When Magic Came

THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE WINNERS CAME AND WENT. Cole realized it a few days later. He hadn’t heard anything. He shrugged and kept mopping the floor. He never won anything anyway, least of all a writing contest, and certainly not one with the first prize being so high. Twenty thousand was unheard of for a writing contest. He had surprised himself even entering it. His time was always better spent working for sure money. But for only 600-2000 words, he had made an exception. He should have known.

Cole picked up the mop bucket and went down the hall to the next classroom. On the way, he spotted a rubber band on the otherwise pristine tile floor. He bent and picked it up, shoving it into his pocket.

All the teachers were already gone. This was the last classroom in the long corridor of the elementary school, and it was his favorite to clean. He always spent a little extra time in here. He would look at the crafts on the walls, or see if there were any updates on the bulletin boards. The first graders of Belleview Elementary must be the happiest children in the world. This was Miss Rosendale’s room. Maggie Rosendale.

Cole had known Maggie since they graduated high school together five years ago, but he was never sure if she knew him. She had sparkled in those days while he was hidden in the shadows. She had the most beautiful smile. Cole always wondered what it would be like to receive one of her smiles. He sometimes thought of ways to put himself in her path, but he never could bring himself to follow through. Maggie dated the football star Luke Jacobs. Cole had nothing to offer her back then, and he still didn’t. Perhaps if he had won that twenty thousand, he could have put some things in order and had plenty enough left over to brave asking Maggie on a date. Maybe to the Italian restaurant, or somewhere even nicer. If he had the means, he just might have.

Cole sighed and looked around. This room always seemed brighter than the others. It was like the sun had a special affinity for it, too.

“Oh!” Someone gasped from behind him.

Cole swung around. Maggie Rosendale stood in the doorway.

“You surprised me,” she said. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. I left something. I just need to grab it.”

She was wearing a long, red jacket tied at her waist. Her dark hair danced and shimmered as she walked by.

He swallowed. “Of course, no problem.”

He hadn’t seen Maggie in a while. He couldn’t help but watch her shuffle through papers on the desk. She pulled out a poster and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I wish I had a rubber band. It would be nice to roll this up.”

Cole was stunned. Of all the times he had thought about ways to interact with Maggie Rosendale, never had anything just happened.

“I have one.” He shot his hand into his pocket and pulled out the rubber band. He quickly closed the space between them and held it out to her. Their fingers brushed.

“Thanks! I’m always telling my class that what you need usually comes to you when you need it.”

She began to roll the poster. Cole caught the scent of her hair. It smelled like flowers. He had never stood this close to her before.

“That hasn’t really been my experience,” he said.

The most recent writing contest passed through his mind. He had tried to break into the publishing world lots of other ways, too. Writing was the only thing he was good at, or maybe he wasn’t good at it. That’s why he was a janitor in the school district where he had grown up, when mostly everybody else had left town years ago.

She laughed. “If you’re meant to have it, that is. It might not be the right time, silly. You can believe that if you’re meant to have something, you will.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

She held up the rolled poster. “Trust me. And thanks again!”

Then she was gone.

After work, Cole began to walk the four blocks to home. On the way, the bus stop caught his eye. The metal bench sat empty except for a small, black notebook. It must have been left behind. He hesitated. The book seemed to stare at him, holding his gaze. Notebooks caught his attention easily enough. He would hate to lose a notebook.

He finally went over to pick it up. There was no name inside the cover. Flipping through the pages, he saw that they were mostly filled. He felt sorry for whoever had lost this. Maybe there was a name on one of the pages. He glanced around. How would he feel if someone snooped in his personal notebook?

A vision of spotting the rubber band on the floor suddenly flashed through his mind.

What you need usually comes to you when you need it, Maggie had said.

Well, maybe there was a reason. The least he could do was try to help. He began to read.

The day I met her, the sun stopped in the sky. I always thought it was my heart that had held it there. When love awakens, it does so with a burst of power not made of human stuff. The magic showed up that day, and it never really left. There were times when I knew it could have held the sun in place again, I could feel it.

Cole pulled himself from the words. He felt just as drawn to them as he was to his favorite novels. Should he keep reading? This was surely very personal.

Well, he couldn’t abandon the notebook now. It must be precious to someone.

“Please forgive me,” he whispered, and turned the page.

The writer’s own love story unfolded before him. The man had been born in California, but after he met “Glenna,” he followed her all the way to this Pennsylvania town. They began life together in a small apartment. The writer taught English at the nearby college. When he developed a career as an author, they bought a house on Shady Lane.

Cole stopped. Shady Lane was one of the nicer streets in town. At the time that the writer must have purchased the house, it was probably rather opulent.

The writer had said the house was white with four large pillars on the front porch. Well, that could be helpful.

It was decided. He closed the notebook. He would board the next bus that would take him across town.

On the ride, Cole read that the writer and his wife had three children. The family spent long afternoons in the backyard, often picnicking under a large oak tree. When the children left home, the writer could more easily sense the magical presence of love buzzing in the stillness.

Cole walked the length of Shady Lane looking for the four-column house with an oak tree in the backyard. At the very end of the road, he knew he had found it. Of all the homes, it looked the most peaceful, as though love had lived there for a long time.

“Excuse me?”

Cole turned to see a young woman approach him.

“Did you drop this?” she asked, holding out an ink pen.

“No, that’s not mine,” he said, even as the idea was taking form in his mind. He might as well go with it. It had been that kind of day. “But I could use a pen.”

He sat down on the curb, opened the notebook to a blank page, and began to write.

The day I met her…

When he had finished the short piece, he ended with a note.

I’m sorry to have taken space in your notebook. After I read your story, I was inspired to share one of mine. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t intend to read everything you wrote, but I knew I had to do what I could to help this notebook find its way home. Thank you for your words. – Cole Turner

No one answered the door, so he left the notebook in the mailbox.

The next day, Cole went to work early. He hoped to catch Maggie. He didn’t know where the magic had come from the day before, whether it was the rubber band, Maggie, the notebook, the words of its writer, or maybe even his own heart. But it turned out he did have something to offer others. Even when he had nothing else, he would always have his words.

He was just thinking of what he would say when he spotted her standing by her car. Standing next to her was Luke Jacobs.

Cole’s heart thudded to the ground. When Luke leaned in for a hug, the air sucked from Cole’s own lungs like someone had squeezed it out.

He should have known.

Cole heaved a sigh and forced himself to go inside the building. He stood alone in the corridor trying to focus.

You can believe if you’re meant to have it, you will, Maggie had said.

Whatever he didn’t have in life, he had his words. Even if they weren’t meant for Maggie, they would mean something someday. In the right time.

“Cole Turner.”

He slowly turned. It was her. She knew his name?

“It’s you,” Maggie said. “You returned my grandfather’s notebook.”

He stilled. “Your…grandfather…?”

“I was so surprised when he told me the name of the person who brought it.”

Cole was astonished. “I…I had no idea. I just...found it at a bus stop and wanted to help. He’s an incredible writer!”

Her lips slid into a smirk. “Well, yeah, he is. You may know him, actually. T. S. Arnold?”

The air sucked from Cole’s lungs for the second time. “T. S. Arnold?”

T. S. Arnold was one of the most well-known novelists of the day. Everyone knew that name.

“Mmhm.”

“He’s your grandfather?”

“Yes, and we thank you so much,” Maggie said. “After Grandmother passed away, Grandfather started writing their memories for the family. It’s the most important thing he’s ever written, to us anyway. You didn’t know he lived in Belleville?”

“No!”

“Not many people do.” She tilted her head and said slowly, “I’m guessing you also didn’t know about the reward?”

He must have looked as confused as he felt because she laughed. “Grandfather misplaced the notebook a few days ago. He set a twenty-thousand-dollar reward for it.”

The words stunned him like an electric shock. Twenty thousand?

“The notebook is priceless,” she continued. “It’s worth far more than that, but I have the check for you right here.” She pulled a white envelope from her jacket pocket.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t. She came closer until they were almost touching. He could smell her hair again.

“I remember you writing in school,” she said softly. “I knew it must be the same Cole Turner. Grandfather showed me what you wrote.”

Cole slapped his hand to his head. “Oh, no, I forgot! Please, tell him I’m so sorry!”

She laughed again. “It was pretty bold, but don’t worry about it. He liked it. He wants to talk to you about your work.”

“Really?” His head was spinning.

“I liked it, too. It was beautiful. Who did you write it about?”

His gaze locked with hers. He shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

Her eyes narrowed.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, so, Luke Jacobs? You’re still with him?”

She groaned. “No, he still tries to be friends, but we’re not together.” She held out the envelope.

Cole hesitated. Then with a burst of courage not made of human stuff, he grasped it and her fingers, too.

“Would you go to dinner with me sometime, Maggie?”

Time stopped, and Maggie Rosendale smiled.