by Drea Damara
Ricky peeled another finger open, but didn’t have to free the rest after he said, “Tell him that you love him.”
Sarah released his shirt as his words sank in. “I never said…What makes you think…?”
“Like, love—whatever it is, just tell him. I’m sure you’ll feel better afterward,” Ricky said, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt.
Shelby came back, but Sarah ignored her quizzical look. The sickening feeling in her gut turned into the kind brought on by only loss. How could she feel like she’d lost Henry if she’d never even told him how she felt? How she felt—she’d fought that question for so long, she’d been blind to her own feelings. This was worse than drowning. It was like slamming into a brick wall. She may have just lost any chance with him by gallivanting back to Vasimus. Henry was the one who’d gotten the ring back from him for her. He went into a book to save her! He did all that, yet she had no idea how to tell him the way she felt. Just tell him, Ricky had said…
“How?” she asked, knowing he’d found out the secret she finally had learned herself.
“Finally! Thank you!” Ricky held up a hand.
“How what?” Shelby looked from one of them to the other.
“How do I tell Henry?” Sarah felt her cheeks grow warm. She was asking for love advice from two teenagers.
“Oh! That you love him?” Shelby beamed.
Sarah grasped the counter and dropped her head in between her arms to hide her shame. “Uh. Does everyone know?”
“Well, not Henry, at least,” Shelby said and patted her on the back.
“Here,” Ricky said. Sarah felt something hard hit her arm. “Write him a letter.”
She looked up to see one of the journals she kept for sale in a stack by the register resting on her arm. She squinted and looked over it at her nephew.
“You want me to write him a letter?” she asked. “What are you? A teenager?”
“Aww, that’s romantic,” Shelby said.
Sarah spent the rest of the day scribbling lines onto pages of the journal. The loud sound of ripping paper would pierce the air followed by a crumpling noise. By the end of the day, the recycling basket and garbage can were full.
Ricky came over at one point and reached into the basket to pick up a wad of paper. When she noticed that he was about to un-crumple one of her failed attempts at declaring her affections, she shot her hand out and clasped it around his wrist.
“Touch any of those and I’ll send you back into the book!” she threatened.
“O-kay! Just trying to help!” Ricky turned and hobbled away.
THE NEXT two days dragged on tediously. What if the ordeal was too much for Henry and he resigned? What if she never saw him again? Learning to live without Vasimus had been miserable but nothing like this!
She truly did care for Vasimus, even now, but for some reason this felt different. She couldn’t imagine staying out of the book if Henry were the one trapped inside. She’d close the shop for good and stay asleep the rest of her life if that’s what it took to see him again. She couldn’t believe she was no longer thinking that about Vasimus after twenty years of wishing she could have done so. How could that be? Was what she felt for each of them the difference between youthful love and adult love? It had to be; it was like love had changed a shoe size. It was an unromantic metaphor, but it was the only explanation that came to her. How come it hadn’t gotten any easier? Worst off, she still didn’t know what she would say to Henry when she did see him again.
Thursday morning came, and Sarah was up well before the alarm clock. She tried to busy herself, taking extra care over her appearance, which wasn’t difficult to do considering the bags under her eyes. When she couldn’t do anything more to make herself look desirable and calm, she made breakfast. When she realized she had no appetite, she went down and opened the shop.
After whipping her head to look at the door each time the chimes rang, she had given herself a sore neck. She leaned on the counter, exhausted by her silliness, and rubbed the base of her skull as she tried to relax. The chimes sounded again, and when she glanced up, her heart skipped a beat. Henry. Was he more gorgeous than ever or was the light playing tricks on her?
He looked tired as he rolled his hand truck over and said, “Hello.”
He mumbled, Sarah thought. What did that mean? He didn’t smile. Was that a frown? Ah! She panicked and studied his every motion as he approached.
“Hey, Henry!” Ricky called as he and Shelby headed to the door.
“Hey, guys, sorry. Didn’t see you there,” Henry said, smiling at them.
“We’re going to lunch,” Ricky said and gave Sarah a thumbs-up when Henry couldn’t see him. “We’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, sure. Enjoy yourselves.”
Sarah swallowed when Henry turned back around, and they were left face-to-face. She waited, but his usual chitchat didn’t come. How were they going to do this now? Would everything be awkward from here on now that he’d seen that strange part of her life?
“How are you, Henry?”
“I’m well,” he said softly. “And you? That lump looks like it’s gone down.”
Sarah was sure her face turned red. She pulled at her hair to try and cover the bump at her hairline, but let her hand drop when she realized she was fidgeting. “Yeah. I think it’s about gone. And you? Are you…okay?”
“Yeah.” Henry managed a smile. He pushed his hand truck around the counter to drop off his delivery.
The door creaked open, and Sarah watched as the only customer in the shop exited. She turned back to look at Henry who was fidgeting with his clipboard. You never look at the clipboard, she thought. Look at me.
“Henry? I’m sorry—about everything that happened. You shouldn’t have had to go through all of that.”
He gave her a weak smile. ”It’s all right. I was happy to help. I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried about you when Ricky said you went back.” He looked down at the clipboard he held out to her as soon as he’d said it.
He was worried? That was good, right? Or was he just worried because he thought she was an idiot for going back? Her hand shook as she scribbled her name on the invoice. When she finished, she held onto the clipboard. If she gave it back, he would leave.
“Henry? I have to thank you for what you did for Ricky. And for me.”
Henry let out a ragged breath and looked at her then. “Sarah, I meant it when I said I’d rescue you if you ever needed it. You don’t have to thank me for that.”
Sarah couldn’t tell if she’d offended him. He took his clipboard and grabbed onto his empty hand truck. She panicked.
“Wait, Henry!” She grabbed a leather-bound book from behind the counter that she had made the night before. He’d said he meant it, she thought as she looked at the book. He’d rescue me. She gathered her courage, rounded the counter, and handed the book to him. “I want to thank you. It meant a lot to me because—you didn’t have to rescue me. Here. This is for you,” she said and smiled, wrapping her arms around her waist.
Henry stared at her dumbly with the gift in his hand. “Oh, thank you.” He looked at it for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Well, I hope it’s nothing like your magical book. I don’t know if I feel like going on any more adventures anytime soon even…if you are.”
“Oh, no. No, it’s not. And I’m not—going back there, that is.”
Henry’s brow wrinkled. “You’re not? But I thought—Ricky said you—”
“No! Never,” she said and shook her head, reassuring him. “I went back the other day to say goodbye to Netta and Dergus. And I said goodbye to Vasimus too. I hope you understand. I felt I owed him that much.”
Henry let out an audible breath. He looked embarrassed. “Sarah,” he said tenderly, “you don’t owe me any explanations. I’m sorry. I know you had a life before I met you. I just didn’t know it was so far away.”
“How could you?”
The awkward silence that followed
broke when Henry gestured with the book in his hand and said, “Well, I’m glad I’ll have some reading to do after a weekend of sword fights and riding stroomphblutels.”
The sound of Sarah’s laughter was the only thing that got him to smile. Henry didn’t want to appear rude or unenthused, but the agony was killing him. He felt like he was holding the consolation prize for losing the love of his life. Why couldn’t it have been anything else except a book? Now every time he’d look at it, he’d not only think how he hadn’t been the one to win her, but how his foolish attempt at heroics had only served to push her closer to Vasimus—that stupid blockhead.
He was relieved to hear she didn’t plan on going back to that world but was still confused. She had said goodbye to Vasimus. Was she heartbroken over it? Had she forgiven Vasimus for taking her ring? Is that why she had gone back into the book—to let him know she forgave him? To let him know she still loved him? And what about her feelings for him?
Ricky and Netta had given him the impression that she cared for him. Had their ordeal in Farwin Wood caused her feelings to change? Is that why she was acting so peculiar today. She’d never actually said she cared for him. Maybe she was being kind simply because of the things he’d expressed to her when they were in Farwin Wood. The way she kept reiterating her gratitude made him wonder if it was more of a “thank you, now please leave” kind of gratitude. The book in his hand suddenly felt even more like a consolation prize. His stomach turned at the thought. It felt like they were back at square one again, after all these years of bashful flirtations. He turned to leave before he made her, or himself, any more uncomfortable.
Henry walked to the door with a heavy heart. He held it open with his back and guided his hand truck outside. Looking back out of habit, he saw her watching him. He held the book up in his hand. “So, what kind of book is it?”
Sarah’s mouth opened but the words didn’t come out right away. “It’s a love story.”
“Oh,” Henry couldn’t hide the look of surprise on his face. “Any good?”
“I hope so.”
Henry managed a smile in spite of his puzzlement. “Goodbye, Sarah.”
When the door clanked shut behind him, Sarah slapped her hands against her face and let out a long groan. She yelled into them, “I’m such an idiot!”
She turned away from the door, so she wouldn’t have to see Henry through the window. She tugged at her blouse, bringing it in and out to fan herself. Her entire torso felt like it was covered in sweat. This is what happens when you’re an idiot: menopause sets in early and you die alone.
The chimes on the door clanked again, and Sarah stopped fanning herself. She straightened her shirtfront and sighed before turning around to greet the customer. Standing in front of the door, however, was Henry without his hand truck. All he held was the book open in his widespread hand. Sarah swallowed and was sure he could hear it.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Yes?”
Why was he calling her “ma’am”? It sounded so damningly informal. She was going to have a heart attack.
“There’s a problem with this book,” Henry said, but Sarah couldn’t discern his serious expression.
“Oh? What’s that?”
Henry looked down at the inscription she had written on the first page—the only words in the entire book. She trembled as he began to recite them.
“The Story of Henry and Sarah. After five long, wasted years of passing looks and one bizarre adventure, the noble deliveryman rescued the damsel and they lived happily ever after…”
He cleared his throat and slapped the book closed as he looked at her. With two quick steps, he closed the space between them.
Sarah’s knees trembled. She couldn’t tell if the heat she felt was from him, her, or something created by the two of them being so close. There wasn’t enough air, but she managed to ask, “So, what’s the problem?”
Henry cupped the side of her face and grazed his thumb across the curve of her cheekbone. His voice was husky as he murmured, just before capturing her lips with his, “None of it was a waste.”
This story started as a dream. BHC Press, thank you for making it come true.
And to my English professor who told me years ago to become a writer, thank you for lighting the fire and allowing me to imagine the possibilities.
Drea Damara grew up in Illinois working on her family’s farm. Raised in a home of seven with only one television, she spent her free time reading and roaming the woods. She set writing aside to join the Army and later returned to the Middle East, conducting similar work as a civilian. Drea enjoys writing in multiple genres and is currently at work on her next novel.