Measured by Moments

It caught her eye on the subway where it had been trampled carelessly into a dirty corner. She tried to ignore it, but it was almost like she could hear it screaming at her from the floor. Who knew what treasures waited beyond its filthy, disgusting cover. Curiosity winning the battle with disgust in her mind, Reese Miller sighed and crouched on the semi-crowded subway and grasped the filthy thing between her pointer finger and thumb. She held it at arms distance and tried not to think too hard about how many germs were probably clinging to it, telling herself that getting to read whatever its pages contained would be worth the nastiness. She riffled around in her purse for a tissue she couldn't find and frowned at the culprit. The tattered, black notebook reeked of abuse. Curse her insatiable curiosity.

Her twenty minute commute seemed a lot longer than usual with the dirty little book pinched between her fingers. When she finally reached her little condo, Reese barely took the time to toe off her heels before making a beeline for the kitchen. She ripped off a napkin, laid it on the counter, and dropped the offending item onto it, immediately lathering up at her sink. Her tabby cat Malley glared disapprovingly at her from his perch on the table.

"What?" she questioned defensively, eyes narrowing at him. "It's not the book; it's really not. It's everything else..." she gestured towards it vaguely, "about it."

After thoroughly washing who knows what off of her hands, Reese tore off another napkin, this time wetting it. She ran it gently over the black leather cover of the book, carefully avoiding the pages that were randomly sticking out of it. It took some scrubbing and several more napkins, but a few minutes later most of the dirt and grime had been washed away. Reese rubbed over it a few more times for her own peace of mind before patting it dry with her hand towel. She held it out from her to examine it properly and smiled, pleased with her work. It almost looked brand new.

Finally content with the book's condition, Reese brewed herself a cup of coffee--decaf, of course--and carried it and the notebook into her living room. She snagged her favorite blanket as she passed and snuggled down on her couch. An almost too hot sip of coffee tingled down her throat. Pressing her lips together, Reese pushed aside her own little black Moleskine and set her cup in its place, focusing her attention to the curious little book.

The book was definitely worn, whether from its abuse on the subway or from its owner she wasn't sure. Reese ran her fingers over the scratches and grooves in its cover and tried to imagine the situations that created them. The pages were yellowed and torn in areas and the elastic band that bound it together was nearly rotted in half, but that only added to its mysterious character. She turned it over in her hands a couple of times before gently cracking it open.

"To my Ellie" was written in bold print across the middle of the first page. Reese smiled at what followed: "With all my love, your Ollie." She studied the letters for a second longer and turned the page.

The page burst to life with an incredibly detailed landscape pencil sketch. Faded with age, a dirt path wound it's way across the paper, slowly narrowing into the distance over a grassy hill. Towering oaks and maples lined the pathway and created a canopy of leaves overhead. Each leaf was intricately sketched and shaded, casting their tiny shadows onto the ground. There, in the middle of such intricacy, sat a plain wooden park bench seating a young man and his newspaper.

He was sketched differently than the rest of the drawing. The lines were formed more gently; the tenderness and artist's care were evident in the amused smile on his face and the way his hair ruffled in the breeze.

The handwriting changed from the blocky, masculine print into a flowing and feminine script on the page across from the drawing. "I remember the very first time I saw you," she--Reese assumed it was Ellie--wrote. "I was sitting underneath my favorite tree, sketching the beauty of the first of spring. I looked up, and there you were, sitting so handsomely on that bench, and I couldn't help but draw you, too."

These two were definitely in love.

Reese's lower lip pooched at the tenderness of the scene. She hesitated for a second, eyes taking in every curve and shadow, and then turned the page.

The next pages were filled with gorgeous sketches chronicling the life of Oliver and Ellie. There was a drawing of the restaurant where they'd had their first date, the beach where he'd proposed to her, and the little chapel where their wedding had been held. Each one portrayed deep emotion that Reese hadn't known could even been expressed in a sketch. She couldn't help but feel like she was intruding upon the most intimate moments of their life.

The final pages were more recent; Reese could tell by the brightness of the colored pencil. That wasn't the only different thing about them, however. The lines were shaky, drawn by a hand unsteady with age. It was a sketch of two withered hands holding each other tightly. One hand was smaller and slightly more frail, the thumb of the other in the middle of a caressing stroke across it's back. An unsteady inscription crawled across the bottom of the page in the same flowing font from the beginning of the book, punctuated by a single, wrinkled water blot. It looked an awful lot like a tear stain.

"Life is measured by moments. There's no one I would've rather spent it with."

The following pages were blank, much to Reese's dismay. Confusion mingled with the dread building in the pit of her stomach. She was pretty sure she understood why the final pages were blank, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to accept it. Closing the book reverently, she sighed. The book literally contained someone's life within its pages, and it should be returned to that someone. Reese opened the book again, flipping back through the pages.

"I know I saw a signature in here somewhere..." she muttered to herself. A triumphant cry escaped her lips as she found it, tucked in the corner of her sketch of their first house. Reese fumbled for her laptop and jerked it open; she typed "Ellie Harper artist" into the search bar of her internet app.

Within seconds, the link to a website named "Measured by Moments" appeared. Reese clicked it, opening a page covered with images of Ellie's sketches displayed. When Reese scrolled lower, there was a picture of Ellie herself.

Reese's breath caught in her throat. Even in her old age, Ellie was beautiful. Reese read the biographical paragraph under the photo; she had died two years ago, and the website had been created by her husband to honor her and sell some of her art.

"Bingo," she breathed.

Her husband's name was Oliver J. Harper. A phone number was listed, along with an email.

Reese smiled as she clicked the email address: "Dear Mr. Harper..."

~~~

Seating herself comfortably on the plushy, blue chair, Reese reached into her purse and gently pulled out the notebook.

"I found it on the subway," she explained quietly, handing it to him over the coffee table. "I... I hope you don't mind that I read it."

Oliver released a little gasp when he saw the little black book. "I haven't seen this..." he trailed off, tears pooling in his eyes. "It killed me when I lost it. Her art is mine now that she's..." He cleared his throat. "But this is different. This is mine."

He opened it, eyes briefly scanning each page as a warm smile passed his face. "She drew in this almost everyday, editing and redrawing... She called it our 'Book of Life'. My Ellie didn't just draw in this, though. By the time we were in our sixties she had so many drawings laying around that I had to convince her to sell some of them." Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. "She was so mad at me. Said it was like selling her babies."

"Her pieces are breathtaking."

"She was breathtaking. It could only shine through in her art." Oliver smiled sadly. "Ellie's been gone for almost a year now, and when I lost this," he held the notebook up, "it felt like I lost her all over again. But you... You've just brought her back to me." He swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "And I can't thank you enough for that."

Reese's heart constricted. "You don't need to thank me, Mr. Harper."

"Yes, I do," he answered as his brows furrowed. Oliver stood abruptly and laid the book on the coffee table. "Please excuse me for a moment."

Reese nodded, confused by his sudden absence. Within the minute, he was entering the room again, tearing a check from his check book.

"No," Reese blurted. "Absolutely not, Mr. Harper! That is completely and totally un--"

"It is necessary," Oliver interrupted. He held out the check to her.

Prompted by his insistence, Reese reluctantly accepted the check, unfolding it to read the amount. "Mr. Harper--!" she choked. "This--this is too much..." Reese ran her hand through her hair, overwhelmed at Oliver's generosity.

"It's not enough," Oliver corrected. He sighed and rubbed his hand over his neatly trimmed beard. "You brought my Ellie back to me. This is the least I can do for you in return. So please--please--take it."

Reese nodded slowly, tucking the check into the front pocket of her purse. "Thank you."

"No, thank you, Miss Miller." Oliver smiled as he grasped the book from off the table and hugged it to his chest.

Reese left his house, heart bursting with satisfaction at having returned the book to Oliver. In fact, her step even seemed a little lighter than it had been yesterday. Her purse seemed a little heavier, though.

About twenty thousand dollars heavier.

That wasn't the important thing, though, because life isn't measured by things; it's measured by moments.