Good Things

This shouldn't be comical. A week ago she wouldn't have found anything about this situation amusing. But so many things can happen in a week.

"Something funny?" The man standing in front of Shayla Walker is so close that she can smell the stale beer lingering in his unkept beard. He had already been screaming expletives in her face for several minutes, but she’s willing to let him scream for an hour. It would be more than worth it in the end.

"Nothing's funny. I'd just rather smile than not. You know?" The man looks at her, stunned. She gains some satisfaction from rendering him speechless.

Shayla shrugs and continues on her way. She gives the disgruntled man a small smile as she walks past. Before turning down another street, she hears the man hurl one last insult her way. She doesn't catch what he says but lets out a small laugh. She checks her phone and makes a mental note of the exact time. She then looks back and commits the street name to memory. She has to stop herself from skipping the rest of the way to Zeke's place.

Zeke is already waiting in the doorway when Shayla arrives. “You seem happy. Something good happen?”

“Nope. Just feeling good today.” They enter his run down studio apartment. It’s littered with various queer pride flags, fairy lights and smells of cinnamon. Shayla plops down on her usual spot on the couch.

“I got your text. What happened with Matt?” Shayla asks, while already preparing to distract herself. Zeke sighs dramatically while getting two beers from the kitchenette.

“Okay! So Matt has this one friend. I can’t remember his name but he's super shady. Like, illegal activity, shady. You know?” Zeke hands Shayla one of the beers but doesn’t join her on the couch. Instead, he begins to pace quickly in front of her.

Shayla let’s him ramble on about people she doesn’t know or care about for what feels like hours. She responds with gasps and nods where she feels it’s appropriate, but is thinking about the interaction she had on her way there. Finally, the rant ends. Zeke falls onto the couch. Shayla instinctively swings herself around and rests her legs on his lap. She struggles to find something comforting to say.

“Does Matt seem like a good guy?”

“Probably?” Shayla rolls her eyes.

“It’s your relationship. Do what feels right!”

Zeke slowly nods. Shayla knows that he’ll stay with Matt. She knows he won’t listen to her until something bad happens. If they crash Matt’s bike, or get arrested, she’ll be there to help him of course. But in the meantime, she can only offer support.

“Anyway. Anything happening in your life? That chick text you back?” Shayla snorts at Zeke’s awful attempt at a segway.

“We don’t have to talk about that.” She looks at the long empty beer bottle in her hand. She suddenly wants another but decides against it. Work will be more pleasant tomorrow if she isn’t nursing a pounding headache.

Zeke watches her for a moment and looks like he wants to say something, but instead turns on the TV across from the couch. Shayla appreciates his emotional ineptitude and smiles.

Irritating buzzing jolts both of them awake the next morning. Zeke wanders around the apartment aimlessly while Shayla freshens up. She’d prepared for times like this. She pulls a blouse and jeans out of one of the drawers in the bathroom. When she comes out fully dressed, Zeke has started making breakfast.

“You got time for eggs?” Shayla shakes her head but grabs some cold coffee from the machine. It’s disgusting and perfect.

“You coming back here tonight?” The question reminds Shayla that she hasn’t been back to her own house in almost a week. She winces at the thought.

She shakes her head and finishes her coffee. They say a quick goodbye and Shayla skips down the stairs. Once at the bottom she speedwalks down the familiar road to the bookstore.

The Hutch stands between a novelty bakery and a barbershop. Inside, there are towering bookshelves and elegant old light fixtures. She breathes in the familiar smell of old paper and wood. She waves at the four customers, three of whom are regulars. Sarah, the sweet new hire with the freckles, greets her at the register, relieved.

“Hey!” She almost shouts. Shayla gives her a warm smile.

“You okay?” Sarah looks ready to faint.

“I had to open this morning. I’m just glad someone else is finally here.”

“Well, unless you burn down the store, it’s almost impossible to mess up here.” Sarah laughs. It reminds Shayla of a bird. She’s not sure what kind. She doesn't know birds. But she likes it.

“You think you can hold down the fort for a little longer while I deal with some stuff in the back?” Sarah nods.

“Of course!” They make eye contact. Sarah blushes and looks away, but not before Shayla has a chance to notice. She chuckles to herself. Then ducks into the small office in the back and closes the door softly.

Finally! Technically this could have been done anywhere but it’s more satisfying to do it in the store. Where it started.

Shayla sits at a small wooden desk and pulls a little black notebook out of her bag. It’s entirely plain except for a small burn mark on the cover. When she opens it and flips to an empty page, it is filled with pages of addresses and times. Some are written in broad clear cursive, others in rushed scribbles. Some of the writing is unreadable, as if the previous owners were desperate. Sometimes, Shayla imagines what happened to them. She hopes that everything worked out for them in the end but tries not to dwell on it too much. She can’t imagine why anyone would have let something like this out of their sight.

Shayla opens the book to a new page. She closes her eyes and thinks back. Parkway Ave. 52 St. She writes down the address carefully. The time was 5:23 PM. She writes that down as well. She checks the note over for spelling mistakes. She finally closes the book carefully and places it back in her bag. Then she takes another deep breath and heads back out to attempt to sell books to the two remaining customers.

Shayla closes up the shop and starts walking to Zeke’s house before remembering that she’s going to her house for the night. She reluctantly begins walking in the opposite direction.

On her way she makes a point to check behind her every few seconds. She convinces herself that she does this out of caution and not out of fear. It’s dark, and she can never be too careful in this neighborhood. As she gets closer to the house she feels as if there is a force slowing her down. She pushes past the apprehension. She reaches the front door and unlocks it as quickly as possible before she can change her mind.

She enters, trying not to look at the antique furniture. She keeps her head down and rushes to the bedroom in the back, slamming the door behind her.

She exhales and collapses onto the mattress on the floor. She shivers and stares up at the ceiling before abruptly sitting up. She almost forgot. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the notebook. She places it carefully on the floor beside her mattress.

She decides to sleep in her clothes. Less time spent there in the morning.

Shayla wakes to the same irritating ringtone. She is alarmed by her surroundings before remembering where she is. She excitedly checks the notebook. She turns to the pages she wrote on, and inside is $4,000 cash and a polaroid photo of a grey Honda. She smiles and places the book back in her bag. She runs out of the house without another thought and locks the door behind her. She walks quickly to work but scans up and down the streets as she goes.

She’s almost there when she sees a used car dealership that she had never noticed before. Sure enough. The exact car sits at the very front of the parking lot. She enters the dealership, already reaching in her bag for the cash.

Shayla has her new car paid for and registered with time to spare before her shift. It was like the book knew. Always perfectly convenient.

She’s about to walk into the store when she gets a call. Her heart drops. It’s Zeke. They never call each other when a text will do.

Shayla tries to keep her voice controlled, “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

“Hello. Is this Shayla Walker?” It’s a female voice she doesn’t recognize.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Doctor Sei at Redwood General Hospital. Zeke Murphy has been attacked and is in critical condition. You’re his emergency contact. Are you able to get here on your own?” Shayla looks back at where her car is parked.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

The hospital lights are glaring and the smell stings Shayla’s nose as she swiftly follows the doctor to Zeke’s room. Her breath hitches in her throat when she sees him. Zeke is almost unrecognizable. She looks at the doctor in disbelief.

The doctor explains what happened. The only things Shayla manages to understand are that a witness saw a young man with a bike helmet leave Zeke’s apartment and then heard Zeke shouting for help from inside.

She feels the guilt spread through her body, making it cold. He had been concerned for a reason, and had come to her for help. She suddenly feels sick.

“He may not wake up until tomorrow. We can bring a cot in for you if you’d like to stay with him.” Shayla nods. The doctor leaves them alone and Shayla is unable to move. She stands and stares at the floor.

She almost falls over but catches herself on a chair. The notebook falls out of her bag. She stares at it for a moment before hastily picking it up and frantically turning to a new page.

The apartment. Parkway Ave. 67 St. When did the doctor say it happened? The witness heard the cry for help around 2 AM. Would that be specific enough? She writes it anyway. Instead of placing it down somewhere, she clutches it for dear life and sits back in the chair. She sits there, watching Zeke steadily breathe, all night.

It becomes light outside and she hasn’t slept. She’d wanted to check the book several times in the night but didn’t, out of fear that nothing would be there. Finally, she carefully turns the pages. Something falls out of the book and onto the floor. She picks it up and almost shouts. A cheque. Signed Blackwell Co. and addressed to Shayla personally. Her head spins as she reads the amount. $20,000. Her head spins and she attempts to regulate her breathing. She notices something else as well. A note.

Hello, Shayla. We at Blackwell hope you’ve found our services satisfactory. We were very sorry to hear about your friend and hope that the disclosed amount will be beneficial in helping pay for his medical bills and a new, safe apartment for the two of you. However, due to the size of this payment, we regret to inform you that this will be the last payment you will be receiving from us. We wish you the best of luck.

M. BLACKWELL

PS. Please leave this book somewhere safe for the next customer.

Shayla realizes she is crying when she finishes reading. She puts the cheque in her purse and leans back against the chair. Closing her eyes, she makes a mental note to slip the notebook into Sarah’s bag the next time she sees her.