Everywhere, Everything. ★ STURNIOLO TRIPLETS

CHAPTER THREE

    Fog drifted down from the mountains, coloring the morning in a silver haze. Main Street was cloaked in copper leaves. Faint, amber orbs of street lamps broke through low clouds, casting Woodbury in a ghostly sheen.

    I walked slowly down Briar Avenue, peeking into the lightless windows of Marty's Mercantile as I passed. It was too early for the shops, but I'd already been up for hours.

I couldn't stop thinking about what Jenny said last night.

I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, making pros and cons lists. By four, I'd given up on the thought of sleep and tried to work on my submission, but had the same success with that.

    An elderly couple was walking leisurely with their collie down Briar. Their fingers were intertwined, swinging delicately as they strolled towards me.

    "G'Morning," the man said with a tip of his head.

    "Morning," I smiled.

    A familiar jingle came from the bell hanging above the door as I unlocked Next Chapter. Mine and Jenny's tea cups were still resting on the counter. I flipped the overhead lights on, blinking against the pale flash. Jenny wouldn't be in for a couple of hours, so I gathered our dishes and stepped down into the kitchenette tucked around the corner from the register.

    Fading floral wallpaper lined the matchbox sized room. Its once vibrant yellow, now muted with age. Reminiscent of another life. A single, hand-carved wooden frame hung above the sink. I placed the teacups into the empty basin and leaned in to get a better look at the photograph.

    Two young girls, who didn't look older than twelve, hugged each other tightly. Their cheeks squished together. One had long pigtail braids cascading over her shoulders and wore thick tortoise shell glasses. Her eyes were scrunched closed, her smile big and toothy. The other had wild curls floating around her face. She posed with her tongue sticking out. I traced my finger along the glass.

    Jenny didn't talk much about her little sister, Josie. Once, while we were restocking the shelves, she mentioned that last she had heard, Josie lived down south with a husband. They had two girls who were grown and out of the house. She never met them.

When I asked what happened all she said was, "Just because you grow up in the same house doesn't mean you become the same people."

Isn't it strange how love can just fade out? One day you're chasing each other around the front yard, hollering over your shoulder "you can't catch me!," and the next you're nothing but a distant memory. Apparitions floating in a frame, frozen in time.

I washed the dishes and left them on the compact metal rack to dry. A few droplets of water had landed on the picture frame. Carefully, I pulled the sleeve of my sweater across the glass, streaking the girls' faces.

The sun still hadn't broken through the haze when I walked back into the main shop. A handful of people were out meandering through the gloom, stopping to admire the scenic strip. One woman was snapping photos on her phone of the large banner that dangled between our building and the craft store across the street. It was promoting the Woodbury Harvest Festival that would be happening in a couple of weeks.

I pulled one of the old barstools out from the kitchenette, plopping myself down behind the register. My journal had dried out overnight, but its pages curled at the edges. I drug my palms across the page a few times to flatten it out. The scent of stale coffee permeated the air. Half of the entry dissolved into itself, leaving black blotches across the center of the page.

"Wonderful," I mumbled.

Maybe if I hadn't been so caught up in other people's business, I wouldn't have ruined the only decent piece of writing I'd gotten down in the last month.