A Likely Story: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology (15 page)

Writing fills a creative need for kirifox. As a child she made up stories to amuse herself. The only difference now is she types them into the computer rather than keeping steno pads filled with messy handwriting. A small notebook still collects ideas, sentence fragments, and sketches in the middle of the night, or anytime a computer is not accessible.

kirifox can be found at:

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http://kirifox.com/

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“DO YOU see something that interests you, Sir?” The voice was polite, but the smile pasted on. Jordie smiled back nonetheless as he shook his head and moved on to the next shop.

He walked through almost the whole of the shopping area of the tiny little town he lived in, exasperated, sad, and desperate. He wanted something for the two most important people in his life. It just frustrated him that he couldn’t find anything—nothing at all!

It was about the time when the pale sunlight had almost vanished to make way for the bright streetlamps when he heard the tinkle of a bell. The sound was all too familiar to him, a former used-bookstore owner, reminding him of the shop he inherited but couldn’t keep. Looking around, he spotted the small establishment, which looked out of place in the fast developing neighborhood.

On a normal day, he would have ignored such a dark, desolate-looking corner of the huge parking lot. Yet something about the faint sounds drifting from inside the store and the crooked sign tacked on top of the slatted window saying Antiques drew him in, and he found himself with his hand on the brass doorknob.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Hello?” he called out when he didn’t see a salesperson. The bell on top of the door seemed to make more noise than the timid word.

The space was stacked. Knickknacks littered every surface. There was not even a single visible patch of wall left. Jordie drifted toward the back of the store, eyeing all the treasure it had to offer.

“May I help you?”

He whirled around at the voice, his elbow hitting one of the racks, and a globe perched precariously on top of the shelf toppled over. He snapped his eyes shut, anticipating the crash, and reopened them when the sound never came.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not able to look the girl in the eyes.

“It’s okay.” Her voice was light. “Seen anything you like?”

Jordie looked up to see a pair of shining green eyes, and red painted lips smiling at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Not yet, just looking.”

“Anything in particular that you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know, to be honest!” He shook his head, looking around at the store instead.

“Oh! Let me know if you need help.” She turned to go and paused. Turning back toward him she said, “If you want suggestions, I’ll be at the counter.”

Suggestions, do I need suggestions?
He picked up several items from their places, admiring them, thinking about their origins, and about their previous owners. He tried his damndest to put them back in their proper places—he wasn’t much of a housekeeper.
Wonder how long it takes to put this store in order every night?
That drew a chuckle from the otherwise silent man.

His breath caught when he came to the second aisle. His heart leaped in his chest as he reverently picked up the black and white beauty off of its stand. It screamed Shakespeare to him, but what did he know of that? He was a techie, or so he thought. He looked around to see if he could find anything more suitable for the man waiting for him back home, not daring to put it down in case someone came in and bought it before he returned to it, through the maze that was the shop.

He quietly made his way to the counter, the box in hand. The clock on the mantel piece said it was almost seven.
Shit, I have to hurry!

His heart a little weighed down, having found nothing for his little one, he barely managed a strained smile for the friendly girl at the counter.

“Is this it?”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod.

She placed the box she had been sorting through on the counter to take the item from his hand.

“Wow, this is beautiful. You know this is from the. …”

Her voice faded into the background as he caught sight of what was in the box she had set aside: sextants, brass telescopes, and compasses, in all shapes and sizes. He had to have one. Skye would love a compass—she was his little outdoor monkey.

“How much is this?” He picked out an intricately carved compass whose needle seemed to be moving and pointing. Whether or not the direction it was pointing to was actually north was another matter. “Oh, that.” The girl took a look at what he had in his hand. “That’s not for sale, yet.”

“Please?” he pleaded, leaning forward on the counter. “It’s for my little girl, she would love it!”

“We do have some more of these back there.” The girl pointed to a corner of the shop.

“I know, I saw them. But. …” he shook his head, looking at it. “This one, I just. … Please?” Jordie looked up at her and hoped she would understand.

“I… uh. … Give me a minute, please?” She smiled kindly and walked through a door behind her after Jordie nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, he was on his way home, with the perfect gifts wrapped and tucked under his arm, for the perfect family that awaited him.

“
Papa,” she’d said, “will you be home for my birthday?”

Hot tears had filled his eyes when he swallowed his grief and uncertainty. Burying his face in the curly head that laid atop his chest, he’d whispered, “Of course, Angel! How could I not?”

He was ecstatic that he could keep his promise.

“Papa!” The little bundle of joy looked even smaller than he remembered all wrapped up in blankets on the couch.

“Hey Princess! Happy birthday!” He couldn’t walk faster if he’d tried. He made his way to her in a flash and scooped her up in his arms. Jordie completely missed the wide-eyed man who appeared in the doorway, eyeing the pair of them warily.

“Jordie?”

The stunned whisper made him lower Skye back on the couch and stand back up.

He slowly made his way to Bryce,
his Bryce
. He saw the confusion, the questions, the fear and the love in the gaze. Jordie realized he had no answers,
absolutely none
.

“Please don’t ask me how, sweetheart!” he whispered, and launched himself into the arms of the man who had been waiting for him for almost a year.

The cake was butterscotch, just like she’d wanted, Bryce claimed. Jordie ate every last crumb his daughter insisted on feeding him and claimed it was the best food on the planet. The party took a great deal longer to wrap up than any other party of three would.

If Bryce noticed how Jordie’s eyes glittered from more than just happiness, he didn’t mention it; just as Jordie chose to ignore the unnecessary trips to the kitchen for ‘tissues’.

BY THE time they put Skye to bed, it was ten. Jordie couldn’t stop the flow of tears, and he couldn’t let go of his daughter. She’d grown up in this past year he’d been gone, and he felt the twinge in his heart at the thought of having missed it. The three of them sat huddled together in the bed for almost an hour. When she fell asleep on his lap, Jordie couldn’t bring himself to tuck her in and go out of the room.

“Come on, babe.” Bryce spoke gently in his ear, holding his waist, causing the hairs on his neck to prickle.

He so badly wanted the gentle voice to be bathing all of him, the hands that were firmly on his waist to be cupping his cheeks, and the warmth on his back from the chest of the man he loved to be covering the whole of him, that he ached. His whole body, mind, and soul were humming with the desire, the want, the
need
to be with his one true love, till the end of his time, until he didn’t exist anymore.

“Bryce,” he breathed out on a soft sigh as he let the taller man help him up and lead him away from the room, switching the light off.

They walked together, hand in hand, back to the living room, and settled down on the couch, in an all-too-familiar pose: Bryce with his back on the armrest and Jordie on his lap, head tucked in the larger man’s neck, their arms around each other.

“How?” The gentle question stopped Jordie’s breath and his heart pounded louder, so loud he feared Bryce would hear.

Jordie lifted his head from its resting place and looked Bryce in the eye. “Does it matter?”

Bryce let out a breath and smiled, a
sad
smile, a
happy
smile. “Guess not.”

Jordie didn’t know who leaned in to whom. Their lips, minds, souls, and bodies melded into the other’s and he wondered briefly how he survived all these months apart.

Does it matter?

Guess not.

They’d fallen asleep on the couch, with Bryce holding Jordie’s frail body against his chest. Jordie opened his eyes at the foreign touch on his shoulder.

Quietly, gently, sadly, with a smile on his face, he extracted himself from Bryce’s arm. He knew he had to leave. He hoped they’d understand. He kissed the larger man on his forehead and touched the wedding band, gasping a little when Bryce’s hand reflexively moved to hold his. The tears came then, and he didn’t care what the man awaiting him thought. This was his whole life he was saying goodbye to. He could barely see through the tears as he placed the gifts on the coffee table and wrote a few final words on the letter before propping it up against the gift boxes. Hoping… no, praying, that his husband of fifteen years wouldn’t hold his choices against him.

One last peek into Skye’s room, and then he left quietly. He had to. He’d promised.

Two Years Later

BRYCE SAT in his study, looking at the letter. He couldn’t believe how his life had taken a turn since that night, since Skye’s fifth birthday.

Waking up to the letter and gifts, he’d felt his heart almost stop. But Bryce loved Jordie too much to not acknowledge his love and sacrifice. Well, they say only the good die young. He should have known…

Jordie’s last gift held tight in his hand, he began yet another letter. The beautiful ostrich feather that had been shaped into a fine silver tipped quill was a beauty, yes! But better yet were the words that flowed out of it.

He’d always been a writer, a struggling, mediocre writer, but with this pen in his hand, he just produced magic. He couldn’t believe that what had started off as a eulogy, rather a letter to his beloved husband, would have made him popular, liked, and even borderline famous in the small town.

He started writing yet another reply to the letter his beloved had written to him. The almost illegible scrawl, blotted with tears brought out the best in him. Yet, he could never match the emotions of:

B,

I suck at this! But, you should know. …

It was a choice, my choice. We’d spoken about the possibilities but never really got to the point, did we?

Lying in the hospital day after day with just one functioning arm and the rest of my body behaving the way it wants to, was never my idea of life. Did you think it was any better than living in a coma? I thought it was worse. At least when you’re in a coma there is a chance at a full recovery, no matter how little it is!

Anyways, we both know this. We’ve talked our throats raw just discussing that, but there was never anything we could do about
this
, was there?

Last night an Angel came to visit me. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Believe you me, I thought worse. Hah! You’re the romantic one; my cynicism was almost enough for him to withdraw the offer. But I guess you could say I got lucky somehow. I managed to listen to him before he walked out on me.

He offered me twelve hours. He healed me, and gave me twelve full hours to do whatever I wished. Do whatever I wanted. But, after that, I would have to say my goodbyes. I guess you know by now what he meant by that.

I’m sorry that I made this decision without telling you, even when I called you to ask… no, beg you to not come to the hospital and make Skye’s day a special one. I made her a promise and I wanted to keep it. So, if things go alright, I’m coming home tonight.

Jordie

—

He really was an Angel. He gave me what he promised. And now it’s time for me to keep my end of the deal. It breaks my heart to leave. But at least I got to hold you in my arms.
ARMS
plural! Think about that? I got to rock my baby to sleep. Even got to see her try to break the compass—

Write me a reply with the pen, love.

I leave my heart and soul, taking just a smile for the road.

J

If you follow all the rules, you miss all the fun!

FROSTINA maintains she is a professional chatterbox – or would be if there was such a profession.

Impatient except when it suits her purpose—which is often—bursting with energy when she hasn’t a book to curl up with, and last but not the least, quite fickle minded when it comes to her own creations.