“You should get that,” Emery said, her voice thin with tension. “It could be important.”
Eveline gave her a long look before picking up the receiver. “The Turned Page, how may I help you?”
Emery watched as Eveline's expression shifted from confusion to concern to alarm.
“Yes, of course. We'll be right there,” Eveline said, hanging up the phone with a shaking hand. She turned to Emery, her face suddenly pale. “It's Abe. He's in the hospital. They say it's serious.”
All thoughts of the envelope flitted away in the morning light. “What happened?”
“Heart attack, early this morning,” Eveline said, already reaching for her coat. “He's been asking for us.”
“I'll close up,” Emery said, moving toward the door to flip the sign to ‘Closed.’
Eveline nodded, distracted, as she gathered her purse and keys. Her eyes fell on the envelope still sitting on the counter. “What about—”
“It can wait,” Emery said quickly. “Abe is what matters right now.”
They hailed a taxi outside the shop, the ride to the hospital passing in tense silence. Eveline stared out the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Without thinking, Emery reached over to cover them with her own. Eveline turned her palm up, interlacing their fingers.
THE HOSPITAL CORRIDORS seemed endless as they followed a nurse to Abe's room. And when they found him, he looked smaller somehow, diminished against the white sheets, his skin almost as pale. Monitors beeped steadily around him, an oxygen tube running beneath his nose.
“Abe,” Eveline said softly, moving to his bedside. “We're here.”
His eyes fluttered open, recognition slowly dawning on his face. “Ah, my favorite booksellers,” he said, his voice weak but still carrying that familiar warmth. “Good of you to come.”
“Of course we’ve come. You gave us quite a scare,” Eveline said, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, about as well as an old engine running on fumes,” Abe replied with a weak chuckle that turned into a cough. “Doctor says the old ticker's finally wearing out.”
Emery moved to his other side, her throat tight with emotion. “We brought you something,” she said, reaching into her bag for the book of poetry they'd grabbed on their way out of the shop, Abe's favorite Rossetti collection.
Abe's eyes brightened. “Always know just what a man needs.”
A doctor entered then, a young woman with kind eyes and an air of quiet authority. “Mr. Neville needs rest,” she said, checking the monitors. “But you're welcome to stay for a short visit.”
“How is he?” Eveline asked, stepping aside to speak with the doctor.
Emery stayed by Abe's side, her hand still holding his.
“You look troubled, my dear,” Abe said, his blue eyes surprisingly sharp despite the circumstances.
“I'm worried about you,” Emery said, which was true, though not the whole truth.
Abe's lips quirked in a knowing smile. “Not just that, I think.” He squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “Secrets become harder to tell the longer we keep them,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “Trust an old man who's kept too many.”
Emery's breath caught. Did he know? Had he somehow pieced it together?
Before she could ask, Abe's eyes drifted closed, his breathing becoming more labored. The doctor returned to check on him, adjusting something on one of the machines.
“He needs rest now,” she said gently. “You can come back tomorrow if you'd like.”
In the hallway, Eveline spoke quietly with the doctor while Emery stood by, catching fragments of their conversation. “His age… systems shutting down… comfortable as possible…”
When the doctor left, Eveline turned to Emery, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “She says he's wearing out. That at his age, there’s no chance of a full recovery from something like this. That… that he’ll be more fragile now and…” She didn't finish the sentence.
“I'm so sorry,” Emery said, pulling Eveline into an embrace. For a moment, they stood there in the sterile hospital corridor, holding each other. Until Eveline heaved a sigh and stepped back.
“I know it’s life,” she said. “I just hate that it’s so short.”
