The Hurt Game

❧ thirteen

"Thank you. Have a great day!"

"Likewise."

The little bell above the door rang as the customer exited the shop. I cleared the stickers from the desk, throwing them in the bin behind the counter.

The silence returned as the door was closed, the customer had left and the bell had stopped tinkling. It was a surprise, and delight, to see someone enter the store. It had been quiet all day. Only one other person had stopped by to pick up her ordered books.

Days like these had come by more and more. It was saddening to see.

"Waverly, do you have a moment?" Arthur questioned as he appeared behind a bookshelf. The corners of his mouth were frowned down and the look in his eyes were serious.

A stone settled in my stomach, but I smiled in response. "Of course," I replied to him.

I followed him into the backroom and the door fell shut behind me. My eyes wandered over the desk. It was full of envelopes, bills and shipments. Pens were scattered around it and on top of a pile papers were Arthur's reading glasses.

I lifted my head to look at him. He sat down in the chair with a little thump and a heavy sigh. The chair creaked with the added weight. He scattered his hands over the mess of his desk, seeming to try to organize a bit of it. Unfortunately he didn't possess any magical powers to have everything organized within moments.

"Do you need my help with anything?" I asked.

He let a smile grow on his lips as he looked up to meet my gaze. He shook his head. "No, but thank you," he replied. "I... eh... Probably better to come straightforward."

I swallowed thickly and nodded my head as I patiently waited for him to say whatever he had needed to say. It was silent in the room. The buzzing of the computer was the only sound and the cars driving by were heard in the distance.

No good.

"What is it, Arthur?"

"I am thinking of retiring early, closing the shop early." He said it with a sigh and I could see how deeply he regretted to have said the words. He was frowning. His face was sombre and his eyes held a look of sadness.

A sadness I could understand more than anyone who had ever worked here. I met his wife, watched them both running the bookstore happily until his wife died from a stroke. It was so sudden and for months I had run the shop alone. Arthur was in no state to work, too taken by grief. I visited him every day for all those months, brought Daniela's meals with him in a small container. Sometimes I even had dinner with him.

Slowly he crawled out of that dark time. He helped once or twice a week in the store. He looked healthier in weeks. He was ready to take over and run the store again, but then he experienced a stroke. He survived, recovered and picked himself up to continue working at the store. Back then, it had many customers.

And lately, the past year and a half, I saw how it lessened. Less and less people came by, walked in and bought a book or anything book-related. I witnessed how it took Arthur's energy away. Three employees were fired, because he couldn't keep up paying the bills, provide for himself and keep a bookstore standing. He told me he couldn't fire me, not the one who had taken such good care of him in times of need.

And I was beyond grateful. I was grateful to work here, to laugh with him and to talk with him. He became a lot like a grandfather to me, one I knew I could turn to whenever I wanted advice.

But it didn't change things. It didn't change how quiet it became. It didn't change how the rent of the building became higher and how difficult it was to see another employee go. It didn't change the amount of people that didn't visit anymore.