Chapter 1
“Lavina, get your butt outta bed, you’re going to be late!!”
WHACK! “DAMN IT!” I cracked my head on the table next to my bed. I could still hear my dad bellowing down the hallway about lazy, drunken, millennials who were wasting his time, a.k.a, me. Yeah, I know, I must be some real, salt of the earth, 32, living at home with my dad, yes of course I have a job, no it doesn’t pay shit, hence the living with my dad.
Before anyone asks, no, I apparently didn't make it into my bed last night, that’s how absolutely shwasted I was, of which I remembered none of, which is a bummer, because my hangover suggested that I probably had a pretty decent time.
My forehead was probably going to have a bruise on it from the side table assault, but by the looks of the time on my phone, my dad was, unfortunately, correct, and I was going to be late to…what was I doing again? Oh shit, yeah, I had a job interview for a different place that would pay me better than my current bartender wage of mostly tips. Sure there were good nights where I would haul in like 4-6 hundies, but I guess there were some people that were drinking less than me, because I had plenty of nights where I was lucky to pull in a solid single Benjamin.
My dad had gotten me an interview at the local bookshop. He said I needed something that kept me busy, and sober. Apparently that last one was contingent on me staying in his house going forward. I guess I’ve had some interesting early mornings. This interview was my last chance to basically not be homeless, so I guess I had to make it work.
My interview was at 10:00 AM, it was presently 9:30. The bookstore was about 15 minutes away, so if I changed quickly and scarfed down a bowl of cereal and sped I could make it in time. I gave myself a sniff test.
"Ugh, no breakfast for me, I need to take a shower, maybe we have something portable that I can eat in the car."
I quickly peeled last night's work clothes off of me and ran into my bathroom and threw myself into the shower so I could wash the stank of booze and cigarettes off of me. My headache didn't seem to improve with the shower, so I knew I was going to need medicinal aid in that department.
The water streamed down my ruddy, pasty skin and my chestnut brown hair made straight from the deluge of water dropping down on me. I finished soaping up and rinsing off and flew out of the shower and opened the medicine cabinet in my bathroom to grab some headache medicine, through my hair up in a bun before running back into my room and threw on the cleanest, stainfree clothes that I had that appeared somewhat presentable.
I ended up in a pair of dark blue jeans and a black v-neck long sleeve shirt, threw on my purple sweater, since it was unusually chilly outside for April, grabbed my pashmina scarf, phone, wallet, and keys and ran down the steps with 20 minutes until the interview.
My dad was at the kitchen table in our small house, drinking his coffee and reading the paper like he did every morning between the hours of 7 AM and 10 AM. He was retired from his manufacturing job, and taking full advantage of the leisurely morning routine that it afforded him. Thomas Mossgrove was a gruff man in his 60's with salt and pepper hair that used to be the same color as mine. He was a tallish man who used to be pretty fit, and now sported the aging dad-bod with a good sized cookie pouch. He worked for 38 years at the same manufacturing job. He retired the previous year and said the worst part was that it gave him too much time to see how much of a jackass his kid had become.
He stole a glance at me from his paper and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath while I grabbed a donut from the box on the counter behind him to run out the door.
"Lavina." He called from his paper, stopping me in my tracks as I turned the doorknob. "If ya don't get that job today, ya better come home with another interview with somewhere else, or not at all. Ya ain't workin' that bar job no more if you want to stay here. You have until the end of the month to start showing me that ya got yer shit together."
I knew he was serious. He had boxes by the back door for my shit just in case. I left without saying anything, closing the door to get to this place as fast as possible. I now had exactly 17 minutes without any traffic to make this happen.
Ready or not, here I come. Maybe I'd get lucky and this job was the change I needed. I'd been at the bar for the past 5 years and at most I'd been given extra hours and free booze from skeezy customers trying to hit on me.
I reversed my car and got the lead out, so that I wasn't homeless at the end of this month.
I managed to speed just enough to make it with three minutes to spare. There was some pretty limited parking, so I had to squeeze my car into a small space with barely enough room to open my door without digging the car next to mine. I practically slammed my door and ran inside without even thinking.
"'Curated Books', edgy" I said, sarcastically.
"9:59, cutting it a little close, Mossgrove. Your father said you and tardiness seemed to be the best of friends." A woman who looked about my dad's age or a little younger with shoulder-length blonde hair blanched with age, stood behind a huge mahogany counter with various books stacked on either side of it. She was of wirey build wearing a dusty colored t-shirt and lots of gemstone jewelry. Her glasses even looked laden with what appeared to be small pieces of Amethyst and some other stones I couldn't identify. "Well, are you coming in for an interview, or are you just going to stand there for the next hour?" She asked.
"Sorry, just taking it all in. I haven't been in this sort of setting in-"
"Six years, yes, I know, I saw your resume. Come, Lavina."
______________________________
"Rhiannon Syracuse" she held out her hand to me, so I took it and gave a solid man-shake. "So what makes you want to work at my store?"
I was taken a bit aback by the question, and really hadn't thought about it. It had been awhile since I had been in this world, and the last time ended pretty badly. "Well, I suppose I need a change of scenery, and well, I kinda miss it all." I said, looking around the shop. I didn't lie, after college, I worked in a small shop for about 2 years and for that short time, it was literally the best time of my life.
"I see a fair amount of regret in those eyes, do you care to divulge what happened in Boston?"
I felt my eyes go wide "how did you-?"
"Oh, I have my sources," Rhiannon retorted
I thought about it for a moment. I felt like she already knew what happened, so there was no sense in attempting to pad the story. I hadn't talked about it to anyone, and it still felt fresh. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and took myself back to that day.
"It was in the fall. I went to work that day, like any other. When I entered the shop, I went into the back room. We didn't keep the prime goods out front for the general public. It felt off in the building as soon as I passed the threshold." I wasn't expecting to recount one of the worst days of my adult life today. "No one was in the front of house, which was weird, because the shop had been open for a few hours before my shift started and with the local clientele, we were usually pretty hopping by noon, but I digress. I looked around, and went to the back room where we kept the more unique objects and put my stuff down." I paused. This is the part I drank to avoid the nightmares from. I gulped a wad of saliva that had been building in my mouth and still felt sick. Rhiannon looked at me, sternly, but with anticipation to continue. "Um, that-that's when I saw it"
