Chapter 10 Cozily
T he name appeared boldly in front of me, yet I doubted what I was reading had anything to do with Lauren’s suggestion. There were likely hundreds of people with the initials W. G. Murphy, not to mention the likelihood of it being a pen name.
Unwilling to accept that Ms. Debbie had written a book and never conveyed the premise to me, I handed the paper back to Lauren. “There’s no way that’s hers.”
“Why else would she have a newspaper article with the details?” she huffed, as if to insinuate that I mustn’t be right all the time.
“Maybe she thought it was cool that they shared the same initials.”
“So cool that Ms. Debbie eventually changed hers? Also, look. It was published in 1970. Remember the obituary? Willow died in 1971, a year after the publication.”
My head was already beginning to spin, yet I refused to give up on one of the remaining pieces of Ms. Debbie’s life, which I believed was not true. “Let’s say you’re right,” I said, trying to appease Lauren and make my point at the same time. “That’s nothing unusual. Some people die after accomplishing a lifelong goal. It’s like they were only striving to stay alive to fulfill that purpose,” I offered, only to include my main argument. “But remember, we don’t even know what W. G. actually stands for.”
“Yeah, but why would she have all of this stored away?”
“I don’t know, Lauren. Maybe it’s all circumstantial.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m being stupid?” Her voice sounded sharp.
“No. It’s my way of not going down a rabbit hole. After today, I just feel like I need to get past all of this, find the papers I need for the business, and move on.”
Perturbed by my choice of words or frustrated with my lack of interest, Lauren got up and left the room. I waited for the sound of the front door to open and shut, but the reverberating clang never came. I sat in silence, closing my eyes, considering that perhaps Lauren was right. Maybe amongst all the emotions, I could not see clearly, and she was there to help me find my way through the chaos.
“Joshua. Can you come here?”
I could hear her voice calling in the distance, seeming to be carrying from the back of the store instead of the front. Following her summons, I walked out into the main area. “Where are you?” I called, unable to see her anywhere.
“Back here.”
To the sound of her voice, I ventured beyond the first set of bookshelves lining the store. As I passed by the middle row, Lauren called once again. I stepped back among the darkened aisles, allowing my eyes to adjust before Lauren came into view.
“What is it?” I said, turning down the row.
“I’ve seen this book before but never paid it much attention.”
“Huh?” I questioned, moving closer.
“Look,” she said, pushing the cover into my hands.
I walked a few steps past her toward the window. As the glow cast by the spring storm fell along the floor, the cover became clear with the words, “ A Life in Shambles by W. G. Murphy.” However, curiously enough, printed along the bland, black cover lay a strip that read, “Not for Sale, Proof Copy Only.” I flipped the book over, and the back, as I suspected, was blank.
“Now, do you believe me?”
There was no doubt that what I was looking at validated Lauren. Proof copies were not something that just made their way into the general public. However, why had Ms. Debbie kept it and, more so, stored it along the shelves even though it read “Not for Sale”?
Curious, I sunk down against the bookshelf. Lauren took her spot alongside me, and with a touch of nervousness as to what lay inside, I flipped open the cover.
As I peeled back the first few blank pages, followed by the title page, the first interesting piece we reached was the dedication. I swallowed hard upon reading the three words: “To my Sister...”
“So, Ms. Debbie did have a sister, Willow,” I said, shutting the book and handing it back to Lauren.
“Wait. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Think about it. Willow wrote the book; she dedicated it to Ms. Debbie. Then Willow died in 1971. That’s pretty straightforward, if you ask me.”
“I get that, but nothing around Minnie has made that much sense. Why would she have all this stuff and just never tell you that she had a sister who died when she was thirty? I mean, the fact that she was so young makes me question things more.”
Lauren had been my reasoning side ever since Ms. Debbie had passed, and I had failed to question the date range of Willow’s life. Thirty was young, at least to me.
“Okay, I’m listening. What are you proposing then?”
She smiled, and I knew Lauren had been piecing the puzzle together on a much deeper level, one so deep that perhaps she might have questioned it at one point, but she was now eager to tell me.
“Okay,” she began, leaning in closer so we both could see the book. “First off, the dedication has an ellipsis, which means she left off the remainder of her thoughts. It’s obvious that the missing part of the sentence is why the book is dedicated to her sister, but I think I know the reason.”
“And that would be?”
“I think Minnie’s sister died, and it was more of a reminisced dedication, one that she didn’t care to divulge details about because it was too difficult to write.”
“But I thought we established that Ms. Debbie and Willow were sisters.”
“ You established that,” she corrected.
“Okay, okay. I guess I did. Does that mean there were three sisters, then?”
Shaking her head, Lauren sighed. “No, only the two.” By this point, she could tell I was more confused and was becoming frustrated in her own mind. “What I’m trying to say is Ms. Debbie is Willow, and she had a sister that died.”
“And that’s based off of . . .”
A hard slap landed on my leg, accompanied by a tailing, loud boom of thunder. “You don’t have to be so condescending about everything I say,” she mumbled, as if to downplay the theatrical slap.
“You can be quite bossy sometimes; you know that?” I added playfully.
“Well, it’s better than letting someone run over me, isn’t it?”
“Lauren, I know I have been blunt, and I’m trying not to be, but this whole thing has me confused and upset. Maybe we need to take a step back. And honestly, I feel like you have moments where you’re not yourself either.”
I turned my head to look at Lauren. She merely stared down at the floor, giving no rebuttal. She did not have to admit I was right because we both knew it to be true.
Carefully, I moved my hand closer to Lauren, placing it along the outskirts of her fingers, as if not to spook her. When she did not pull away, I clasped her hand in mine and gave her a slight squeeze. In return, her head fell into my chest. Then, still holding her hand, I wound my arm around her shoulders.
Without another word, we sat in silence with only the intermittent sound of thunder and the pounding of rain along the window. Scared, upset, or just pacified, I could not tell for sure what Lauren was feeling. All I knew was somehow she was reverting to her timid side, a side that felt welcoming and open to seeking assurance.
Satisfied in a moment of tranquility, I leaned my head against the shelf, and soon sleep fell over us both.
Thanks to a loud growl from my stomach, my eyes flickered open sometime later. In my muddled state of mind, I was shocked to find that I was unaware of where I had slept and that someone was pressed against me. A clash of lightning filled the window, bringing relief as Lauren’s face appeared with her head resting against my chest.
As the remembrance of why I was sitting on the floor reentered my mind, another growl echoed through my body—this time loud enough to wrestle Lauren away from her own slumber. Lifting her head, she looked into my eyes with a similar confusion against the faint glow of what could only be the rising moon. Then, with the same recollection, she smiled, delighted to find herself pressed against me.
“Are you hungry?” she mumbled jokingly.
“I could use a bite. We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“What time is it?” she continued while suppressing a yawn.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and clicked the side button to light up the screen. “It’s nearly eight o’clock.”
“At night?” she questioned, lifting her head in angst.
“Yeah, why? What’s wrong?”
“We just slept the afternoon away, and—” she began, but a comforting thought appeared to take hold of her worry, leaving her to recant her previous interjection. “Oh, never mind. I forgot what week this was.”
“Is there some place you need to be?”
“No, not this week anyway, but I should probably be getting home since it’s already dark outside.”
Pulling her legs underneath her, Lauren began to rock forward, but before I knew what I was doing, I placed my hand along her shoulder, keeping her from standing.
“Wait,” I offered.
Her eyes fell back on me, either in hope or confusion, but somehow they painted an expression of sadness. “What is it?”
“Stay,” I instructed, sounding less like a command yet unlike a plea.
“But it’s late,” she countered. “And we’ve stumbled on enough mystery questions for the day. Don’t you think?”
I was not sure how to ask her not to leave without specifically asking her to stay the night. We both had dozed long enough that neither of us would be ready to fall asleep if we went home. Tossing alone in the sheets of my bed or thumbing through the television mindlessly had no appeal. However, Lauren was more than someone to fill that void.
“We could order takeout, and...” I struggled, trying to not offer any suggestions that might seem presumptuous.
“Read,” she said, finishing my trailing thought. “I suppose I could stay a little longer,” she continued, rocking back onto her bottom.
“Yeah,” I concluded by lifting the book that lay alongside me. “We should probably see what the story is about, and the sooner we start, the quicker we can hopefully put our minds at ease.”
“And what did you have in mind for dinner?”
Clicking my phone on once again, I opened the delivery app that I had grown accustomed to on nights where I had not found it within me to cook, then handed it to Lauren. “I’ll let you pick.”
“You realize that you basically handed a woman your wallet and said, ‘Go shopping,’ don’t you?” she laughed.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s your turn to decide.”
A giddiness filled her smile against the glow of the phone. I watched as she thumbed through the list of previous orders, most of which came from the same Chinese restaurant.
“You must really like that place we ate from last time.”
“Well, actually, I do, but for a long time, I never went there.”
“Oh, why’s that?” she asked, still focused on my phone.
“Let’s just say that when you’re dating someone and they don’t like a certain food, you learn to eat at other places.”
Lowering my phone to her lap, Lauren paused her search, considering that, like Ms. Debbie, I had my own secret past. “Let’s pick something together,” she said, bringing hope into her voice. “I’m not picky.”
“Alright. How about something new? As you can tell, I have had enough of my Chinese fix for now,” I joked.
“Ha, okay, Italian maybe?”
I winced at the suggestion. “Too much bread. I’d rather have something with more substance since my stomach is on a rampage.”
“Ha ha. Noted.” Broadening the map of suggested places to eat, she scanned the area before zeroing in on something that neither of us had heard of. “What about Tacos Galore?”
“But it’s not Tuesday.” My comment momentarily went unnoticed, but as she took a hint of the “basic white girl” reference, she cut her eyes in my direction. “I had to,” I laughed.
“Well played, but seriously, they have a variety to choose from, and you can buy them by the half-dozen or dozen.”
“Shall we go for the dozen? I could probably knock out eight on my own.”
“Perfect. They have a one of each option for the twelve pack.”
Lauren typed in the request, then paused as the delivery and payment screen loaded. At first, I reached for the phone even though I knew the information would fill in automatically from previous orders. However, instead of handing it off, Lauren began to question me.
“You live on Paces Road?”
“I do.”
“Interesting,” was all she said before selecting the other option that was listed as the store’s address.
“And where do you live?” I asked, almost as a natural conversational instinct but also curious now that the topic had arisen.
“Not far from there,” she said with no further acknowledgment.
“Any place I might know?” I already knew what her answer would be, but again, she cut the conversation off.
“Probably. I’ll pay you cash for this order; that way, I don’t have to put my credit card in your phone.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Why? You bought lunch last time.”
The fact that she was offering to pay made me question if the connection I was beginning to feel had a future. Perhaps she was just enjoying the moments as they came, with no other motive. Regardless of what she might or might not feel about our relationship, I had no intention of her paying for our dinner.
“You’re working this whole week to help me. Remember?”
“Yeah, but I had no other plans anyway, so...”
“No,” I said, with a more authoritative stance.
“No?” she questioned. But as I stood firm, Lauren grasped that I would take no other answer.
Handing over the phone, Lauren settled against me as I finished placing the order and placed my phone on the floor.
“Now what?” she whispered.
“I’ll need to bring over a light if we’re going to read this book,” I said, insinuating that we should not get comfortable.
“Do you have to?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Reluctant to budge, Lauren finally began to pull away, but as she did, I, on second thought, tugged her closer. She stilled her retreat, silently questioning whether I was coming or going. At that moment, I latched my arms around her waist and pulled her up as I stood. Her feet momentarily grazed the floor before I swooped to cradle her body and lift her legs from the ground. With a shriek, Lauren clasped her mouth as if afraid someone would hear, despite us being alone in our own world.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a giggle.
“Sometimes, it’s better to not ask questions.”
Pleased with my boldness, Lauren tied her hands around my neck as I began to carry her down the aisle. With a slight bump, I shifted her in my arms, only to find my hand misplaced on her bottom. However, when she did not call me out, I decided against readjusting. Regardless, the issue was short-lived, as our first stop was at the front desk.
I instructed her to unplug the table lamp that had been used only for decoration. As she released one of her arms, I lowered her to the outlet. Then, with a tug of the chord, she secured herself against me once again, and I lifted her up. Removing my hand from beneath Lauren, I sat her along the edge of the desk, yet as she scooted her bottom across the counter, I found my hands falling along her knees. I braced myself against her legs, meeting her eyes with a sense of desire. In return, Lauren leaned back, arching her chest as she propped against one arm while freeing the other hand to slide across my face.
I embraced her touch by greeting her lips with mine, and slid her body closer, gliding her knees past my hips. With subtle pecks, I brushed the hair from her face, then lowered my mouth from hers. My lips trailed along her neck, leaving subtle imprints before falling along the curves of her shoulder. With each kiss, my mouth inched the cuff of her blouse further down her arm. Feeling her body tremor, I looked into her eyes, but instead of desire, they appeared filled with pain, the same pain Brooke had harbored.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she gasped, shaking her head.
“Who are you trying to convince? You’re trembling.”
“I guess I wasn’t really expecting... well, this tonight.”
“Would it have been better if you had?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the right time.”
I had heard a similar statement on multiple occasions before. Each instance had encompassed its own meaning. Sometimes, it was lack of desire; others, it was owed to not being prepared, or even the untimely excuse of bloating that only alluded to the wrong week of the month. Whichever it might have been, we were not by any means at a point where I felt Lauren would be comfortable telling me; otherwise, she would have. All I knew was Brooke had left scars in my life, and I just wanted to avoid repeating the same motions that led to such trepidation.
“That’s alright. We wouldn’t want the food to get here right when we were in the middle of things,” I offered comically. Although the joke drew a smile across her face, Lauren did not laugh or find solace in my words.
Stepping away, I left her, legs dangling, as I walked to the backroom. A few moments later, I reappeared with a blanket and draped it across her lap. Part of me regretted how fast things had escalated, not because I had gotten shut down, but more for the fact that I wanted Lauren in a deeper sense, but at the same time, I figured she might only be interested in the short term.
A few minutes later, as we settled against the bookshelves, I turned on the lamp that had required an extension cord to reach the nearest outlet. I tried retracting my forwardness from earlier by offering Lauren the blanket while I sat along the shelves opposite of her. However, as I stretched my legs across the aisle, Lauren crawled from her place on the floor and laid her head along my shoulder.
As she became settled once more, Lauren loosened her grasp on the blanket and slid the cover across my body. “Read to me.”
“I don’t know if you want me to. I’ve never been great at reading aloud,” I admitted. “And the voices...”
“I don’t care,” she said softly, handing me the book.
I flipped open the cover, skipping over the first few pages, including the dedication. While glancing at the title page, I moved to the first chapter, which was more of a formality.
“The story of my life can be told from many perspectives, but this is how I remember it—not how I would care to recall the events that took place, for I would love nothing more than to forget the past few years, particularly. However, it is that time frame that I dare to tell you about now.
Writing has always given me peace of mind, but I write this more to expose the truth than to comfort myself. To those who seek to hear this story, be warned: there is no happy ending. In fact, I don’t know what the ending will even be; I only know it cannot be good. Why? Because no matter how far I run or how long I hide, he will always find me...”
I paused, looking at Lauren, who had raised her head, frightened. “Should I stop?”
“What does she mean?”
I shrugged, merely turning the page to answer her question. I looked to her for assurance to keep going, then lowered my eyes back to the page.
“The first time he clenched his hands around my throat, burying his thumbs into my skin until I could no longer breathe, I knew I was in trouble.”
“Okay, stop,” she said, placing her hand over the book.
“What is it?”
“I don’t think I can handle this.”
“Why?” With Lauren yet to share hardly any of her life with me, I felt compelled to ask, despite my belief that she never will.
“It gives me the creeps.”
“Alright then. What if you find another book for us to read?” The question lacked any purpose other than to offer Lauren an alternative. I wanted to know more than anyone what was written inside, but not at the expense of causing Lauren to be hurt in an unknown manner.
“But then, how will we determine what happened?”
“I guess we wouldn’t.”
Lauren paused to consider if she could endure hearing such a story as her eyes fell heavily on me. Then, with a sense of calmness, she continued. “Keep going.”
“Are you sure? We don’t have to.” I looked at Lauren for some sign that she was indeed alright, but there was no such thing. Instead, only a mysterious insecurity matched with vulnerability flowed from her.
“Can you promise me something?” she said, as if almost afraid to ask.
“What?”
“You won’t ever touch me like that.” She paused, hinting at wanting to say more while waiting for me to respond. “You wouldn’t ever hurt me,” she reiterated.
“Never.”
I leaned closer to Lauren, placing a kiss on her forehead. The subtleness of my embrace was met with a similar retreat as she pulled away. She smiled upon seeing my confusion, highlighted by the dim glow of the lamp, then closed her eyes as she puckered her lips. I waited, letting her sit until her eyes reopened.
“Sorry, it’s been a while for me,” she admitted, “but I thought you were going to kiss me again.”
“I wouldn’t want to get carried away before the food gets here,” I joked, only to appease her with a tender peck on the lips.
Taken by my gesture, Lauren settled against me, and I began to read aloud. This time, she resisted any urge to interject, only listening carefully with her eyes closed.
Hearing my own voice sound amongst the bookshelves, unaccompanied in the surrounding abyss, would have felt strange inside the rattle of the storm without Lauren. The warmth of her presence brought satisfaction that neither of us were in this world alone, something that I had never thought to feel again after losing Brooke, then Ms. Debbie.