I took a seat at a table near the front window, so I could watch the passersby on the street while I perused a newspaper and drank my latté. I thought I'd relax for a while before going next door to drop in on my coworkers. There was nothing quite like a chai latté to settle my nerves and take my mind of things.
The café was quiet for mid-morning. A couple of students sat at a table in the corner furthest from me, one of the my typing assiduously on his laptop. A couple of businessmen chatted quietly about sales figures at a table near the counter. In the middle of the room, a lone man in a suit read the newspaper.
I flipped to the comics page and took a swig of my chai. It tasted wonderful. The soy milk gave it a much smoother taste and texture than regular milk. I was glad I'd switched. I hadn't known how good a chai could be until I'd tried with soy.
I looked out the window for a few minutes, watching the cars and pedestrians move up and down Barrington Street. It was a perfect fall day, and everyone was going about their appointed business. I was sure none of them had tried to kill themselves in the past week, and I was sure that none of them had seen strange women dressed in 1940s clothes either.
Just like my brain to start running over the problems again, I thought. No such thing as just sitting down with a nice hot drink and a paper, just allowing the world to pass by. No, the brain had to go dig up the problems again. I was getting fed up with my brain. It was being uncooperative, and I wondered if I would ever learn how to shut it up.
I glanced into the café again. The man at the middle table appeared to look down at his paper as I turned my head. Almost as if he'd been looking up for a moment while I was looking out the window.
Great, I thought. Now I'm getting paranoid.
Just for the hell of it, though, I turned back to the window and started people watching again. I waited a couple of minutes, and then turned my head abruptly to look back into the room.
It happened again. The man averted his eyes and looked down at the paper again.
I wasn't sure what I'd accomplished. If he was watching me, it was very likely he now knew that I was on to him. Perhaps if I avoided looking at him from this point on, he'd assume that it had been a fluke, and that I wasn't really aware of his scrutiny.
If that's what it was.
As I looked back at the comics page, I thought that it would be a pretty good idea to start working on my novel again, because it appeared that my imagination was in its top gear and ready to roll. Between the hospital and the hallucinations, I had some great fodder for further plot developments.
I tried to read a few of the comics, but they just weren't funny. Every once in a while, I'd try them again, but the quality of the humor was getting lamer and lamer every time I gave them a glance. It was pretty pathetic, and I imagined I'd soon give up on them altogether. I wondered who their target audience was. Did that many people really find this stuff funny?
I folded the paper and put it on the other chair. Turning to the muffin on my plate, I cut it in half and buttered it. I continued to stare out the window and sip my chai, taking a bite of the muffin every once in a while. I checked to see if there was any reflection visible on the window from inside the shop, but it was much too bright outside for anything to be discernible. So much for spying on the man at the other table without turning to look inside again.
After another fifteen minutes or so, I wiped my mouth with a napkin and got up from the table. I took my plate and mug to the counter like a good citizen and bid my farewells to Tamara and her employee. As I reached the door, I took one more quick glance at the dark-suited man, and once again, I was rewarded with his quickly glancing away from me.
I knew at that moment that I wasn't imagining anything.
I stepped out into the street and turned right. Paige's was next door.
When I stepped through the door I was immediately comforted by the wood paneling, the subdued light, and the shelves upon shelves of books. I had only been away a few days, but for some reason it felt longer. It wasn't like I was in love with retail or anything like that, but Paige was not just a businesswoman. She was a book lover, a humanist, and a friend. The fact that she was also my boss was just a technicality. She didn't treat us like employees.
The first person I saw as I entered was Nina, one of my coworkers. Nina dashed up to me and hugged me tightly around the waist. Her diminutive stature would not allow her to hold on any higher.
"Jack," she said, her voice muffled by my jacket. "You're okay."
I returned the embrace and smiled. "Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."
Nina drew back and looked up at me. "You know you could have brain damage," she said, her eyes nearly boring into my skull. "You might not be able to remember where the books are in here."
I smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "The books are right there," I replied, pointing to the walls and shelving units behind her.
She glowered at me. "You know what I mean. You might get all confused about where certain types of books are."
"You mean like the romance novels? I honestly wish I could forget where they are."
"You're not taking this seriously, Jack. You have no idea what you might have done to yourself."
"Well, except for a few hallucinations, so far so good," I said. I tried not to let my smile get too large as I waited for her alarmed response to that.
Her eyes grew into shiny circles. "You see? You're having problems already. Why did you do that to yourself?"
"Nina," came a voice behind her. "Could you finish up that shelving in Self-Help?"
Nina scowled again and began to move away. "Keep a close eye on those symptoms," she said. "Let me know if it gets any worse."
"Yes, Doctor," I replied.
Paige stepped towards me, shaking her head. "Some things never change," she said as she threw her arms around me.
"I heard that," Nina called from somewhere in the Self-Help section.
Paige and I both laughed as we disengaged. She put a hand on my shoulder and looked at me intently.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded. "Pretty okay, yeah. A little shaken up, a little embarrassed and ashamed, but otherwise unharmed. Except for the hallucinations I told Nina about."
Paige snorted. "Don't encourage her, okay? She goes off at the drop of a hat. You know that."
"I heard that, too," Nina called.
Paige and I started chuckling again.
"You take all the time you need, okay?" Paige said when we'd settled down.
"Thanks. I really appreciate that. I think a couple more days is all I'll really need."
Paige put her hands on her hips and bit her lower lip. "I don't know, Jack. I think you should take all next week off."
My eyebrows shot up. "All next week? What the hell am I going to do with myself for a whole week?"
"You could write," Nina called from somewhere in the shelves.
"Her hearing is quite remarkable," I said, looking towards the right-hand side of the store. I couldn't see our tiny coworker anywhere.
"Yes. You'd think I'd've learned that by now," Paige replied.
Paige was a woman of average height and slim build, with dark hair cut at the jawline and flipped slightly inwards. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and usually had some kind of sweater on. Today it was a purple one, V-necked, with a frilly white blouse under it. She had a long, narrow face and an almost perpetually earnest expression on her face, which made her smile all the more stunning when it revealed itself.
She cared about her employees, and they cared about her right back. At this moment, I was gladder than ever to be working for her.
At that moment, another of my coworkers appeared.
"Hey, Jeff," I said.
Jeff bounded up to me and gave me a bear hug. "Jack. It's so good to see you. We were all so worried about you."
"Thanks, Jeff. That means a lot."
"You going to be taking some time off?" he asked.
"Yeah. Next week." I nodded. I turned to Paige. "Which reminds me. I need to talk to you about some further time off in a few weeks."
"Sure. Let's go into the office."
Paige took me by the arm and led me to her personal inner sanctum, the place where the inner workings of the bookstore… um… worked.
"Have a seat," she said as she closed the door behind us.
I grabbed a chair and sat down.
"So," she said, taking a seat at her desk and turning to face me, "what's up?"
I took a breath. "Well, these know-it-alls at the hospital have insisted that I enroll in a day treatment program. It's six weeks long, and I'd have to be off work for the duration."
Paige rolled her eyes. "Always the skeptic, aren't you?"
"Well… Yeah."
"Think about what you just tried to do. Don't you think something like this could be the best thing in the world for you?"
I twisted my mouth into as many shapes as I could think of. "I don't know. I have my doubts. But they wouldn't let me leave until I agreed to enter the program."
"Good. So when is it?"
"In a few weeks. They're going to call me in a few days with the details."
"Good. That's great. You just let me know the dates, and I'll put you on sick leave."
"Just like that?"
Paige nodded. "Yep. Just like that. I want you to take good care of yourself, Jack. And if that means being off for six weeks, then I'm happy to do it."
I sighed. "Thanks, Paige. I appreciate that. You always take good care of me."
"Well, somebody has to. Now get out of here. You're not working today."
I stood. "I thought I might pick up a magazine before I head home."
She got up from her chair and gave me an evaluting look. "Fine. Just dont' bother my staff while you're out there. We have to get things done, you know."
"You're a slave driver."
I opened the door and stepped back out into the store proper. Sally, another of my coworkers, was just coming in the front door. Her eyes widened, and she hurtled towards me, her long blonde hair streaming out behind her.
I was beginning to feel that if one more coworker came towards me at vehicular speed, I might wind up in the hospital again.
I hugged Sally, and when we stepped apart again, she looked up at me with a frown and a protruding lower lip. "No," she said. "No, no. You don't ever do that again."
I shook my head and put my hand over my heart. "Scout's honor," I said. "True blue."
She nodded, apparently satisfied with my response. "I want to read something you've written," she said, "not something written about you posthumously. You got that?"
"Got it."
