The Magic of Stories

23 - A Gift

The banter with Cat at the end of our discussion helped me to feel better, but the thought of Luca's desperate situation never stopped bothering me during dinner and followed me into my dreams and through Sunday. When I returned to the library Monday afternoon, my heart was still heavy and my nerves were on edge. I had to confront Conny, metaphorical brick wall or not.

To my surprise, the fading bruise on her temple and the bandaid hiding the cut didn't dampen her good mood.

"Hey Lynn, how are you? Did you have a pleasant weekend?"

"Mostly good, thanks, and greetings from Marjorie—she wishes you all the best."

Conny's eyes widened. "Did you pay her a visit? How is she?"

"Fine, she's on the mend and in a hurry to be back on duty. But what about you? Shouldn't you take it easy with that bruise?"

"It's much better already and hope to be rid of this tomorrow." She touched the dressing with a fingertip. "The doctor said I was lucky the injury was only superficial, and that I got off without a serious concussion. Did you tell Marj? I bet she was worried we're incapable of doing our job now."

"Not at all, but she wished you well. I can't believe you have no headache."

She rubbed her temple. "Thanks god I don't. But I'll better stick to the office this afternoon, though. Most customers look at me as if I had been beaten up by a thug."

That was to be expected. "As long as they don't send the police after Paco or me."

"That would be the worst, after all you two have done. Thank you, by the way. You handled this awful mess to the best."

"Don't worry, that's what friends are for. Besides, Paco and I are convinced these youngsters set the trap for him or for me, so I'm sorry you ended up as collateral damage. I still doubt they were aware of the consequences—or meant to hurt someone. By the way..." I hesitated, aware she wouldn't like what I had to tell her next. "While I searched for the first aid kit last week, I found your manuscript." I pointed at her drawers.

"Oh." I couldn't read the cocktail of emotions washing over her face. Sadness? Grief? Embarrassment? "I've forgotten I stowed the foolish thing there. Why I didn't burn it to ashes ages ago remains a mystery. I just hope it didn't bother you too much—if you read it."

That wasn't even close to the reaction I had expected. "I admit I couldn't resist, but why should it bother me? I like your writing style, and the story is pretty entertaining."

She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "I can't really remember what I wrote, and I don't want to, either. It brings up too many sad memories."

"So you don't plan to finish the story? I'd volunteer as your beta reader if you do."

Conny shook her head, her eyes blinking several times. "No, please try to understand—I can't. Marcel helped me so much with this story. It was really his to tell, but he didn't want to sit down and write, said he would make too many mistakes with his dyslexia. When he got his cancer diagnosis, I wanted to finish it for him. But when I realised it couldn't be done in time, I gave up working on it. It broke my heart each time I looked at the pages. I don't even know why I kept a printout."

I remained silent while she rubbed her eyes and then looked at me. "I guess I was just nostalgic and thought it might remind me of him. It does, but not in a good way, as you can see. I should have gotten rid of it long ago."

At the sight of her unshed tears, I lowered my gaze, aware I couldn't and didn't want to change her mind on this. To stir up sad memories was the last thing I had in mind. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have read it. I knew I shouldn't, and still gave in to temptation."