Stella crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t overwork yourself then. The festival is always a success because of all the overtime and hard work you and the committee put into planning, so take it easy these last few days. I’m going to call you later and check to see how you’re feeling, and if you don’t answer, I’m going to come back here. Answer your phone when I call. That’s an order.”
Arnie tossed his thumb over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. Now get out of here, go home, and relax.That’san order.”
Stella shoved her Jack Mathis book and her notepad into her purse and then slung the bag onto her shoulder. She grabbed her duffel and sleeping bag and saluted Arnie.
“You need to work on your salute, soldier.” He opened a drawer and pointed at his cell phone. “Call me tonight. I promise to answer.”
My love for you swells
against the cage of my heart.
This time, stay with me.
Stella tucked the pen behind her ear and sighed, closing her eyes as she sank back onto the worn couch cushions.Ugh, why am I writing love poems today?For one indulgent moment, she allowed herself to recall the memory of what it felt like to be held, to offer her heart in exchange for nothing. The familiar thrill of her hand entwined with another’s drew an extra sigh from her lips. But the ache of loss followed closely behind.
Words arced across the living room wall, an explosion of rippling colors, like an aurora borealis made of letters. It was as though the words and emotions had been plucked straight out of her heart and splashed across the wall. Stella picked up her pen and wrote.
It’s not as though I remember every moment clearly. My memories of you often come unbidden, in the colors of the sunrise, in the lightning bugs weaving through the trees, in the black-and-white pages of a book. My first instinct is to push them away, but sometimes I linger for a moment, standing in the center of those memories with closed eyes and open arms, and I remember you when we were us, when we were in love.
The AC blew a steady breeze across her face, and she breathed in the artificially cold air that smelled faintly of rubber and heated metal. She reached over for her cell phone and called Arnie. His voicemail picked up, so she left a message.
She cooked a premade cup of macaroni and cheese in the microwave and ate it standing in the kitchen. After a dessert of two peanut butter cups, Arnie still hadn’t returned her call. Uneasetrickled into her mind. She grabbed her phone to call him again, but it rang in her hand. Her relief that it was Arnie quickly vanished.
“Percy,” she said on a sigh.
“Well, hello to you too,” he said.
“I thought you were Arnie,” she admitted.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Percy said, sounding slightly put out.
She glanced at the time on the clock. Whyhadn’tArnie called her yet? “What’s up?”
“Given any more thought to Miami?”
Stella didn’t bother hiding her irritation. “No.”
Percy echoed her frustration. “This is ahugeopportunity.”
“So you take it,” she argued.
“Stella—”
“Listen, Percy, I said I’d think about it, and I will. Right now I need to call Arnie.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Percy said. “This opportunity won’t be around forever.”
“Noted,” she said with an eye roll he couldn’t appreciate. She said goodbye and then called Arnie immediately. The call went unanswered.
“Come on, Arnie,” she said to his voicemail. “Pick up. Call me back.”
Another fifteen minutes passed, and Stella sat on the couch flipping through the English–Italian dictionary, looking up the Italian word formistake. She glanced up at her car keys sitting on the coffee table. Words tangled around the key ring. She tilted her head and squinted.Darkness. Panic. Pain.Stella tossed the book aside, jumped up from the couch, grabbed her cell phone and keys, slipped on her tennis shoes, and ran out of the house.
Stella parked in the lot, rushing into her usual spot. As soon as she unlocked the library door and ran inside, the air felt electrified and anxious. Words, stretched thin and nearly transparent, scampered across the shadowy floor like an army of bug-shaped letters. Stella had difficulty focusing on any of them long enough to read them.
The single light above the circulation desk spotlighted a tall man whose hands were buried in his dark brown hair. He wore an expression of complete frustration. Stella stopped moving, unsure of how to process the vision of a stranger standing in the deserted library. The back door clicked shut behind her.
The man’s attire was enough to cause her to pause and stare. His handsome features were half in shadow, but he was dressed like a gentleman from the Regency era. He wore a high-collared white shirt covered by a white vest, both tucked into black trousers. His long black dress coat hung low, brushing against the backs of his thighs. He grabbed the receiver of the telephone in one hand, pressed it to his ear, and shifted it away again. His fist closed over something in his other hand. He sensed her presence finally and turned to look at her. His polished black boots shone in the light.
