Chapter 25 #2
"We've been going to his grave," Maria says to Callum, quiet, like it belongs between them and just happens to pass through me. "I know it's…" She lets the word go. "I told him. About the case being resolved."
Callum nods and rubs his thumb against his coffee cup before he says, "I'm glad you did."
While they talk, Andrea slips away with the ease of someone who would rather look at books than be looked at. She makes a line for the YA section, pulls a spine, then another, reading backs with the focused attention of a real reader.
I watch her tilt a cover toward the light and think about Danny Ruiz, who I never knew, and his daughter standing in my bookstore on an ordinary Thursday, with something that isn't closure so much as what you build without it.
"He told me what almost happened to your store, Avery," she says. "I'm sorry you went through that."
"Thank you," I say. "The store made it through. I'm glad you have answers."
She nods. "When they… gave me Danny's things back," She looks down at her hands, then meets my eyes again, "there was a book in his jacket. Cartoons with Japanese and English writing."
Andrea doesn't look over right away, but she's close enough to have heard it. She looks up from the book in her hands, then says it from across the aisle, simple as anything. "Manga."
The word sits there, light and exact and strange enough that if you didn't know what it meant, it would barely sound real.
Andrea shrugs one shoulder. "I like those."
That finally gets a response.
"They're in the next section," I say, already reaching for a volume before I can pretend to be normal about it. "I'll show you." I'm already turning toward Future Main Characters by the time the words leave my mouth.
She follows me without hesitation. Callum and Maria stay put, choosing not to follow and letting it happen.
We stop at the shelf and I reach for a spine I know by heart. I angle it out just enough so she can see the cover without me making a presentation out of it.
She takes it from my hand, flips it open, and smiles, small and quick, like it's just for her and not for anyone watching. "I've never seen this series before."
"This one emotionally destroyed me in a productive way," I say before I can stop myself. "There are twenty-six books, which sounds aggressive but actually isn't once you get invested, and if you like it, two of the characters have their own series."
"Cool," she says, already reading.
I can feel Callum watching, but when I glance up, he's not looking at me. He's looking at the book in Andrea's hands.
There's something in the way he holds himself that I haven't seen before, no tension waiting for the next thing to break and no calculation about what still hasn't been fixed, just a quiet, steady attention that looks like he's finally allowing himself to take in whatever this after means.
Maria watches her daughter with an expression I've never seen up close before, but it reads like the kind you get when you know what you lost and decide to keep going anyway.
For the first time since I've known him, Callum looks like someone who understands that he doesn't have to carry it alone anymore.
By the time the last customer leaves, the light has shifted and the store has settled into its end-of-day rhythm.
Beatriz has already gone, having straightened the display table to her satisfaction and not mine, which I'll fix tomorrow morning and she'll fix again after that.
Somehow this arrangement works. Jonah left with her.
I run the closing checklist. The register, lights, alarm set, and back door confirmed.
Callum has his jacket over his arm, and Pancake waddles to the front door like she's had a full day and decided she's ready, which apparently means we all should be. She plops down directly in front of the door, on the mat.
"Pancake," Callum says. "Let's go!"
One ear twitches, but the rest of her doesn't move.
I have my keys in one hand and my hand on the handle.
"We talked about this," he tells her.
She lets out a full-body sigh, theatrical and deeply felt, and her chin drops onto her front paws with a sound like a minor structural failure. She shifts her weight until she's even more horizontal.
I nudge her with my foot, but she rolls slightly toward me, then back, and makes a small, wounded sound like she's been personally wronged.
"I'm going to start charging her rent," he says.
"You say that like you've never willingly paid for tiny accessories she immediately destroyed."
"She pays in security and cuteness."
"Great, I'll be sure to alert the IRS that we're accepting payment in vibes."
"That explains my accountant's eye twitch," Callum says.
Callum crouches down, scratches behind her ear, and says something to her in a low voice that I can't fully make out but which contains the words please and I will absolutely carry you and you know I will.
A negotiation occurs between them in a register I'm not party to.
Then she stands up and faces outward, like she's decided to cooperate but wants it noted that she's doing it on her own terms.
He picks her up with an over-dramatized grunt. "I've got to tell Beatriz no more slipping you muffins from the coffee bar."
I open the door and Callum steps outside while I lock up, feeling the deadbolt slide into place under my hand with the ease of muscle memory.
Except now there are two of us standing here and a dog who is continually asserting her rank. My hand lingers for a second like it's waiting for something else to go wrong, but it doesn't.
Callum ends up with Pancake's leash in one hand while she confidently chooses a direction that has nothing to do with where we're actually going, which means the first thirty seconds on the sidewalk turn into a negotiation he's visibly losing.
I fall into step beside him, and his free hand finds mine with the easy motion of a hand that knows where it's going.
Something is probably coming. Another city notice taped to the glass. Another problem I won't see until it's already standing in the middle of the store pretending to be manageable. The world doesn't go quiet just because one fire finally burned out. I know that.
But I also know what it feels like now to not face it from the door. To not stand in the threshold, waiting to see if the next thing will be the thing that costs me something I can't afford.
I know what it feels like to already be walking.
The door is locked behind us.
We keep going.
THE END