Night Shift (Book 1, the Night Shift series)

Chapter Sixteen

"That's right," he interrupted. "I owe you an answer." Daniel steadied himself, then began his story. "When I was a little kid, like maybe three or four, my mom and I took a trip to a big city. I remember walking down the sidewalk, amazed by how fast everything moved, and how the tall buildings went on forever. We stopped in front of a toy store that had the most amazing train set I'd ever seen."

"A toy store that started with a V?" she guessed.

"Or so I thought." He paused and smiled at her curious expression. "She wouldn't let me go inside. I did sneak in for a few seconds. But she didn't follow me, she looked terrified. I ran back to her, and we never returned."

Mary said, "I don't understand. All this time you've been looking for that toy store?"

Daniel tapped the Magic 8 Ball. "You know how you build something up in your mind, until it's all you can think about? And you're convinced that if you get that one thing, you'll be happy, but when you finally find it, you're still unhappy?"

"You're unhappy here?"

Daniel let his shoulders fall in a silent sigh. "No. Maybe. I don't know. This memory is a connection to my mom, but I never knew the whole story." He began to list off the questions that had kept him awake all these months. "Why didn't she come in with me? Why didn't we ever come back? I totally forgot about it until after she died. Then I couldn't stop obsessing. I'm not sure what I hoped I'd find. I never thought past walking through the main doors."

Mary studied his face. She reached up and twirled her hair. "But why Willard's?"

He held up his palm and spread his thumb away from his fingers. "There was a cursive V engraved on the door handle. I was little, so it lined up perfectly with my eyes." Then he held up his other hand in an identical V. "But I was wrong," he said. "It was only part of a letter." He touched both thumbs together, joining the V's. "When both doors close, the two V's form—"

"A W!" she finished. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"I guess when you come through the front doors every day, you miss the obvious."

Mary stared over his shoulder into space. "The front of the doors," she repeated. "Of course. That's why."

Daniel waited for her to continue, but she stayed silent. He wondered if she was disappointed to have the riddle solved so unspectacularly. He looked to the Magic 8 Ball for an answer, but it just stared back at him. "After my mom died," he said, "I used to think she was talking to me through the keychain. Stupid, huh?"

"No," Mary soothed, looking into his eyes, no longer daydreaming. "I'm sorry about the ghost talk at dinner. I didn't realize."

A little bit of weight lifted off Daniel's chest. It felt good to share his story with someone. He said, "The truth is, I've been travelling for so long by myself, I'm starting to feel like a ghost—like everything is a dream, and I'll wake up in my bedroom, hearing my parents' voices in the house." He turned to her. "Does that sound totally crazy?"

"Reality is subjective. Everyone has their own unique perception of life." She placed her hand next to his on the bench, their fingers almost touching. "But, yeah, I get it. You want something real."

"I need something real."

She gave him a sad smile. "Me too."

Daniel didn't sense pity; she was sharing his grief, taking some of the sadness from him. He suddenly wanted to share everything. He turned his whole body toward her, but then he stopped and focused on something over her shoulder. The time on the antique clock on the wall hadn't changed since before dinner.

Mary followed his gaze. "That clock hasn't worked in over twenty years," she said.

"Mr. Oliver told me it was a replica of Mr. Willard's pocket watch. How come it isn't fixed? I thought everything in the store had to be perfect."

Mary tucked a stray wave behind her ear. "It's not broken," she said. "Mr. Willard was the only one allowed to wind it up. After he died, his pocket watch went missing. The staff let the antique clock run down naturally. Out of respect, the hands remain in place, untouched by time."

"How did he die?"

"He was over ninety years old," she explained. "He went for a walk in the park one morning. They found him sitting up with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. The store put a brass plaque on the bench." She turned her back on the clock, and, Daniel assumed, the subject as well.

He looked at a framed movie poster on the wall behind the piano. "'One Touch Of Venus,'" he read out loud.

Mary cringed. "It's so bad. Jonathan only gave it one star. But it's Ava Gardner, so he had to watch the whole thing."

"If it's so bad, why is it on the wall?"

"Mr. Willard was rumored to have escorted Ava Gardner to the premiere in 1948."

"Seriously?" he said. The former store owner was becoming more legendary by the hour. "What's it about?"

She picked a piece of lint from her black leggings. "A lonely department store clerk kisses the statue of Venus on display, and brings her to life."

Daniel pulled a face. "Isn't that necro-sicko or something?"

"I think you mean necrophilia—and let's not go there." She cleared her throat. "The proper theme is about true love and the power of a first kiss."

Daniel took in the image of Ava Gardner wrapped in a toga. "He falls in love with a statue, but she's a beautiful woman at the same time?" he asked. Mary didn't answer him. He started to reach for the keychain when he noticed, at the very end of the piano, a small pile of caramel candy wrappers.

"I'm sorry about earlier, with the chocolates," she said, smoothing out the frayed edges of her cutoffs. "It's not exactly my style. I'm much better with books and computers—but meeting new people and going on fake dates?" She waited for a second, then answered her own question. "Not so much."

This shy and vulnerable version was so different from Mary's usual demeanour. It made Daniel feel protective of her. "Right now," he said, "there's nowhere else that I want to be." As soon as he said it, he knew it was true. Everything he'd been worried about vanished; the V on the door handles, Mr. Oliver's stories about Willard's—even ghosts. Nothing was as important as being with Mary on this old piano bench.

She held his stare. His pulse sputtered, then began to pound. He reached up and gently held her chin between his thumb and finger.

"Daniel, I've never—"

"Shh." His lips brushed against her mouth. She smiled under his touch and kissed him back, timidly at first, then more sure. Daniel was shivering and on fire at the same time. It was like fireworks were going off inside his chest. He breathed her in, slowly moving his mouth with hers, the sensation of warm caramel filled him up.

Their lips touched once more, then she leaned back and asked, "Real enough?"

Daniel cupped her face in his hands. "Yes," he said. "Definitely real."