by Verena Johns-Thomas 

Every time I meet Quin, she’s always doing something that reminds me of our old life.

Today she is sorting through some trinkets on the counter. Lining them up like perfect little soldiers, as she always loves to do. She did that when I met her for the first time, and she’s just as stunning this time as she was then. And now I say, “You always take such care with these? Do such small devices deserve your attention?” Like I say every time.

“Hmm?” She looks up with a start. Her wide eyes behind her glasses looking at me again, like she had never seen me before. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh, just passing through, I’m sure.” A lie this time. Elris does not need me now, and I get by at the nearby inn by playing my lyre for them in the evening. The first time I came by this town, however, that was different. I was a traveling musician, looking for a new place to be, a new person to swoon, and then leave before anything got too serious.

Quin was the one to change all of that.

“Maybe find a new place to play, a new flame.” I say. At this, just like the first time, she looks intrigued by me.

She looks around, “Well, I have some instruments if you would like to take a look?”

She told me when we got engaged that she was just trying to get me to stay in the store with that.

“Oh, maybe. What do you have?” And this was me trying to not let anything on. How the first time I could see our future together and right now all I could see is our past.

“Right over this way.” She steps around the counter and with a bounce in her stride she leads me to a shelf full of various lyres, viols, pan flutes, and guitars. 

I make a show of looking around in the way I had looked hundreds of times before.

All the instruments are beautiful, perfectly polished and oiled, just like she always keeps them. Everything needs to be perfect. I know better than to touch them; it always made her anxious.

I take too long to respond and she says something different. “Are you well, ma’am?”

Looking at her, startled, I quickly regain my composure. “Yes, what makes you ask?”

She gives me a long sympathetic look. “You’re crying.”

I wipe a hand across my face, and when it comes away wet I say, “It appears so.”

Smiling, I try to regain myself as she holds a small handkerchief out to me.

I take a moment to carefully wipe my face when she says, “What could make one such as you cry?”

“Oh, just memories, my dear,” I say, carefully folding it to hand back, “She doesn’t know my name, not anymore.”

Quin observes it before pushing my hand closed. “I’m not quite sure how anyone could forget someone like you.”

After a long moment, her hand around mine, a blissfully sweet moment, I speak.“I could say the same to you.”

She pulled her hands away, a soft rouge gathering behind her starfield of freckles.

There were countless quiet mornings where I tried to count them all. I never finished.

“Is there any you would like?” she says, back to how she always did.

So I say what I always say, even when it is no longer true. “These are a bit rich for my blood.” Then a truth. “I have a trusty friend, a well-worn lyre that could use a new pick.”

Quin smiles her bright smile and says, “I have just the thing.”

She struts back behind the counter, and I follow. The first time I admired the view, the way her hips moved and her back curved, now I cannot take my eyes away from the way her well cared for hair shines, the delicate posturing and fidgeting of her hands.

I was shallow then, tempered by the influences of poor teachers and even worse judges. She made me into a better woman over the years, one of the many things I could never be able to thank her enough for.

She carefully pulls a box out, intricate carvings on its well-worn surface.

“I have been waiting for someone to sell this to,” she says as she sets it on the polished counter.

“And why is that?” I respond, as I do.

She opens the box and gives me a sly look. “I can tell you are trustworthy, traveler.”

She pulls out a pick, ivory lined in silver at the body, and places it gingerly in my hand.

“How much is it?”

“Well, that is for you to decide, stranger,” she says, that trusting smile still there.

I never like how I respond to this. “What if I took it?”

And she falters, as she always does. I wince internally. I had thought it sly the first time, but now it seems cruel. Either way, she will never remember it, and I dare not risk a change.

“I suppose there would be nothing I could do about that now,” she says, a slight furrow in her brow.

I stand there and think, think like I thought on that first day.

And I decide, like I always do, to come back.

I brush my calloused fingers across her wrist. Quin opens her hand in response as I say, “I would say a fine piece like this is worth a gold coin.”

Her eyes widen as I place the pick in her hand. “A generous sum indeed. Do you have that much on your person?”

I shake my head and lie. “Unfortunately not, but,” then a truth told and retold, “I will be back for this treasure tomorrow.”

She blinks, then says, “You will be here tomorrow?”

I reluctantly let go of her. “What is one night in a town with one such as you?”

Quin blushes and says, “My name is Quin. What is yours?”

“Aloise Thorn, at your service,” I say, followed by a deep bow.

“And no Mrs. Thorn?” she says, a quiet curiosity.

Then I lied to Mrs. Thorn. “None yet.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow, Miss Thorn.”

My response is quick. “Indeed you will.”

I turn and walk to the door, my thoughts dancing around words said and unsaid. One foot is outside on the hardwood step when one thought stays.

When was the last time you told her?

It is a quick turn back, a necessity. I walk up to her as she fastens the box closed and places it back under the counter.

“I love you,” I spit out, far too long since the last time, not soon enough for the next time.

“Hmm?” She looks up with a start. Her wide eyes behind her glasses looking at me again, like she had never seen me before. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

But I had said what I needed to, so I say, “Nothing my dear. It seems I have lost my way.”

“Can I help you find it?” she says, a cautious curiosity.

“No, no, you already have.” I give her a smile and leave, like I always do.