Star Crossed

4/13/18

Penelope,

You--turned 68, today. Happy Birthday! Anniversaries are so beautiful. The grass is finally starting to turn green for me, over here, and the lily on the sill next to my desk is beginning to bud, thanks to a sunny spring day. I'm not sure I like these pages, less space to write. I sure hope the sun shines on you today.

With love, Parchus

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7/13/18

Parchus,

April 13th was beautiful. My lilies were in full bloom when you last wrote. I won't be able to travel for quite some time--business in my neck of the woods, but my thoughts will be with you. I am so thankful that I met you.

xoxo

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9/13/19

Penelope,

This has been the longest I have gone without writing to you. All these years, pages, and little scribbles. I have never felt so close to anyone, and so isolated from the true happiness we could have had…. I think about you every second of every day. I’ve cherished what we shared for so many years. I hope business continues to thrive and you can travel soon.

With love, Parchus

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12/13/19

Parchus,

You’ve always been my twilight when times are dark, and I’ve lost my way. Christmas will be here soon. We have already gotten a light dusting of snow and I’m so looking forward to hearing from you again. Do you remember the first Christmas when we met? Let’s do that again, very soon.

xoxo

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3/13/20

Penelope,

I fear I’ve come down with an awful cold. I’ve been bed ridden for days. I’m going to hold on to this for a couple weeks before I send it out again, just in case you receive it too soon and I’ve somehow spread any germs. I couldn’t forgive myself if I were the reason you felt this way. I do remember our first Christmas! One of the happiest times of my life. I would love to recreate those moments with you. When I write to you again and am feeling much better, let’s decide when would be best. I’ll travel to you this time.

With love, Parchus

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. 11/13/20

Parchus,

That’s so terrible that you were sick this spring! I heard there was a nasty virus that was going around. It’s been a godsend that I’ve not gotten sick. I would love to meet for Christmas, or any other occasion. Please let me know what works best for your travels and I’ll have everything ready on my end. This is very exciting!

xoxo

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Lydia thumbed through the rest of the pages; all blank, save for the flyleaf. There was a message scribbled in the bottom right corner.

"Athena lives

for every day

of every month

of every year."

‘What does that mean?” she thought standing up from behind her grandfather’s desk, still starring at the message.

It was noon, not much light came from outside. The grey sky embellished the day’s penumbra. Parchus’ office smelled of old books, peppermint tea, and a hint of smoke from a fireplace that was for once, cold. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books. Across the room sat a large table with 5 or 6 globes on it, and a few maps, rolled up, by a stack of cartography books.

Lydia walked over to the window overlooking the lawn. “Athena lives…” she thought. “What an odd phrase--”

“Lydia?”

Startled, Lydia bumped something with her wrist. Looking down she discovered a peace lily. Picking up a carafe she delicately watered the flower before shouting: “Coming!”

Her jet-black hair swayed between her shoulder blades as she walked briskly from the office to the kitchen. She wore jeans, a white camisole and a maroon cardigan that hung to the middle of her thighs. A silver rose gold necklace bounced between her clavicles, accentuating her almond butter complexion.

“What’s up, mom?” She said entering the kitchen.

“Hey, I know you’re busy trying to handle everything your grandfather left us, but would you be a dear and head up to the coffee shop?”

“Sure, no problem. Does mom want anything?”

“Yeah, probably, I think she’s in the Den.”

“Alright. Hey, do you know what this is?” Lydia asked before she left.

Portia looked up from her computer screen with a quizzical look. “I’m not sure, dear” she said, slowly. “Your grandfather loved his books” she finished dismissively.

“What’s going on in here?” Gloria said walking into the room, touching her hand to Lydia’s back before walking over to Portia.

“I was just on my way to the coffee shop for mom. Want anything?” Lydia said, as Gloria leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Portia’s forehead. The kiss melted her stress and Portia rested her head onto Gloria’s stomach.

“Could you grab me a flat white, my love?” Gloria said walking over and handing her money. “Too pumps of Cinnamon Dulce, just how I like it,” she finished with a wink.

“Sure thing.” Lydia said, turning to leave.

“Did you find a treasure?” Gloria asked referencing the little black book in Lydia’s hand.

“I’m not sure, yet” Lydia said with a furrowed brow. Then she smiled, winked at her parents, and headed out.

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Lydia stood in line rereading the pages of the little black book. Her mind racing with questions.

Why would her grandfather leave “the contents of the library” to her in his will? Who is Penelope? Was this a secret love she never heard about? Was she supposed to find her? Does she know? What’s Athena have to do with it?

She turned the book over in her hand, scanning its covers and spine. Blank.

She placed her order, sat on a bench, and pulled her phone out to search for “Athena”, while she waited. She, of course, knew who and what Athena was—but what did that have to do with days, months, and years?

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Lydia dropped the coffees off to her moms and went back to the office. Sitting at the table in the room she picked up a cartography book and thumbed through it. Then the next, and the next.

“This is useless,” she said, tossing the book back on the top of the pile.

The force from the impact caused one of the globes to revolve a little. Lydia noticed it and pulled the globe closer. She spun it a few times; watching it until it slowed to a stop before spinning it again. “Should I be wasting my time with this?” She said, pushing herself away from the table.

“Wait,” she stopped abruptly. She remembered her grandfather mentioned Athens, Texas—something about the “black-eyed pea capital of the world.” She spun the globe, her finger tracing the surface until it stopped on top of Texas. There it was! “Athens, Texas.”

“But—”. she muttered. “Athena is Greek not Texan. Is Penelope Texan?” She asked, grabbing her phone. A quick search gave her the answer. She traced her finger along TX-31 to the city of “Penelope.” But instead of a town name, a tiny hole was in its place.

Lydia took an earring off and pressed it into the hole until-- *click*.

Suddenly, the globe began to make a mechanical sound. Lydia stood up in shock.

“What the hell?”

The globe spit her earring out, clicked, whirred, revolved, and opened. The globe folded open like an astronaut opening their sun shield. Inside was an armillary sphere, with a smooth black box in its center with Lydia’s name printed on top.

Lydia pulled the box out and opened it. Her heart jumped into her throat. She was looking at two mustard-colored banded stacks of $100 bills with a note that read: “My favorite thing about Athena? Courage. Just like my favorite granddaughter. Have courage. Every day, every month, ever year.”

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"Mom, I have to do something about this.” Lydia said, pacing in the kitchen.

Portia and Gloria sat staring down at the money and the little black book that lay open between them on the kitchen table. Portia looked up at Gloria with a blank stare that pleaded for help. She knew her father liked quests, but this?

“Do what?” Gloria asked looking from Portia to Lydia.

“I have to let Penelope know that grandpa is gone. I think they were in love, across time and space. I think she must be difficult to find, otherwise why leave me the $20,000?”

“Penelope is a city in Texas.” Gloria said looking at the book.

“Yes, but—”

“What is this bit about Athena?” Gloria cut Lydia off, rubbing the flyleaf.

“It’s how I found the city.”

“—for every day of every month of every year.” Gloria whispered.

Then after a moment, she looked up to Lydia with one eyebrow raised.

“Well, when I think of your grandfather, there might be more to it.” She said slowly. “What is in every day? She asked Lydia.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, if we follow the same format…then every day has—’

“Hours! Minutes! Seconds!” Lydia said excitedly her brain jolting back to cartography.

“Coordinates?” Portia asked?

“Coordinates.” Gloria said. “Days are seconds; months: hours.” She said grabbing a pencil and adding up Penelope’s dates then Parchus’. She looked up to Lydia.

“Put in “57.3926,57.3930”.

“Russia?” Lydia said with a look of disbelief.

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Lydia stepped out of the Uber and walked up to a wrought iron gate. The flight was long – but the money her grandfather left her kept her caffeinated and courageous. She walked over to an intercom box and pressed the button; her heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“Please leave packages outside the gate,” a mechanical voice said.

“I’m looking for Penelope?” Lydia squeaked.

Seemingly minutes later, she pressed it again.

“Hello? Penelope? My name is Lydia, Parchus--”

The gate opened.

Lydia walked the winding driveway of the estate. A man was waiting at the front door. His arms folded, as he leaned against a pillar. He was wearing a flannel top, sleeves rolled up, over jeans and chestnut-colored boots. He had a clean scruff under disheveled hair.

“Lydia?” He said with a warm deep voice.

“Yes, for Penelope?”

“My name is Harrison,” He said stretching is hand out. “Please come in.”

Lydia shook his hand and immediately felt electricity shoot up her arm and down to the tips of her toes. Her neck tingled.

Harrison showed her into his study. The shadows of tree branches danced in front of the early fall sunlight, caressing the carpet and furniture of the room. Behind his desk, a picture of Penelope and Parchus, posing in front of a waterfall, sat on the middle of a shelf. To the left of the photo sat several stacks of black books.

“I’m sorry, Lydia. My grandmother passed away in 2017. She and Parchus kept a relationship within these books.”

Lydia sat down in disbelief, starring at the photo.

“She was so beautiful…” Lydia said softly.

“Your grandfather lamented that his work and travels kept him away…”

“Wait…2017?” Lydia shrieked. “Then who has been writing my grandpa?”

“Parchus and I met in 2016 when he came to visit. We communicated and continued to write in the new book. I learned so much of you through his stories, through these books.” He said gesturing towards the pile. “--and, I fell in love with who he described, I fell in love with you, Lydia.”

“But you don’t even know me. How would you know I would figure this out? What’s stopping me from leaving? Why wouldn’t my grandpa just tell me about you? About Penelope?”

Harrison looked at her thoughtfully.

“I can’t give you those answers—but maybe you could find a few, in these books. They would want you to have them.”

Lydia hesitated, before walking over to picked up a book from the middle.

3/13/92

Dearest Penelope,

I have such wonderful news! Today, I became a grandfather…