One Chapter Ends

Chapter One

she uses her arms to shield herself

from the storm inside

but umbrellas are only good

for storms of rain

not tears

Bag slung across her body, Hazel inserted the key into the door, twisting it to the right like she had seen her grandfather do so often as a little girl. She pushed it open a little, squeezing through the gap between the wall and the door, shutting it carefully behind her.

She flicked a switch. Strings of bright white fairy lights bloomed against the dark chocolate walls. Flicking a second switch turned on the air-conditioner, one of the only modern conveniences her grandfather had included.

The entire store looked exactly the way he had left it. The large windows at the front of the store, covered by dusty blinds; the desk with its old-fashioned crank-style cash register and bell.  Hazel ran her fingers over the well-worn wood of the desk, tapping the bell and listening to the familiar ping it made.

An ancient blue typewriter sat behind it, the one her grandfather had lugged around with him his entire life. The fabric board buried by his pin collection. The record player with its translucent purple cover half-obscured with stickers, positioned on a table in the corner, next to a set of shelves almost collapsing under the weight of over a hundred vinyl records. She walked over and scanned the stacked vinyls, then reached out and plucked one from the shelf. She placed the record on the machine and positioned the needle, her gaze still darting around the store. 

The maple floors... the bookshelves organised by author, not by genre... Hazel remembered helping stock the shelves and her grandfather insisting it be stocked that way.

Walking around, she hummed along to Snow Patrol, brushing her fingers over the door to the back room, head tilted sideways to read the printed titles on the book spines. All of them were so familiar, it made her throat ache. Every so often, a white paper card was stuck to the shelf, with faded black lettering on it: book reviews written by her grandfather, using his typewriter. Nearly every book had one.

She stopped in front of a shelf. A small paper card was stuck in front of a book she knew as well as herself. Winnie-the-Pooh, by A. A. Milne. Peering at the dull typeface, she read the review:

I like Winnie-the-Pooh a lot. Its a grate book. Piglet is my favrit charater. Rating: 5/5.

Hazel felt her heart clench as she reached out and touched the tip of her finger to the raised font. She could remember typing this, seated at the old typewriter behind the front desk, sun streaming through the window and warming her face, sneaker-clad feet dangling several feet above the ground. Her grandfather had been reading on a chair next to her, occasionally reaching out to bang a stuck button for her.

She sniffed. Her throat felt like it had a walnut lodged in it. An unusually large, cumbersome walnut.

But she didn't have time for that. Her grandfather had died over three months ago and she'd only just summoned the courage to visit the bookstore. She had things to sort out.

Hazel pulled her bag around to her front and fished inside of it. She pulled out some papers that had been rolled up and bound with an elastic band. Sitting down at the front desk, she took the band off and unrolled them. The first bundle read: Last Will and Testament of Lewis John Walker. A watermark was stamped across it: HAZEL MARA BROWN; COPY FOR. The second was a plain white envelope, on which was written in cursive script: Hazel Mara Brown.