5 Books For Eveline

7

7

She tried a few other locations for the rest of the morning. A bright, red post box, built into the wall of a little cottage revealed nothing. A loose brick, a foot or so to the side, had become a place where Eveline and Raya would leave little objects for each other to find. A letter. A hair band. A piece of ribbon that Raya had thought would make a pretty bow to tie in Eveline's hair.

It held nothing, now, and Purdy received a number of strange looks as she lifted the brick from its place, her hand reaching in to find only dust and cobwebs. The hiding spot would not have held a book, but she checked it anyway, in case the author had left another little package.

The next spot she tried sat in the very centre of the town. The Market Cross, where Eveline and Raya's mothers would meet and sit, talking about their day, before setting off on a predetermined trip around the shops. The same trip, every day, leaving the girls to talk and play together. A quick rummage in the spaces revealed nothing.

Two more locations passed and Purdy began to feel disheartened. She had walked a fair distance, placed herself in several awkward positions to search possible hiding places, and now her hip complained to her. She hated having her injury dictate what she could, or could not do. Hated the injury completely, regardless of the day's trying search, but there was little she could do about it.

A hip replacement was an option but, her therapists and doctors had told her, she was far too young to go through such major surgery and it would only lead to several more as the years wore on and her prosthetic wore out. She had, they informed her, to live with it as best she could. Exercise often, eat the right foods, take painkillers when it became too much.

On normal days, her hip injury was not the one that caused her the most consternation. She found it the least problematic of the ongoing consequences of the accident. Her memory hurt the most. Or the lack of it. No surgery could ever help with that. No therapy could return what she had lost. Either time would heal that wound, or she would need to move on. Build new memories and experiences.

She had no stomach for that, however. No reason to rake over those hot coals. People tried. They gave her sympathy, that she did not want. Pity, that made her teeth grind. Anecdotes and platitudes that only served to increase her irritation and ire. They talked to her and she felt nothing. They remembered the past and Purdy felt as though they spoke of dull movies or tv shows. She no longer cared for stories, fictional or true.

Except for the book, 'For Eveline', and the non-fiction books that she spent so often flicking through, but retaining nothing. Her thumb rubbed the lid of the box containing the stone. This story fascinated her. It felt important and worthwhile. The author had shown such love and attention to the story of Eveline and Raya, it felt infectious and fresh.

Leaning her chin upon her hand, she tapped the box as her coffee grew cold. She had come to a different café, today, unwilling to tempt Maggie into talking to her again. She had found that people had an urge to continue conversations with her, even after she had given them a definite end. They wanted to engage with her, but Purdy knew they only wanted to push her to remember them. She couldn't and didn't want to.

With a sigh, she spun the box on the tabletop and sat up, reaching into her coat pocket for her notebook and pen. Laying them down, she flipped the pages and came to her truncated list of places she would try. Pen in hand, she put large crosses beside the locations that had turned up nothing, not wanting to strike through them. Not yet.

Beside the playground listing, she placed a question mark. Next to that, she wrote, in small letters, 'stone' and the words written upon the card. Tapping the pen beside the quote, she wondered about those words. Raya had searched for the stone, beneath the roundabout, because Eveline had given it to her. A stone.