Signed By the Author

“Ow are your studies, Elise?” Mirabelle cut the silence as she placed two steaming mugs on an antique coffee table and nestled into her worn leather reading chair. She brushed her bouncing grey bangs out of her face and waited for a response.

“They’re okay,” Elise smiled politely and turned to meet Mirabelle’s lively, brown eyes. Elise had been scanning the bookshelves and framed photos around her grandmother’s stuffy living room, waiting for the questions to start. She tugged at the battered quilt around her legs, tucking it in to fend off the winter chill.

“You are nearly finished,” Mirabelle would not let the quiet come again, “that must be exciting -- non?”

“I guess, yeah,” Elise considered whether to continue. She picked up her tea and decided to throw her grandmother a line. 

“Just kinda want it done with,” Elise offered while blowing steam from her mug, “it’s all pretty boring now.”

“It can not possibly be all so dull,” Mirabelle jumped in with a tone that immediately felt more judgemental than she intended. She scolded herself as she leaned forward to pluck her mug from the table.

“It is,” Elise muttered before taking a sip. She shifted in her seat, away from her grandmother and back to scanning spines on the bookshelf. Had she already made it to ‘R’ before the last question? That still left far more on the shelf than Elise had ever read; even when she used to love reading.

Mirabelle knew she was losing Elise again and it pained her. She and the dark-haired young woman sitting beside her had grown so distant the past few years. She missed the little girl with such a fiery spirit and brown eyes wide enough to drink in every bit of life the world had to offer. Mirabelle was desperate to be a part of her granddaughter’s life again, more than she had failed to with her own children. Her son treated these visits with Elise as charity, and Mirabelle hated the feeling. Now his daughter was doing the same and it ached. She took a long sip and felt like crawling into her mug to hide.

“Tell me, what is one thing you are working on?” Mirabelle was grasping.

Elise cut short a sigh before Mirabelle caught it, “I have to find a book I’ve connected with and write about what makes it personal and stuff.”

“This is fantastic!” Mirabelle lit up. 

Elise didn’t hide her sigh this time. It drained out of her before she responded.

“Except when am I supposed to find time to enjoy a book?” She felt a bit harsh for the long sigh and the sting it caused her grandmother. 

“Is the task to enjoy a book,” Mirabelle asked carefully, “or connect with it?”

“Same thing,” Elise knew it wasn’t, “and I still don’t have time for it with all the other stuff I have to get done.”

“Ave you not found one?” Mirabelle was poised in her seat.

“No, I haven’t,” Elise knew she had just thrown her grandmother a lifeline. 

Mirabelle was up and darting toward her wall of books before Elise could finish lifting her mug for another sip. Elise noticed the worn-down path of carpet her grandmother followed. Mirabelle’s fingers waved in front of the shelf for a fraction of a second, tracking her target, before locking onto a spine. Elise fell into a rush of memories, watching her grandmother pluck a book from those floor-to-ceiling shelves. She caught herself smiling as Mirabelle swung around.

“Ave you read this?” Mirabelle asked as she held out her selection. 

Elise sat up and reached out for the ancient looking hardcover. She turned the book over, glancing at the back and again at the cover.