Page 11 of Solitude

In the end, I manage to give Cole a small smile and a nod because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth,and I duck out of the room again, heading out of the big, steel door that opens up to the sidewalk.

Beau rubs his forehead, eyes closing, and I barely stifle a laugh as I let the door clang shut. Mrs. Betty is a handful, no doubt. She’s waddling toward the center of town undoubtedly towards her favorite bench in the shade underneath the awning of the Hollow Hair Salon. She likes to sit and chat with some of the other Old Coots there, people watching the whole time.

I don’t know how true it is, but Tootsie, Betty’s oldest friend from grade school, carries a large canvas bag around with her. Rumor has it she stuffs a ton of oranges in it just in case she needs to fight off a criminal.

Magnolia Hollow is relatively low on crime, thankfully, but I appreciate the fact that they’re always on the lookout.

Who needs Cole and his squadron of fully armed officers when you have the Old Coots Brigade ready to beat the dickens out of anyone who seems the least bit out of place?

I bypass Beau with a light punch to his arm, startling him out of his incoherent mumblings, and a bright grin. “You did good, champ!”

“She’ll be the death of me…”

I chuckle and nod. “Thank you for your great service to The Hollow.”

He salutes me, mouth set in a grim line, as I walk backwards away from him following after Mrs. Betty. Then hesmiles, cups a hand over his mouth, and shouts after me, “Happy birthday, by the way!”

My feet trip, and I momentarily freeze.

I’ve never had so many people acknowledging my birthday.

I send him the same tight smile I flashed Cole because I just don’t know how to respond.

My birthday has always been something I ignored since it seemed it was just another day, and it still is for the most part. But now I have people who know me and care enough about me to remember this day.

And that…

That makes me feel not as lonely.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand as I’m applying deodorant after my shower, and I cap the stick before I check the message.

Edith

Your book is here!!

Nothing has me rushing through getting ready for work faster than a text from Edith, the owner of Hollow Bookstore, saying I got my book order in. Hollow Bookstore just so happens to be one of my favorite places in the world.

I throw on a pink Sugar t-shirt and the same denim shortsI wore yesterday morning to the support group meeting and tug on my tennis shoes once more. My hair is still damp and hanging down my back, so I grab a claw clip and hook it to the strap of my bag then practically run down the stairs so fast I slip and see my life flash before my eyes before I catch myself.

Slow down, Winnie.

I grab my hat from the counter and stuff it in my bag just in case I can’t decide what I want to do with my hair later to tame it.

“Can’t get your book from Edith if you’re dead from knocking yourself out on the stairs, idiot,” I mutter as I lock the door behind me.

Jetting off in my usual route to Main Street, I pause in front of the Hale house for a second before continuing on my sprint. There’s no point in wondering if he’s home when I know he never comes home anymore.

Once I hit the sidewalk, I slow down and try to catch my breath as I take in the literal square of old, brick buildings lining the main streets of town. It’s beautiful in a rustic, cliche kind of way, and I enjoy working in one of the buildings, slinging coffee and making pastries.

Most of the shops leave their doors propped open in the summer months, and I wave at a few other shop owners and employees as I pass. Jon Hamilton’s law office is beside Hollow Bookstore and Sugar is on the other side. Quite the dynamic we have going on in The Hollow.

Jon is actually really cool. I guess he’d have to be a chill, laid back kind of man at heart to be in a long-term committed relationship with Tootsie. I just know she’s alot to put up with at the end of a long day defending literal criminals.

As expected, Hollow Bookstore’s doors are wide open, a large potted plant sitting in front of the glass doors as a stopper, and I can hear Patsy Cline playing softly as I enter the shop. Edith is humming along with the music behind the counter with nose buried in a book, and I smile as I walk to the counter.

“Hey, Edith. I got your text.”

She snaps her head up and yelps, hands clutching her heart. “Oh, my! Winnie!” She taps the counter firmly and scolds me, “You can’t sneak up on the elderly, sweetie.”

---