Carrying her mug, Alice slipped outside to watch the fog dissipate. The morning was chilly, and she pulled her thin sweater around her. When she finished her coffee and went inside, Madeline was still asleep.
Alice wasn’t sure how to be in this house without their quest. Perhaps a book would distract her while she waited for Madeline to rise. Upstairs, she checked the heart-shaped knob, surprised to find it unlocked.
The library was downright icy. Alice opened and closed the door, hoping to initiate whatever process had in the past triggered the fire to ignite, but the fireplace remained dark and ashy.
Against the far wall the candelabrum was tipped over, the door to the secret space ajar. Inside, Madeline’s books were strewn across the floor, piles they’d explored, blue tomes they had yet to read. The ledger sat open in the center of the room, flipped to Dee Lauren’s page. As with the other stories, the first line was inscribed here.You are a lioness.Alice couldn’t believe this story, one rife with bravery and pride, had led Dee to a man who killed her. But Madeline was right. You couldn’t control where stories lead people.
Alice found Dee’s thin purple book and returned it to the shelf with the other purple stories. Scanning the library arranged by color, she couldn’t leave Madeline’s books this way. Better to return them to their initial chronological order, as if Alice and Madeline’s journey had never happened.
With the ledger to cross-reference, she began the laborious task of putting the books back in order. She twisted a curl as she worked. When she drew her hand from her hair, one long, completely white strand was woven around her forefinger.
Alice reorganized the oldest books first. The grandfather clock continued to tick away. Madeline did not disrupt her. Above her, the top rows were already in their written order, for Alice and Madeline had never found a way to reach them. The first book on the top shelf, the very first story Madeline had written was the same purple as Dee’s. Last time Alice saw it, it was red. Madeline had never talked about her first story, and Alice had never asked who her first client was, whose story had signaled the beginning of her gift.
Alice was wondering about the color change when a tower of blue books careened and fell to the floor, knocking Alice down. Her head spun. The room vibrated, and the floor rumbled beneath her feet. The shaking intensified, and by the time she realized what was happening, the earthquake was over. It was more threatening than destructive, the earth reminding her how much devastation it could cause.
Immediately Alice got up to check on Madeline. As she made her way toward the outer library, something moved in her periphery. She turned in time to see the first purple book float to the ground, gentle as a feather. It was thinner than it looked on the shelf, no more than a dozen pages bound together. Unable to resist her curiosity, Alice opened it, skimmed the first paragraph and gasped, dropping the book to the floor. It fell open to a description of a hummingbird whose wings shed crimson confetti hearts when they fluttered, faster than a heartbeat.
Alice stared down at her hummingbird tale, encased in purple leather. How did Madeline have the story Alice had written for Gabby? A fear coursed through her, one she had not experienced since she walked into her dining room at fourteen and saw her father slumped on the table. Gabby’s book was purple. Gabby had to be okay.
Alice tore through the library, leaving the door wide open as she barreled downstairs and out of the house. She needed to find her best friend.
30
Babe
Alice raced toward Gabby’s building, dread souring her stomach. As she sped across downtown, she cut off an angry truck driver, nearly ran over an old lady crossing the street, and ran a stop sign. Her heart raced in her eardrums. Why had she avoided her friend’s calls?
When she pulled up outside Gabby’s apartment, Gabby was waiting on the steps, hair perfectly curled, body clad in a sleek red dress. As always, her makeup was flawless. Alice was in what Gabby called the “old Alice” clothes, baggy sweatshirt and ripped jeans, no makeup, hair as obstinate as ever.
“Well, well, well, look who’s alive. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” Gabby stood and smoothed her dress as she walked over to the car. She raised an eyebrow when she saw what Alice was wearing. “I know it’s a comedy show. That doesn’t mean you have to dress like a comedian.”
“Are you okay?” Alice asked breathlessly. Gabby looked confused. Alice wasn’t sure how to explain. “I had like a dozen missed calls from you.”
“None of which troubled you enough to call me back,” Gabby sniped as she climbed into the car.
“I’ve been...busy.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard about Duncan. It’s your life. If you want to be on your own, that’s your choice. Just don’t run away from me too, okay? I need you.”
Alice promised she wouldn’t. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Gabby swatted away Alice’s worries. “Oh, yeah. Oliver has just gone complete oversensitive artist. The condo looks like a tornado hit it because he couldn’t find his luckyshirt. I mean, what is aluckyshirt anyway? For Oliver, it’s some ratty old flannel he’s had since his first open mic. He’s literally worn it to every performance. Can you imagine? And it was hanging in his closet. Now he’s wearing it and pacing the apartment, interpreting everything I do as a sign I think he’ll bomb. When I tell him he’s going to do great, that he’s funniest person I know, he accuses me of being insincere and patronizing. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him we’d see him at the show. Can we get a drink first? I’m dying for a margarita.” Gabby pulled down the mirror and traced the line of lipstick along her bottom lip with a pointy nail.
“But you’re okay?”
Gabby’s attention remained on her reflection. “He was just driving me crazy.”
Alice heard a mix of sentiments in her best friend’s tone. Annoyance, amusement at her sensitive artist. Somewhere beneath those immediate feelings was pain. Whatever Oliver was going through, he didn’t know how to share it with her.
After two margaritas Gabby’s irritation amplified to nervousness.
“I mean, he’s going to do great,” she said as they stumbled out of the cantina toward the brewery that was hosting Oliver’s showcase. “It’s just a really important show for him. He’s been preparing for months. Did I tell you agents and managers are going to be there?”
“You may have mentioned it,” Alice said, steadying her friend against her side. Gabby had told her this at least a dozen times tonight alone.
“It’s weird,” Gabby said, the ocean air sobering her. “I’m seeing this new side of him. I’m realizing that I don’t know him as well as I thought.”
They’d only been together for nine months. Even when you rush a relationship, you can’t rush how people reveal themselves over time. Not that Alice said any of this. “Is that a bad thing?” she asked instead.
