Page 36 of It’s Me They Follow

R ose, Charlie, and Ray stopped by the bookshop to help The Shopkeeper unpack the truck, which was overstuffed with a colorful assortment of furniture that no one thought would look good together until she worked her design magic in the room.

“What about this?” Charlie asked as he helped her place an eight-foot-tall grandfather clock next to her desk.

“Too close. Over an inch,” The Shopkeeper explained. “I don’t want them to touch.”

“An inch?” Charlie retorted, and then made a muscle. “Rose, my love, take a look at these arms in action.” He pretended to strain while pushing the heavy clock.

“Another benefit of having a younger man.” Rose fanned herself like he made her so hot.

“Perfection. Right there.” The Shopkeeper gave the giant clock, which reminded her of her grandfather, a hug and a kiss.

“This is an interesting piece of...” Ray tried to understand the upside-down surrealist lamp of blue-faced mermaids designed to look like they were floating away.

“Art!” she exclaimed.

She had stacks and stacks of books from Down South. More than she could have ever imagined. She had no idea her grandmother, knowing someday she’d be a shopkeeper, continued collecting books for her even after she had left.

“This goes by the door.” She was standing in the middle of the room like a conductor, using her blue Sharpie like a baton. “That goes by the window,” The Shopkeeper directed her friends.

Ray couldn’t believe how content she looked in her denim romper and denim cape, laughing and keeping the rhythm and bossing everyone around. She was in her happy place.

In no time, they had her Harriett painting up on the wall and all her furniture in place.

Rose had unpacked all the boxes, and the shelves were starting to sing.

Even the teenybopper came by and surprised her with a cash register filled with cash so she could have change when customers finally came.

After a few hours of work, their backs and bodies ached, and their stomachs grumbled.

Rose made them all their own blend of tea—marshmallow, mullein, and lemon balm for Ray to help him stay calm; lavender and cinnamon for Charlie to help him relieve stress; jasmine and hibiscus with a bit of raw honey for The Shopkeeper to help her focus.

When they were all warm and comfy and herbs and spices filled the air, they fell into a collective silence.

Ray had his book, Rose had her book, Charlie had his sketch pad, and the teenybopper was coloring, but The Shopkeeper had her journal and her blue Sharpie.

Instead of reading, she was writing away.

We deserve sweetness , The Shopkeeper thought as she sipped her piping hot tea.

The word “sweetness” reminded her of ME and his sweet-smelling beard and bald head.

She touched her lips with the top of the marker, thinking of his lips kissing hers while she was asleep.

He must have been gone for good this time.

But goodbyes didn’t have to be sad. If she saw ME again or never again, all would be well.

Perhaps we’ll meet in a different story.

She chuckled to herself, interrupting the silence in the room.

“Shhhhhh,” Rose said mischievously, as if she’d read The Shopkeeper’s mind.

The Shopkeeper listened to Rose, letting quiet fill the room again as she returned to writing her next book—a memoir.