A Writer's Fairytale

Prince James: M. Charles' book

I walked away. My next stop was the bookshop. I looked at the shops as I walked down. I walked into the bookshop when I saw it. There were shelves and shelves of books, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I did find books. All kinds of books, just walking into the store I saw a book by Mr. M. Charles right beside a book by Oscar Wilde. There was a lady with a baby carriage in the corner. She was humming softly. She was pushing the carriage softly back and forth. She had brown hair that was lying flat against her neck and cheek. She wore a floral shirt and a pair of jeans. She smiled when she saw me walking through the shop.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked her voice was sweet, kind, deep, and rich. She had such a lovely voice. “My husband is upstairs, but I can try to help you if you tell me what you need. I know this place pretty well. Not as well as he does but I sometimes I don’t know if he knows it as well as he thinks he does.”

I cleared my throat. “I was just hoping that you could tell me something about Mr. M. Charles.”

She smiled. “I am sorry, but I can’t tell you anything about him.”

“Isn’t there something you could tell me?” I asked looking at her.

She smiled. “There is something I can tell you. It’s just not the something that you came to hear, but I feel that you would like this information just the same.”

I looked at her strangely. “What do you wish to tell me?”

“That she does care, deep down she truly cares. She will never show it, but she does care. You have to believe me.”

“Who cares?” I asked, walking closer to her.

“I know, you know,” she said in a harsh whisper.

 I looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

She laughed. “That was a nice scrape she had. It looked pretty nasty. I am sure you feel very bad about it.”

My jaw dropped. How did she know? How could she know? I didn’t tell her. I just met her, but then who told her. I didn’t think that it was Mary, or her grandmother. The only one that might have said something was her friend. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said, looking away from her. 

“It’s ok. I am her sister.” She paused and then laughed. “Actually, I am her sister-in-law, but we treat each other like actual sisters.”

I looked at her. My eyes were filled with shock. “You are?” I asked, looking at her. 

 “Yes,” she said, with a smile. “I am.”

“Did she tell you this herself?”  I asked looking at her. I wanted to know what Mary had told her. I had to know. 

She shook her head. “Actually, she was reluctant to tell me anything. I don’t think she was planning on telling me anything. I don’t think she would have had I not already known about the whole affair, or at least what you told our grandmother. She then went on to explain what happened, though she was reluctant about telling me everything. I would like to apologize for her behavior. She has a very hard time finding people that she can trust. I believe that it has something to do with her past.” 

“Her past?” I asked, looking at her. 

She turned her head away from me. “I can’t talk about it.” 

“Please.” I begged her. I needed to know. I needed to know why she hated me so much, or why she hated the world so much. 

“I can’t tell you about it. It isn’t my place to tell you. My sister has to be the one to tell you. I am sorry, but it is the truth. I can’t tell you anything,” she said, looking at her baby.

“I understand,” I said, looking away from her. 

“I know you must be getting this a lot. First from our grandmother and then from me, it’s something that we don’t like to talk about, but we know we should, but we can’t.” She paused and looked left and then right. “That reminds me, we have to keep this a secret.” 

“Keep what a secret?” a man said, coming down the stairs. The man was about my height and he had broad shoulders. He had dirty blond hair that was cut short. He had deep inset blue eyes. He wore a light green shirt and jeans. 

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “You look nice.” She pulled him in close and kissed him. “Where is dad? We really need to be heading out. You know grandmother and being late, especially since she wants me to help her cook.” 

“He will be down in a moment.” He then turned to me.  “Can I help you with something? We are going to be closing soon.” 

I cleared my throat. “Could you tell me anything about Mr. M. Charles?” 

He looked at me for a moment. “He is a very good writer, but that is all I can say. We have a completion of his short stories on sale, if you want that,” he said, pointing to the counter. 

“Yes. I would like that,” I said, walking over to the counter. 

“That will be 10 dollars,” he said, opening the cash register. I paid the man and then left. I saw no reason to try and push him into telling me something about Mr. Charles. He wouldn’t tell me anything, the only thing that I had gotten out of that trip was a book that I had no intention of reading. 

I guess that is not true. I did get something out of that trip. I had learned that somewhere deep inside Mary, she cared. She truly cared about me, and that was enough for me to want to continue to fight for her.