18. Fiella
After what felt like endless hours of work, the main structure of my shop had finally been repaired, and it was wonderful to feel like the walls weren’t caving in on me anymore. The claustrophobic feeling wasn’t as suffocating.
I had my arms full of devastatingly broken trinkets when my door opened with a chime of the bell. I had just installed it the day before, and it was unexpectedly comforting to hear the bright, tinkling sound again. My heart sped in my chest.
“Welcome to Fiella’s Finds! I’m Fiella! I don’t really have anything for sale right now but if you let me know what you need, I can try to find it and have it ready for you in a few weeks!” I called out to the customer. The pile in my arms was too tall to see past.
“Uh, thank you. Do you have any extremely large stone bowls?”
I knew that smooth, deep voice.
Redd. Of course. I hadn’t had any new customers since the incident and I was beginning to actually hallucinate them. Of course nobody would want to shop here right now. Nobody could shop here right now. The place was a shit show.
Though I was disappointed, I was also strangely relieved. Redd’s presence had become somewhat of a comfort. A new routine. Something to distract me, soothing some of the sharp edges of my aching chest. My skin prickled in awareness.
“Oh. Redd. It’s you.”
“It’s me. Don’t sound so excited about it, you’ll give me a big head. Need more hands?” he asked. His voice was much closer now.
“Your head is already big enough as it is.” I stepped out of his reach. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, go grab the next stack. We’re taking the trash out today!”
He chuckled quietly. “Yes, ma’am.” I turned in time to catch a glimpse of him as he saluted me sarcastically. Smart ass.
“Oh, shut up,” I tossed back at him. “Put those muscles to good use and grab some of the heavy stuff. Let’s go.”
We spent the next few hours hauling all the unsalvageable bits to the wheelbarrow I’d stationed out front.
It was almost pleasant, the way we worked together. Redd didn’t always talk much, but he sure did listen. And I could tell that he truly listened because every once in a while, he would toss my own words back to me.
I was surprised when he remembered the story I had told him about how my Ma had loved collecting animal figurines from different towns, and how he had recognized the broken bits of a clay horse that she would have loved.
By the end of the day, the shop had a lot more floor space available, and all the rotten lumber had been disposed of. Everything broken had been hauled away. The torn tapestries, the crushed pottery, the mangled historical books–it was all gone.
My back and shoulders were burning like the heat of the dual suns, and I was exhausted.
I was trying not to mentally calculate the value of all I had lost. It was devastating. Thousands of silvers worth of hand-selected items destroyed in one fell swoop. The items I had managed to save were not enough to cheer me up.
Whoever had cursed me like this deserved a massive kick in the ass. I’d be sure to deliver it personally as soon as I figured out who the culprit was.
The beetles hadn’t seemed to infiltrate any of the other businesses in town–I was the only victim. At least my neighbors had been spared the agony of mass destruction. Goblet-half-full.
It wasn’t even just the money that caused my soul to ache. It was the memories that had been lost. The priceless finds. The one-of-a-kind treasures that could never be replaced. I had traveled far and wide to obtain my inventory, placed orders with the most esteemed of traveling merchants, and every piece was special.
This wound would take a long time to heal.
I said my farewells to Redd before my anger and sadness could boil over or I could take it out on him. I’d already blown up on the vampire a few times more than was polite, if I kept exploding on him, he would stop coming around, and the thought of that left a strangely sour taste in my mouth.
I needed the help.
I wanted the company.
Maybe I needed the company too.
I shoved my hand into the next mailbox I passed, a habit I had picked up over the last few weeks. Relief flooded my veins when my hand found crisp, cool paper. My constant checking had finally paid off.
Dear One,
I have not heard from you in a while. Too long.
Please write to me when you can.
Yours,
Two
Guilt tugged at me. I had completely forgotten that it was my turn to write. I had left the previous letter tucked under my watering jug and neglected to pen a response.
The fact that my penpal wrote me another letter anyway brought butterflies to my stomach.