Chapter 7
The new boiler hummed quietly in the basement,
pushing warm air through the vents of the kitchen.
The patrons noticed the difference immediately,
and they lingered longer over their coffee.
I was standing by the soup station,
when Mr. Callahan walked through the front doors.
He was wearing a heavy wool coat,
and he looked older than the last time I saw him.
He took off his hat,
and he walked over to me.
I poured him a cup of coffee,
and I led him to the back office.
He sat down heavily in the guest chair,
and he placed a small,
leather-bound book on my desk.
I looked at it,
and I felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
He sighed,
and he told me he had been cleaning out his firm's old storage vault.
He said he found a safe deposit box key that belonged to Thomas,
and he had used his executor powers to retrieve the contents.
He pushed the book toward me,
and he said it was a journal.
I did not touch it.
I stared at the worn leather cover,
and I felt the old anger flaring up in my chest.
I asked him why he was giving it to me now,
after all the secrets had already been spilled.
He looked deeply sad,
and he told me that Thomas had written it during his final year.
He said it was not a legal document,
but it was an explanation.
I told Mr. Callahan I did not need an explanation from a ghost,
because ghosts cannot apologize,
and they cannot undo the damage they leave behind.
He nodded,
and he stood up.
He said he understood,
but he asked me to keep it anyway.
He said sometimes,
knowing the whole truth is the only way to stop imagining the worst.
He left the office,
and he left me alone with the book.
I stared at it for an hour,
listening to the sounds of the kitchen outside.
Andrew was laughing with Clara,
and the volunteers were clattering silverware.
Life was moving forward,
and this book was an anchor trying to drag me backward.
I opened the bottom drawer of my desk,
and I swept the journal inside.
I slammed the drawer shut,
and I locked it.
I was not ready to read his excuses,
and I was not ready to hear his voice in my head.
I went back out to the serving line,
and I lost myself in the work.
But every time I walked past the office,
I could feel the book sitting in the dark,
waiting for me to break.
May you like
The past is incredibly patient,
and it never stops knocking until you finally open the door.
