems by Robert Frost. I flipped it to dust th e spine , and a bright pink envelope floated to my feet—m y name scrolled across the face of it . Curious , I folded back the flap and removed the card. Happy Sweet S ixteenth sparkled in silver underneath a pink ribbon . I sat on the edge o f the sofa and opened the card.
My darling daughter, I’ ve never been able to think of you any other way. You turn ed sixteen today and I can only imagine how lovely you are. Have you gone to your first dance? Have you worn lipstick for the first time? Have you learned to drive? So many firsts are still ahead of you. Next year , you’ll be a senior in high sch ool. It doesn’t seem possible. In t he last letter and picture I received , you were two years old . I can’t mail this card , but I had to commemorate t his special year. I think about you every single day, and whisper a prayer for you. All my l ove forever , Mom
An intense s adness flowed through me , that I had missed the chance to know this person who’d given birth to me. My c ell phon e vibrated in my pocket . I was thankful texting was my form of communication—I couldn’t have spoken over the lump in my throat. Logan’s name read
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