Sequel: The Epilogue ›
A Place on My Pillow
.33
“Where have you been? You are almost an hour late!” Millie asked worriedly, hurrying towards Polly as she bounced in, a renewed spring to her steps.
“I was, well, spending time with a new friend,” she replied, taking her camera and coat to the backroom.
“Friend? What new friend?” Millie asked. She mothered Polly continuously, just as Alex had once warned the young blonde girl. Polly reminded Millie of her own daughter, a careless, flighty young woman with a head full of dreams and pockets that burned easily.
“You,” Polly started but stopped for a moment. She couldn’t decide to tell Millie about the clearing. “You wouldn’t know her.”
“I know everyone,” Millie assured her. Polly said nothing else, merely shrugged and scribbled the time down onto the sheet.
“Why are you so worried about this?” Polly asked, grabbing a stack of books from the stock table and headed out. Millie followed, like Otto would when he wanted to go out or to eat, or even just to be played with.
“Because, she’s already made you late,” Millie said.
“It won’t happen again.”
It would happen, a lot. But not because of Maria.
“Why won’t you tell me who it is?”
“Because it’s not important. I wasn’t late because of her. I was late because of me. She has nothing to do with this,” Polly said, putting a few books away in the young adult section and adjusted the display beside it.
“If she has noth-”
“Can you just leave it be and let me do my job, Millie?”
Millie stumbled a bit at Polly’s harsh tone and she realized quickly that she had been treating her not like an employee, but her child. She apologized and sulked off to the register. She pulled out a picture of three children she had tucked inside her daughter Kristalyn’s first book. It was of Cady and Alex when they were about 11 or 12 and a younger boy named Paul. She touched his face.
“You would know what to do with Polly. I’m sure of it,” she whispered and then tucked it back away. Paul’s young face made her heart sink even lower. He hadn’t been her son, although he felt as if he had been. The amount of time he spent at her house while he lived in the state and the time since they had lost him had left a son-like hole in her heart that she doubted would ever close.
“I was, well, spending time with a new friend,” she replied, taking her camera and coat to the backroom.
“Friend? What new friend?” Millie asked. She mothered Polly continuously, just as Alex had once warned the young blonde girl. Polly reminded Millie of her own daughter, a careless, flighty young woman with a head full of dreams and pockets that burned easily.
“You,” Polly started but stopped for a moment. She couldn’t decide to tell Millie about the clearing. “You wouldn’t know her.”
“I know everyone,” Millie assured her. Polly said nothing else, merely shrugged and scribbled the time down onto the sheet.
“Why are you so worried about this?” Polly asked, grabbing a stack of books from the stock table and headed out. Millie followed, like Otto would when he wanted to go out or to eat, or even just to be played with.
“Because, she’s already made you late,” Millie said.
“It won’t happen again.”
It would happen, a lot. But not because of Maria.
“Why won’t you tell me who it is?”
“Because it’s not important. I wasn’t late because of her. I was late because of me. She has nothing to do with this,” Polly said, putting a few books away in the young adult section and adjusted the display beside it.
“If she has noth-”
“Can you just leave it be and let me do my job, Millie?”
Millie stumbled a bit at Polly’s harsh tone and she realized quickly that she had been treating her not like an employee, but her child. She apologized and sulked off to the register. She pulled out a picture of three children she had tucked inside her daughter Kristalyn’s first book. It was of Cady and Alex when they were about 11 or 12 and a younger boy named Paul. She touched his face.
“You would know what to do with Polly. I’m sure of it,” she whispered and then tucked it back away. Paul’s young face made her heart sink even lower. He hadn’t been her son, although he felt as if he had been. The amount of time he spent at her house while he lived in the state and the time since they had lost him had left a son-like hole in her heart that she doubted would ever close.