the discoloration and texture of the paper. And this book was old, far older than anything she handled in her position at the library. With the same respect and even more reverence than she had shown for the town register she had restored, Wendy trailed her fingers softly down the book's spine. Of all the parts of her life that she had locked away inside this closet, she missed the book the most. After assuring herself that everything was where it was supposed to be, the irrational fear she had felt left her, and she closed the closet door.
At the moment the door clicked shut a shrill ringing broke the silence and made Wendy jump. Only one person ever used the landline that Wendy maintained for completely unknown reasons. She let the phone keep ringing until it broke off abruptly and a male voice echoed through the room.
The timing of his call had been so fortuitous that, if it weren’t a ridiculous notion, she would think he had somehow been watching her. Ridiculous it was, and yet, as she now reminded herself once again, she didn't believe in coincidences.
"It's me, Wendy. I know you're there, so you might as well pick up the phone."
There was a long pause while Wendy actually considered picking up. She hesitated just long enough that the voice on the other end betrayed its impatience.
"Fine," the voice sighed, "I'm just checking in. No need to panic. I hope I'll see you this weekend."
The line crackled as the caller hung up. The short burst of dial tone in the still silence of her home created an ache deep in Wendy's stomach. A sharp stabbing of loneliness followed hard on the heels of that deep-seated aching. She reached out for the phone, harboring every intention of dialing the caller back and assuring him that she would indeed be there on Sunday.
Before she had a chance to follow through on this good intention, the phone trilled in her hand.
"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed to the offensive object. Knowing she couldn't ignore it this time, she barked into the phone, louder than she meant to, "Yes?"
"Well, hello there, niece. It is a pleasure to hear your voice."
Underneath the kind words his tone was an unspoken reprimand that it had been far too long since she had called.
"I've been busy with the new exhibit," she reminded him, although she knew he was well aware of the fact.
"Yes, I know," he responded.
Wendy could hear the weariness in his voice, and concern overrode her irritation. "You've been working too hard," she accused him, even knowing that it would lead to the same old argument.
For once, he didn't rise to the bait. She barely made out a muttered, "Whose fault is that?" but he didn't pursue the topic.
Instead, he said aloud, "Will I see you this weekend?"
Wendy paused. Hearing her uncle's voice again hadn't ended the pain in her stomach; it had increased it. "Not Saturday," she finally answered, "there's an event at the library. How's Sunday?"
She could hear the smile in his reply. "Sunday will do nicely."
"Will you make brunch?" she asked, her voice hopeful. Her uncle's cooking was the stuff of legends and dreams. Strong men had been known to faint dead away after a bite of one of his pastries.
"We'll see. I may not have time," he said gruffly, but she knew he was pleased.
Wendy couldn't help but smile. She had missed the old man more than she had admitted even to herself. She was preparing to hang up when something stopped her.
"Wait," she said into the handset.
There was no answer from the other end, but Wendy knew he was still on the line.
"How did you know to call me at that moment?" She really didn't believe in coincidences, after all.
Her uncle's hearty chuckle traveled the distance over the phone line completely intact. "That shouldn't impress you, my dear. That was a mere parlor trick. I could teach you," he said, trying his best to sound enticing.
"With the usual stipulations attached, I assume? No, thank you. See you on Sunday."
Wendy shook her head at her uncle's rather
At the moment the door clicked shut a shrill ringing broke the silence and made Wendy jump. Only one person ever used the landline that Wendy maintained for completely unknown reasons. She let the phone keep ringing until it broke off abruptly and a male voice echoed through the room.
The timing of his call had been so fortuitous that, if it weren’t a ridiculous notion, she would think he had somehow been watching her. Ridiculous it was, and yet, as she now reminded herself once again, she didn't believe in coincidences.
"It's me, Wendy. I know you're there, so you might as well pick up the phone."
There was a long pause while Wendy actually considered picking up. She hesitated just long enough that the voice on the other end betrayed its impatience.
"Fine," the voice sighed, "I'm just checking in. No need to panic. I hope I'll see you this weekend."
The line crackled as the caller hung up. The short burst of dial tone in the still silence of her home created an ache deep in Wendy's stomach. A sharp stabbing of loneliness followed hard on the heels of that deep-seated aching. She reached out for the phone, harboring every intention of dialing the caller back and assuring him that she would indeed be there on Sunday.
Before she had a chance to follow through on this good intention, the phone trilled in her hand.
"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed to the offensive object. Knowing she couldn't ignore it this time, she barked into the phone, louder than she meant to, "Yes?"
"Well, hello there, niece. It is a pleasure to hear your voice."
Underneath the kind words his tone was an unspoken reprimand that it had been far too long since she had called.
"I've been busy with the new exhibit," she reminded him, although she knew he was well aware of the fact.
"Yes, I know," he responded.
Wendy could hear the weariness in his voice, and concern overrode her irritation. "You've been working too hard," she accused him, even knowing that it would lead to the same old argument.
For once, he didn't rise to the bait. She barely made out a muttered, "Whose fault is that?" but he didn't pursue the topic.
Instead, he said aloud, "Will I see you this weekend?"
Wendy paused. Hearing her uncle's voice again hadn't ended the pain in her stomach; it had increased it. "Not Saturday," she finally answered, "there's an event at the library. How's Sunday?"
She could hear the smile in his reply. "Sunday will do nicely."
"Will you make brunch?" she asked, her voice hopeful. Her uncle's cooking was the stuff of legends and dreams. Strong men had been known to faint dead away after a bite of one of his pastries.
"We'll see. I may not have time," he said gruffly, but she knew he was pleased.
Wendy couldn't help but smile. She had missed the old man more than she had admitted even to herself. She was preparing to hang up when something stopped her.
"Wait," she said into the handset.
There was no answer from the other end, but Wendy knew he was still on the line.
"How did you know to call me at that moment?" She really didn't believe in coincidences, after all.
Her uncle's hearty chuckle traveled the distance over the phone line completely intact. "That shouldn't impress you, my dear. That was a mere parlor trick. I could teach you," he said, trying his best to sound enticing.
"With the usual stipulations attached, I assume? No, thank you. See you on Sunday."
Wendy shook her head at her uncle's rather
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