Page 26 of It's Me They Follow
“And?”
“Right. Okay. So the story goes like this: I was on my way to get your furniture from my aunt’s junkyard, and my mom called me, frantic. She said she needed me to get over to her place right away. So I told her that we had all this furniture for you and how thankful I was that she helped me get it and how we’d had a second date and how it had worked, and she was so proud, but she kept coughing and coughing. ‘Very smooth,’ she told me. But she said she really needed me to come help her. I said okay, I’m gonna drop the furniture to you and then come there, but she insisted I needed to come immediately. So I had the movers pack a truckload of your antiques. I got to her house thinking I was gonna kill a spider or release a mouse from a trap, but when I walked in, my mother was lying on the couch, covered in vomit. I propped her up because she was struggling to breathe. She was still speaking regular, so I thought,No biggie, let’s get her cleaned up.I asked her what she was gonna do when I left. Who was gonna clean her throw-up? She told me not to go. We argued about the monk thing, how she thought that it was against human nature and that I was always joining a new cult. I said that she was one to talk about cults with the work she does as a cult leader, and maybe that was a low blow. Maybe too low. I was trying to find a way to clean her up but she started turning all blue in the face. And I quoted your book, and Itold her, ‘With no knowing of what lies ahead, what makes this path most important are the footsteps that follow.’ She loved that line. She said it to me all the time.”
The Shopkeeper sat down at her desk, admiring his scent as it wound about the room. She wanted to believe his story, even the parts that made no sense, like how he still smelled so sweet with all that walking and cleaning vomit.
She liked that he spoke in poetics and quoted her work and didn’t want to touch her. He would be nearly perfect someday, but as of now, she thought that maybe her sister was right and he was a tad immature.
“And she said, ‘No footsteps will follow if I take my vow,’ but she was coughing and couldn’t breathe. So I raced around her house, looking for towels or rags and telling her that regular life is overrated and that if I’m a cult chaser, she’s a cult maker. But then, midsentence, she stopped yelling back. I came into the living room, and she was pointing to a book on the table, and I was like, ‘Mom, what’s happening?’ ’cause she wasn’t talking, just pointing. And she wanted me to give her your book, apparently she’s been reading it for a class, but she couldn’t tell me which page. I started going through all the pages she had marked, trying to figure it out...”
He kept right on. “And I saw her notes.Keep going. This is why I’m leaving,” he said, pacing around the bookshop. “I shoulda been left. And now I’m being punished for sneakingaround with you.” He rubbed his bald head. “I just needed to tell someone. I have to keep going.”
Sneaking around?They’d only been to Paradise for coffee, a date he never showed up to in a junkyard, and in her bookshop. How could he blame her for any of this?
The Shopkeeper wondered what had happened to his mother.
“They came and got her.” He’d read The Shopkeeper’s mind.
“Who came and got her?”
“My mom, the ambulance.”
“You’re skipping around,” she said.
“Sh-she a-almost didn’t make it.” He slurred his words and leaned on her desk. “You’re not listening.” She wished he would lean on top of her and accidentally put his hands up her shirt. She shook the thought out of her head.
He continued, “When I came back outside, the ambulance was arriving. And I jumped in, and everything was happening fast fast fast, so I just walked here from the hospital. She’s on a breathing machine, and she’s not waking up. She’s barely there. It was a long walk. But I came to one conclusion: I’m supposed to go. I’m supposed to leave. And the longer I stay here, the worse things will get for me. I have to break free.”
She didn’t object, even though it hurt her heart to hear it. He turned around and checked on her. “You listening?” Shenodded yes. She was trying to focus but also think about the books, and the furniture, and him on top of her, and his aunt saying he had issues, and his poor mother.
“You’re not leaving your poor mother.” That would be a major turnoff.
“It’s too much for me.” He paced. “My little sister’ll have to handle it.”
“Your LITTLE sister.” She emphasized the word “little.”He is more than a tad immature, she thought.Cute but highly immature.“And the book?” That slipped out. She hadn’t meant to sound inconsiderate.
“The book?”
“Yeah, what book was your mom trying to reach?”
“My mom is writing a book She’s always writing a book. She has books everywhere. She has more books in one room than you have in your entire bookshop. I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe I shouldn’t have sat her up. Or I should have just held her and ignored the stupid rules. I was a bad kid too, always getting in trouble, never helping out around the house. Always skipping from thing to thing. Refusing her hugs and kisses. She got me dressed until middle school. She made me dependent, then complained it was too much on her.” He vented.
“You need rest before you go back to the hospital.” The Shopkeeper tried to give him an apple and a hint that maybe he was in shock. He swatted the apple. It fell on the ground and rolled away.
“I didn’t come here for advice,” he said. “Or apples. I justwanted you to know the story and to tell you goodbye.”
“I get it.” She was surprised by him, maybe even a little disgusted, but gave him a pass. “Goodbye.” She walked him to the door, and they caught eye contact as he said, “Thank you for writing that book and getting me on this path. Because you’re right: It’s about the footsteps that follow.”
She wanted to ask him for her book back since he was leaving for good, but she was too embarrassed. He stumbled into the street with his hands in his pockets, mumbling to himself.
“And one more thing.” He ran back from halfway down the block and looked her in the eye just like The Good Doctor had taught her that day in class, without any wiggles or giggles or apprehension. The Shopkeeper took a small step forward. She felt a rush of electric butterflies unleash in her belly while The Good Doctor’s voice in the back of her head chanted, “Oh, what the heck, do whatever it takes.” He took a step toward her. She closed her eyes and opened her lips. His mouth so close she was breathing in his air, one deep breath of him in her, one deep breath of her in him. His lips so close she could taste him, when the disembodied voice of her disgruntled neighbor yelled out from across the street, “Get a room.” And she snapped open her eyes, and it was as though ME had seen a ghost. A sudden splash of guilt was dripping from his face. He backed away and placed an envelopeon the ground by her feet. “Here’s the envelope for our next date,” he said as he ran back down the street.
“Where are you going?” she yelled down the street.
“Home,” he yelled back.
And she realized she had no idea where his home even was.
Chapter 15
