Katrina Leno

She couldn’t remember the first book she had eaten.

What it had tasted like, how it had felt—the scratch of it as it slid down her throat.

Returning to the past… Jane turned the phrase over in her head as she followed Ruth to the front door. She didn’t understand what it meant, or what it might be like to not want to return to the past. That was all she wanted to do; all she wanted in the entire world was to rewind, start the tape over, go back a few weeks or months and try a do-over,

“Grief is different for everyone,” Ruth continued. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Just remember that, okay?”

Am I dreaming? she wondered, because she honestly couldn’t tell; she might have fallen asleep without even realizing it. But what a strange dream this was. What did it mean?

He would probably love it; he had an affinity for old things, for things past their prime, for things that needed a little imagination to find their true beauty.

These old towns all have histories. Some of them are darker than others.

Look at you!” Will said.

“Book,” Jane replied. “That’s cute.”

“What’s cute?”

“The password is book—2665.”

Will smiled. “Hey. You got my nerd joke.”

“I’m your target audience.”

“Great. You’re hired.” He paused, winked, then added, “Again,” and for the first time that day, Jane found that she was able to think of something other than roses.

“That’s beautiful,” she said.

Will scoffed and swatted a hand in her direction. “It has to taste good, too, or else its beauty is meaningless.”

“Isn’t all beauty meaningless?” Jane asked as she studied the leaf.

Jane put her face in her hands. She couldn’t tell what was real anymore; she couldn’t tell what was reasonable and what was impossible. Her brain felt overloaded, unsure of whom to trust, including herself.

I think the important thing to realize, to try and remember, is that grief doesn’t have a rule book. You’re allowed to feel every emotion under the sun. You’re even allowed to invent new ones. I think I’ve done that a few times.”