The Healing Debt

The bell above the entrance rang, but I didn't glance up. I wanted to avoid faces; I only sought tasks. Surfaces to clean. Utensils to shine. Hours to pass until I could return home and rest long enough to erase the fact that my life had just been torn apart.

I accepted the job because I craved the weariness. I needed my body to hurt more than my heart.

"Are you the new part-time worker?" The voice was deep, calm, and oddly recognizable. I finally lifted my gaze. He wore a grease-splattered apron, a mark of flour on his forearm, and an expression I couldn't quite decipher. He seemed as if he were seeing a ghost.

"I'm Elise," I said, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears.

"I know," he responded. Just those two words. He didn't say, 'I remember you.' He didn't say, 'I've been sitting behind you since we were in high school.' He simply stood there, Henry, a man already involved in a life with someone else, observing me struggling in mine.

I didn't realize at that moment that he was the lifeline I was seeking. And I certainly didn't foresee that by holding onto him, I'd be dragging someone else down with me.