My Soul Immortal (7 page)

My chest tightens with disappointment, but the real panic doesn’t set in until the following day, when Leah still doesn’t show. The uncertainty drives my nervousness to new levels, which causes me to think about her more, which ratchets up my agitation. A vicious cycle.

To make matters worse, the voice in my head grows more persistent. I’m not sure what it wants me to do about the situation. At first, I’d assumed the voice was just my longing for Lydia manifesting in a new, torturous way. Now I’m not sure. The voice seems to come from somewhere outside me and is not quite my thoughts. Maybe I really am mad. Regardless of the source—longing, a lost mind, or even a warped voice of reason—I can’t make Leah materialize, no matter how much I wish it.

By Friday, I’m a wreck. I attempt to let a hot morning shower chase away the tension before beginning another tedious day. I need to be at work at seven sharp—the same time the coffee shop opens. This means no Leah today. Closing my eyes, I immerse my face in the water’s steady stream and wonder how I have allowed this place—correction—
this girl
to get to me like this.

I arrive at the bookstore to find Ed unorganized, as I expected. The store’s summer lecture series starts today, beginning with Sally’s talk on the language of flowers. Although I’d offered—practically begged, actually—to stay late the night before, hoping for anything to keep my mind off this all-consuming pursuit, Ed claimed he could handle the preparation alone. However, nothing has changed overnight. The floor needs sweeping. Chairs are forgotten, still stacked against the wall. Boxes of Sally’s most recent book sit sealed in the corner, where I placed them yesterday afternoon. I sigh.

Ed doesn’t glance up, too focused on his disorganized efforts at arranging the napkins in a decorative fashion to notice anything. Grumbling, I grab the broom from the closet and sweep, starting with the entryway.

After several minutes, Ed notices me. “Oh, good. You’re here. I need you to go over to Old Port Java and pick up the refreshments.”

I freeze, suppressing a small smile.

“I’ve ordered four dozen muffins and three canisters of coffee. Do you think that will be enough?”

My mind rifles through strategies. Will she even be at the coffeehouse? If she’s not, I’ll ask Rachel. Surely, a smile or two will coax Leah’s whereabouts out of her.

“You’ll need to take my car. Jack? Jack! Are you listening?” Ed shouts, rattling my thoughts.

“Yes, Old Port Java.” I lean the broom against the counter.

Ed presses his car keys and cash into my hand. “Hurry, okay? There’s still a lot to do.”

“And why is that?” I smirk and shake my head.

“I know. I know. My wrong.”

I squelch a chuckle. “It’s
bad
, Ed. My bad.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s what I meant. My bad. Now hurry, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

In Ed’s beat-up Subaru station wagon, I sit, frozen. The last time I attempted to speak to her, I looked like a complete idiot. I’ll have to do better this time.
If she’s there.
She has to be.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel and inhale deeply.
Quit over-thinking this. She’s just a girl. Stop digging up the past and talk to her, dammit!
I turn the key, and the old car groans to a start. Seems as though neither one of us has much confidence in my ability to pull this off gracefully.

Outside the door of Old Port Java, I rub my sweaty palms against the rough fabric of my jeans and gulp in one long breath for boldness. After I rake my fingers through my disheveled hair, I check my reflection in the front window. I sigh. No use. The hair’s a lost cause. Through the glass, I catch sight of her. Leah’s here. The butterflies take flight, fluttering against the walls of my stomach. Unexpectedly, the sensation feels good, like living instead of existing.

I walk in, reminding myself why I’m doing this.
Sanity. That’s all! Oh yeah, and don’t forget the muffins
. Ed will have a conniption if I forget those.

Waiting in line, I watch Leah work behind the counter. Her lithe hands move pastries into small lined trays. She chews her lower lip when concentrating. Under my breath, I list ways to look relaxed.

“Shoulders slouched. Check. Arms hang at sides. Check. Breathe steady. Check.”

If this weren’t so pathetic, I would laugh at myself. By the end of my checklist, I’m calm and collected on the outside—the perfect spokesman for any deodorant commercial. Inside, I’m a muddled mess.
Keep cool. Stay tough. Focus.

Finally, the lady in front of me, who couldn’t decide between Coastal Miles Blend or Sunshine Decaf, steps away. My turn has arrived.

“Hey, handsome,” Rachel says with a glint in her eye.

I shift back a step. “I’m here to pick up an order for Rare Books. Muffins and coffee.” I keep my tone all business.

Leah glances over. Her eyes widen before they return to her work. The ancient warmth in my chest flares, and I take another deep breath.

Rachel leans forward, resting her elbows on the countertop, accentuating her assets. “Oh sure, honey. I have everything you need.”

I attempt to ignore her remark’s lecherous connotation and take a step back. How can someone make picking up muffins sound so dirty?

Rachel rolls up onto her tiptoes and stretches her neck to peer out the window. “Is that you parked in the loading zone?”

I nod.

“Is the car open?” Rachel asks and gives me an alluring little smile.

Leah walks toward us, hands full, and shoots Rachel a disapproving glance. She kneels by Rachel’s side to place the platters of fruit tarts into the display case, and her eyes snap to me. I realize I’m staring.

I catch a hint of a smile on her lips before I return my attention to Rachel and nod again. This is safer than speaking. Because of the heat in my chest and Leah being so close, my voice is undependable. Besides, I don’t want to risk encouraging Rachel. I have a feeling she would consider “not interested” a pick-up line.

“Leah, can you grab the boxes and coffee in the back marked ‘Rare Books’ and put them in the white station wagon parked out front?” Rachel asks.

“Sure thing.”

Leah walks around the counter, lugging the first load. Her eyes meet my gaze, and a suppressed hint of expectation dashes across her face.

Flurries of excitement, trepidation, and doubt mingle together and chip away at my calm mask. I quickly suck in lungfuls of air then clear my throat to assess my voice before I begin. “You don’t have to do that. I can get them.” My words come out rough but coherent.

“Yeah, I kind of do. It’s my job, and my boss is watching. I don’t want to get fired.” Leah speaks with something like amazement in her voice and jerks her head in Rachel’s direction. A bright smile stretches across her face.

I swallow hard and open the door.

“Thanks. So you work at Rare Books, huh?”

“Yes.” I follow her out of the store like a lost puppy.

“I haven’t been in for a month or so. A hippie guy worked there. Journey, I think his name was.” She screws up her face as if she’s tasted something unpleasant. Then she laughs. “Everything was ‘right on, man,’ and ‘power to the people.’”

“I’m his replacement.”

“Phew, that dude knew nothing about books. Hopefully, you do.”

“I know enough.” I grin, opening the car’s rear door.

“So are you new to the area? Or just the store?”

“The area. Moved here from LA a few weeks ago.” A sudden dryness takes up residence in my throat. While her back is turned, I rake my fingers through my hair again and then peer at my reflection in the car’s grubby window.
What am I doing? Sanity, remember.

“Wow, that’s a trip. What brought you here?”

I shrug. “Just needed a change.”

“Well, you got it.” She laughs again. “It can be hard fitting into a new place. I remember when I moved here from Wiscasset. It’s a small town about two hours up the coast,” she adds, sliding the box into Ed’s backseat. “Anyway, I was lucky. My brother already lived here, so I never felt alone. And Rachel and I became fast friends.” Leah pauses and looks at the sidewalk. Seeming to find something about the red bricks captivating, she gnaws on her lower lip again. “So, there’s a group of us going to a movie this weekend, if you’d like to meet some people.”

“What movie?” I blurt, attempting to keep my voice nonchalant. My fingers find their way to my hair again.

She peers up. “
Death Will Come.
Have you heard of it?”

I chuckle with wry amusement and shake my head.

“Well, it’s good. It’s a cult classic and one of my favorites.”

I think I catch a hint of pleading in her eyes. This is my hope and not reality, but the figment still causes my words to seize in my throat, leaving me stunned.

Disappointment flickers across her face. “I better get the next load before Rachel really does fire me.” She laughs nervously.

I snap out of the stupor and walk to the door. Fingers tingling with the need to touch her, I yank the curved handle and hold the door for her. When Leah passes, her perfume—the faint aroma of jasmine and vanilla—lingers, and I inhale the scent. My gaze follows her. Unable to look away, I find myself mesmerized by the way she moves.

Inside, I lean against the counter while Rachel rings up the order, and I watch Leah through the large plate-glass window. Leah places the second load in the car and then glances my way. Again, I try to persuade myself that I need to get to know her for sanity’s sake, but down deep, I know the truth. I’m hoping for more than just a few facts. I shouldn’t start something I know I can never finish.

I’ve partially convinced myself to refuse the movie invitation when a man approaches Leah while she walks toward the coffeehouse door. Something about the way he smiles at her annoys me, making my jaw tense. With a jerk of his head, he tosses his shaggy blond hair out of his face then hugs her. Jealousy jabs me in the gut as she laughs. They talk for a moment before she heads back inside. Shaggy Hair runs ahead and opens the door, an irritating smile sweeping across his face.

“After you,” he says.

“Gentlemen are everywhere today. What’s gotten into you?” Leah asks.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
How did I not see this possibility? My hands clench into fists at my side. Of course, she has suitors.
Stupid!
Swells of nausea creep over me. My thoughts flitter around Leah and this man, who is wearing a cable-knit sweater that matches hers. They both sip cocoa while she laughs at his ridiculous jokes, and I bite the inside of my cheek to rein in my emotions.

Shaggy Hair laughs at something then smacks Leah’s shoulder with a playful cuff. I growl under my breath.
What a putz.

“Grady, this is Jack. Jack, my brother,” Leah says as they draw closer to me.

An uncontrollable smile spreads across my face. I study Grady, looking for traces of his sister hidden in his features, but I find none at first. Unlike his sister, he has an open, honest face. The creases around his mouth reveal that he smiles often. His steel-gray eyes retain a sense of humor even when he isn’t smiling. The expectation of happy endings is unmistakable in his expression. I find the same glint evident in Leah’s eyes.

“I’m trying to talk Jack into going to the movies with us tomorrow night,” Leah says.

Grady’s scrutinizing eyes dart from me to his sister and back to me, then he extends his hand to give me a rough handshake. “You should come. The more, the merrier.”

The words escape my lips before I can stop them. “I’d love to go,” I say.
Way to stay tough, Jack. Oh yeah, you’re a rock.

A warm smile rolls across Leah’s face. She swipes at an escaping strand of hair and tucks it behind her ear. “Great. We’re meeting at the State Theatre tomorrow around seven.”

“I’ll be there.” I glance at my watch. “Excuse me. I better get back to the bookstore, or Ed’s going to have a fit. Nice to meet you, Grady. Cheers, Leah. See you both tomorrow night.”

I walk out the door, a stupid grin plastered across my face.

By some miracle, the store is ready by the time the first patron arrives. Despite the disorganized start, the morning’s festivities go smoothly. Sally’s love for Victorian floriography rings clear in her voice, and she certainly did her research. “The language of flowers was a way to convey feelings that the strict propriety of that age would never allow. Red roses meant true love, while a striped carnation spoke of refusal.” She holds up the corresponding flowers. “ Even numbers had meaning. A single bloom meant love at first sight…”

And fifteen, an apology.
I prop one elbow on the counter and let my chin drop to my palm, and my mind drifts. I find myself smiling for no good reason. Whether or not it’s wise, I think about Leah endlessly.

Around mid-afternoon, the doorbell buzzes, and Grady steps in. He flips his mop out of his eyes.

“Afternoon, Grady.”

He studies me curiously then relaxes against the counter, leaning on one elbow. “You work here?”

I nod. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book called
Ancient Fairy Tales: Myths and Legends
. You guys are kinda my last hope.”