Outside, the traffic picks up as the other building owners flick on their open signs. It’s always busy in this city, with men in business suits and women trying to make themselves known in a world ruled by those said men. That’s why I feel lucky to have this shop. I don’t have to fight to prove my worth. This shop and I just are. But I feel a collective stirring when I see women living up to their true potential and fighting for what’s theirs in this city that for years has discredited their voice.
My fingers feel for the switch to flip my neon sign to open, and wave to Ashton, who owns a pub across the street. He shoots a friendly wink my way while actively trying to prop his heavy bronze-framed door open. His smile shining through the gleam of the storefront glass.
Ashton set up his shop shortly after my mother and me. He became a friend I never knew I needed. The friend I found in him being so entirely opposite of Lollie. Lollie is loud and wild, with sharp edges she softens with her charm, while Ashton’s sweet smile and warm understanding has kept me feeling comfortable and safe for many years.
Not far from the very ordinary cash register sits my most prized possession. My darling record player.Elenor Rigbyby The Beatles works its way through the speakers. It is a solemn song, but that type is what my soulcraves most days.
Once the music starts, the store darkens. An overcast of clouds swims over the golden orb in the sky just as the two crows out my window squeak wildly. I think I hear the echoing call of another bird, which seems out of place, but with the hustle of the streets it quickly gets drowned out. The edgy feeling in my stomach strengthens.
Coffee in hand, I take in the store my mother and I put so much love into, wondering how I let it come to this. Perhaps if I invested more love and care into what’s left, it would ease some of the sorrow from losing my mother. Maybe even lighten up my so-called dismal attitude, according to Lollie. But I know it would only cause me to drown more in my memory of her.
The warm, rich coffee hits my lips, breathing in its aroma through my nose, careful to take it all in. This part of the day is always one of quiet where I can gather my thoughts before planning the day. Could this be all I plan for in this life? Shop duties and late-night dives? I had hoped I would have more to call my own at this age, but grief does funny things to one's mind. Sticks a dagger into hopes and dreams, and bleeds them dry of anything that may have come of them.
Carya is now perched by the window, seeming to look out at whatever the weather outside is trying to say in the quiet battle between the sun and the clouds. A blur of bird wings beat past it, causing Carya to startle and let out a mangled meow before scampering away toward the back room.
But before she does, she knocks the broom that I forgot to place back in the closet forward into the jade stone willow tree, which brings it crashing to the floor. The silence after is deafening until I climb out of my shock, and look at the outcome of her nervous excitement. I gasp, coffee sloshing as I leap forward, heart pounding beneath my thin silk top. Panic shoves me toward the scattered remains of the jade willow.
In that moment, I am broken too as I look down at the floor. Then, something else entirely. Oddly awake? Morealive,even. Anodd combination for me, and one I don’t quite expect. The quiet slumber of my emotions I am so used to, transforming into a new debut of thrilling sensation. The defeat does come eventually when I realize what has become of my mother’s beloved willow.
Near tears, I frown down at the only item my mom held much meaning to. It is not glass, so it doesn’t break off in small shards, but into large jagged chunks. Looking closer, there seems to be a hollowed-out part within the base of the stone that didn’t fracture.
I bring myself to floor level and pick up the largest hollowed piece. I peek inside, thinking of all the things my mother told me to keep safe this was the most important. And, of course, I not only break it, but quite literally destroy it. Her soft voice wouldn’t scold, but I can imagine the disappointment that would fill her earthy stare.
As I peer in, I see something metal that doesn’t quite belong. The dull metallic object shimmies out into my palm, recognizing it immediately. A ring. So different from any other ring I have ever seen. Enchantingly beautiful, as if made by a tiny team of fairies. The thought sends goosebumps across my arms. My mother would call them truth bumps, because that’s exactly what they spoke of.
The old tarnished golden metal sends an instant shock through my system that tells me this object is extremely old, archaic even. I hold it still to inspect it. The warmth of it spreads on the palm of my hand, making its presence felt on a very cellular level.
Its band is a deep bronze color that forms a bundled circle of leaves. The leaves look so much like those of the long-standing hickory tree I would gaze under in my youth. But instead of being made from bronze, they are inlaid with green stones matching the same jade green of the willow tree that now lay in chunks on the wooden floor of my shop. My mother could not possibly have known this ring lay hidden inside, but I can’t help but think of how fiercely she protected it throughout the years. For what other reason would that be but this?
I hold out the ring and linger the circular objectabove my left ring finger. My hands won’t keep still. The ring hums with a quiet gravity, a quiet belonging singing from it to me. A trance of its magical beauty taking over the moment.
I get it to just the tip of my finger, but I am stopped when a whimsical chime reverberates through the walls of the store followed by a breeze of balmy July air causing me to look towards the door. The door always chimes when someone enters, but this time it is followed by a nagging feeling that creeps rhythmically along my skin.
It’s not an unwelcome reaction, but one that holds the potential of many possibilities that I’m not ready for. My whole life I’ve dreamed of this type of feeling. The one you know will change the trajectory of your life, and standing at the door is the reason.
Two very intense eyes the color of the deepest sea green meet my own. Instantly, my mind goes to a tangle of roots. The smell of damp earth clinging to a simple white dress of another era. I think of the old estate we lived at when I was younger, where the hickory called me close, and am lost back to a vision when I knew who I was in my purest form. It is but with a blink and the memory fades, but the man is still there.
2
INHERITANCE
DETROIT 1978
Ithink I will always replay this first impression, before our words got in the way. The subtleties of the sunlight outside mixed with the darkness held within, creating a flush stillness that doesn’t speak of any expectations. Our gaze at each other? Well, that tells a different story completely.
The man who enters my shop strolls towards me in his crisp button-down shirt and black dress slacks. His shoulders pull tightly at the shirt fabric, threatening to make it burst at the seams.Iwishtheywould. His deep brown hair looks as if he tried to hold it back with hair gel, but it doesn’t want to behave.Thatmakestwoofus. Pieces are falling just above his brow line. And just under those fallen tresses are two very faint scars etched above each eyebrow; slightly raised as if whatever is lurking below his smooth skin is trying its hardest to stay just below the surface.
His skin is a deep rich color, while intricate branch-like designs line his forearms and weave out from under the sleeves of his rolled-up shirt. I can’t tell if they are tattoos or birthmarks, but they look as if born a part of him. If this were the day God struck down Lucifer to be banished amongst the mortals, I’d swear it is who I am looking at now. But maybe that's just wishful thinking, as myperfect idea of love becomes irrevocably blurred with every second my eyes are glued to his. As he walks closer to the counter, I silently applaud myself for finding my words.See,Jade,youcandohardthings.
“Good morning, can I help you with something?” My voice sounds small and weak, and I wonder if it is even attached to my body at all. Unshed tears still drying on my cheeks over the smashed willow. The devilish man looks down at me where I still sit on the floor cradling the broken bits of it, and he tilts his head curiously.
“Why yes,” he dares to smirk before he says, “But, I think you’re the one who needs help, Jade.” His voice is dangerous, wrapped in a mix of silk and arrogance that lingers far too long against my skin. A perfect introduction that needs to be stopped so I can go back to living in my handcrafted gloomy glass case.
Wait, how does he know my name? I must ask this out loud, because a look of annoyance enters his gaze. I follow the path of his stormy eyes that link to the picture of me hanging on the wall towards the front of the shop, my name marked boldly under it.Oh,ofcourse.
“Let me clarify. I am from a small town in Louisiana on the outskirts of New Orleans. Just here to talk some business.” I’m silent within his pause, waiting for his next words. “You’ve come into quite an inheritance. A large estate down there, including everything inside it.” An estate? I try to rack my brain for any relatives my mom may have had, but my mind comes up blank. Surely this must be a mistake.
“Inherited? That makes no sense. I’m sorry. Who is it from?” I ask. Skepticism written all over my face as my eyebrows cinch together to create the deepest furrow lines.
