Read Online The Ghost of a Chance by Natalie Vivien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Natalie Vivien
Ads: Link
zippered
pouch in the drawer at her left. "All right, Darcy. Take care, then."
Her smile is tight, plastic; only her eyes—cold, as always—speak the truth.
"Good-bye, Annabelle."
With an exasperated sigh, I turn away and head
toward the door. There's a display of new paperback releases just in front of
the security desk. I pause for a moment to scan the titles. It's been weeks
since I've had an attention span suitable for reading, but I miss the escapism
of a good book. I finger a Maeve Binchy novel, considering.
"I highly recommend that one."
Marjorie comes up beside me, her glasses on a purple
cord around her neck, her grey hair twisted into a loose topknot on her head,
and nods toward the display. "The Jeannette Winterson is excellent, too. I
think you'd enjoy it immensely."
I smile at my boss, genuinely smile. She holds her
arms wide, and I walk into them, grateful for the simple human contact.
"How are you doing, Darcy?"
"Oh, you know..." My lower lip trembles
despite my best efforts, and my chest begins to heave with swallowed sobs.
"You've got to let it out, dear. You've got to
let it hurt, or you'll never heal." She pulls back from me with a tender
look and sweeps my hair from my eyes. "I'm speaking from experience. The
best advice I can give you? Cry. Cry until you can't cry any more. You have to grieve ."
"I'm sure you're right, Marjorie. I've been so
tense—"
"You look tense!" She squeezes both of my
hands. "Have you been taking care of yourself? Getting enough rest?"
I shrug noncommittally and take the Jeannette
Winterson novel from the rack. "Is this as good as her last one?"
The elderly woman regards me with a disapproving
frown. "Why don't you join me for dinner tonight? We'll go somewhere nice,
my treat. I'd love to catch you up on all of the library gossip." She
winks.
"That's a sweet offer, but I don't know if it
would be a good idea. I mean, not right now. I have to get some things in order
at home—"
"Well, it's only nine o’clock." Marjorie
gestures at the big round clock on the wall behind us. "You've got plenty
of time to take care of chores and errands. What do you say we meet up at The
Poseidon on Elizabeth Street around five o’clock?"
"But—"
"Consider it a favor. To me. Come on."
When I applied for the librarian position, Marjorie
interviewed me, hired me, and welcomed me, a novice, with open arms. She spent
weeks teaching me the ins and outs of the library and proved herself, again and
again, a constant solace whenever the hours seemed too long and the patrons
more difficult than usual. She's my friend, and I realize with a little
surprise that I would enjoy a hour or two's worth of dinner conversation in her
company.
"All right. Five o’clock."
"Great!" She squeezes my hands once more.
"Let's get these books checked out for you, then. I'll take care of it. I
think Annabelle's gone on her break—"
"Thank God for small blessings." I find my
wallet in my purse and search its pockets for my library card.
---
Catherine and I dined at The Poseidon only once, for
our three-year anniversary. The restaurant is pricey and impressive, with four
thick white columns marking the entrance and a mural painted all over the
outside walls: an ocean scene, populated by sea life and mermaids with starfish
pinned in their long blonde hair.
I approach one of the mermaids and lay my hand flat
on the wall. "This one reminds me of you," I told Catherine, pointing
at the woman lying on a rock at the bottom of the sea.
"Darcy?" Marjorie startles me, coming up
from behind to clutch my elbow. "Lovely painting, isn't it? Done by a
local artist, you know. Woman by the name of Alice. She's a nurse at the
hospital, very sweet girl. Always helpful and kind."
I examine the mermaid again, more intently. "I
have a friend named Alis. A nurse. I wonder if you mean her. She never
mentioned that she paints, though."
Marjorie shrugs. "Could be."
"Hmm, I'll have to ask her about it. She might
be
pouch in the drawer at her left. "All right, Darcy. Take care, then."
Her smile is tight, plastic; only her eyes—cold, as always—speak the truth.
"Good-bye, Annabelle."
With an exasperated sigh, I turn away and head
toward the door. There's a display of new paperback releases just in front of
the security desk. I pause for a moment to scan the titles. It's been weeks
since I've had an attention span suitable for reading, but I miss the escapism
of a good book. I finger a Maeve Binchy novel, considering.
"I highly recommend that one."
Marjorie comes up beside me, her glasses on a purple
cord around her neck, her grey hair twisted into a loose topknot on her head,
and nods toward the display. "The Jeannette Winterson is excellent, too. I
think you'd enjoy it immensely."
I smile at my boss, genuinely smile. She holds her
arms wide, and I walk into them, grateful for the simple human contact.
"How are you doing, Darcy?"
"Oh, you know..." My lower lip trembles
despite my best efforts, and my chest begins to heave with swallowed sobs.
"You've got to let it out, dear. You've got to
let it hurt, or you'll never heal." She pulls back from me with a tender
look and sweeps my hair from my eyes. "I'm speaking from experience. The
best advice I can give you? Cry. Cry until you can't cry any more. You have to grieve ."
"I'm sure you're right, Marjorie. I've been so
tense—"
"You look tense!" She squeezes both of my
hands. "Have you been taking care of yourself? Getting enough rest?"
I shrug noncommittally and take the Jeannette
Winterson novel from the rack. "Is this as good as her last one?"
The elderly woman regards me with a disapproving
frown. "Why don't you join me for dinner tonight? We'll go somewhere nice,
my treat. I'd love to catch you up on all of the library gossip." She
winks.
"That's a sweet offer, but I don't know if it
would be a good idea. I mean, not right now. I have to get some things in order
at home—"
"Well, it's only nine o’clock." Marjorie
gestures at the big round clock on the wall behind us. "You've got plenty
of time to take care of chores and errands. What do you say we meet up at The
Poseidon on Elizabeth Street around five o’clock?"
"But—"
"Consider it a favor. To me. Come on."
When I applied for the librarian position, Marjorie
interviewed me, hired me, and welcomed me, a novice, with open arms. She spent
weeks teaching me the ins and outs of the library and proved herself, again and
again, a constant solace whenever the hours seemed too long and the patrons
more difficult than usual. She's my friend, and I realize with a little
surprise that I would enjoy a hour or two's worth of dinner conversation in her
company.
"All right. Five o’clock."
"Great!" She squeezes my hands once more.
"Let's get these books checked out for you, then. I'll take care of it. I
think Annabelle's gone on her break—"
"Thank God for small blessings." I find my
wallet in my purse and search its pockets for my library card.
---
Catherine and I dined at The Poseidon only once, for
our three-year anniversary. The restaurant is pricey and impressive, with four
thick white columns marking the entrance and a mural painted all over the
outside walls: an ocean scene, populated by sea life and mermaids with starfish
pinned in their long blonde hair.
I approach one of the mermaids and lay my hand flat
on the wall. "This one reminds me of you," I told Catherine, pointing
at the woman lying on a rock at the bottom of the sea.
"Darcy?" Marjorie startles me, coming up
from behind to clutch my elbow. "Lovely painting, isn't it? Done by a
local artist, you know. Woman by the name of Alice. She's a nurse at the
hospital, very sweet girl. Always helpful and kind."
I examine the mermaid again, more intently. "I
have a friend named Alis. A nurse. I wonder if you mean her. She never
mentioned that she paints, though."
Marjorie shrugs. "Could be."
"Hmm, I'll have to ask her about it. She might
be
Similar Books
