You've Reached Sam(23)

“Where are you, Sam?”

“Somewhere,” he answers vaguely.

“Where?”

“I can’t really say. At least, not right now.”

For some reason, I sense I shouldn’t push him on this. “Is it anywhere I’ve been?”

“I don’t think so…”

I try to listen to the sounds on his end. But I can’t hear anything else.

“Can you at least tell me what you see?”

He takes a moment. “An endless sky.”

I look over to the window. The curtain is partly drawn, so I walk over and pull it out of the way. The window is already unlatched when I push it open, letting a breeze roll in as I look out past the roofs of the houses, beyond the tops of the distant hills, and out toward the sky. I feel Sam listening. I ask him, “Are we looking at the same one?”

“Maybe. I’m not entirely sure.”

“I’m guessing this is all you can tell me.”

“For now, at least. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say to ease him. “I’m just glad you picked up the phone.”

“I’m glad you called me,” he says. “Thought I’d never hear from you again.”

Tears form behind my eyes. “I thought I lost you forever. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I missed you infinity.”

I don’t question him further on what’s happening. At least, not right now. I just take this for whatever it is, and breathe in this impossibility of being reconnected to someone I thought I lost, no matter how ridiculous it seems. The rest of our phone call goes on like a daydream, as I continue to question what is real and what isn’t. I’m wondering if any of it matters. We talk about ordinary things, and it feels like old times again. I tell him what Yuki and the others said at lunch. I tell him about the rest of my day at school, like my conversation with Oliver. Seems like something from my imagination, but there are things I can’t explain. It would be easier to tell myself none of this is real, but then I see the physical objects in the room that shouldn’t be there. The shirt, the bracelets, the other bookend. How could I have gotten these if he hadn’t told me where the spare key was?

Questions fill my mind, but I push them aside for now and allow myself to live in this beautiful strange rabbit hole I’ve fallen into. I don’t care how any of this is possible. I have Sam back. I don’t want to let him go.





CHAPTER FIVE

I’ve been working at Mr. Lee’s bookstore for almost three years now. It is a relic of a place, filled with leather-bounds, rare foreign books, and collectables, and has been around for two generations despite more people shopping online these days. It is the last bookstore in town. I found it by accident the first week I moved here. The store is nameless with no storefront signs outside. The only indication are the books stacked in spiral towers in the windows. Many of our customers wander in out of curiosity.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure how long the job would last when I applied.

Every time I turn that corner on my way to work, I worry I’ll find the lights off and the CLOSED sign unturned at the door. I’m surprised Mr. Lee still manages to keep us around when there’s so little to do. I can’t thank him enough for his kindness.

The crystal wind chime jangles against the glass door as I come in. It’s the next day, and I decide to stop by after school to check in on things.

After a week of radio silence on my end, it’s time. When I step inside, it feels like I’ve gone through a portal. Light bulbs hang from strings at different heights in the air, blinking occasionally. The place looks small from the outside, but the sixteen long rows of hand-painted bookshelves that nearly touch the ceiling make the store seem massive.

The store looks empty at first. More quiet than usual. Then I hear the struggling of a box being torn open, followed by the ripping of tape, then the sound of several books tumbling onto the floor, and someone’s voice.

“Oh geez.”

I figured Tristan would be working today. I follow the voice and find him crouched down in the back of the fantasy section, mumbling to himself, picking up fallen books. I kneel down to help him out.

“Need a hand?”

“Huh? Ouch—”

Tristan turns too fast, bumping his head against the bookshelf ladder.

“Oh my god—are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine.” Tristan winces, smiling through some pain. He blinks at me with recognition. “Julie? When did you get here?”

“Just a second ago,” I say as I check his forehead. “Maybe we should put something on that.”

Tristan waves it off. “No, really, I’m fine,” he says again, and laughs a little unconvincingly. “It happens to me all the time around here.”

“That worries me a little.”

“Don’t worry! It’s only a bump.”

After we stack the books together, I help Tristan to his feet. He straightens up and runs his hand a few times through his brown curls, even though they bounce right back. It’s a nervous tic of his.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” I say.

“You didn’t scare me,” he says, dusting his sleeves off. “I was little surprised, that’s all. Didn’t know you were coming in today.”