The Story Alice Held

Earl Grey and Chocolate Cake

Alice watched the rain streak down the large familiar windows. On days like this, the bookstore would be quiet. Only a select few introverts roaming the aisles till the rain stopped.

She liked working at the bookstore cafe. As an introvert herself, Alice found the coffee counter to be a barrier between her and the rest of the store. On her breaks, she became invisible. She transformed into a customer every time she took off her apron.

"Hello, Alice. How is your morning?"

An older gentleman asked from the opposite side of the counter. Alice looked up from the piece of the counter she has been thoroughly cleaning.

"Good morning Mr. Hawthorn," Alice smiled.

Mr. Hawthorn was one of her favorite customers. He always ordered the same drink and had the same dessert. He always had a new book to read.

"Can I get you your usual order?"

The old man nodded. "Yes dear, that would be lovely."

Alice made tea for an Earl Grey latte. It was a very simple warm drink that paired well with a stormy day like this. She picked out a small slice of Chocolate cake and placed it on a plate.

"What are you reading today?" Alice asked, setting the order on the table.

"Today," He turned over the cover of his book so she could see. "I am reading Great Expectations. Have you read it, Alice?" The young woman shook her head.

"I know the plot, and always meant to read it, but I've not so far."

Mr. Hawthorn smiled. "It's always been a book I've returned to. It was my favorite as a young man. My wife loved it too, we used to read it together yearly. She's since passed, but I still read it once a year to keep our tradition."

Alice felt a twinge of sadness. "That's beautiful. I'm sure your wife would be happy to know you've kept up your tradition." Mr. Hawthorn nodded in agreement.

"I know she would be."

He paused for a moment in thought, as older people sometimes do.

"Alice, what is your favorite book?" He asked.

Alice thought about it a moment, readjusting her rounded glasses. "I'd have to say Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I love her writing style. I've also always found the monster she created equally interesting and terrifying."

"What did you find interesting about the monster?" Mr. Hawthron asked.

Alice smiled. "That he was a man."

You read too much.

Alice's home was a two-story townhouse, her room a makeshift attic suite. It was nicer than Alice thought they could really afford, though her mother and she both had consistent paychecks.

"I'm home," Alice called from the front door. Her mother came out of the kitchen, blonde hair sticking out of her bun in every direction.

"Do you need help with anything?" Alice asked.

Her mother was tired. And when she was tired, she would lash out. "I am fully capable of handling dinner on my own." she started. Her mother turned to look back at the kitchen, and wiped her forehead, leaving a trail of flour behind.

"But," she started. "If you need to find something to do with yourself, give the floor a good mopping, would ya'?" she turned back to the kitchen and kept on making dinner.

***

Later around the dinner table, no one talked.

Sometimes Alice would break the silence, or her mother had a story from work. Sometimes her stepfather would act like he was listening.

"I started reading Frankenstein again." Alice mentioned before taking a bite of mashed potatoes. Her mother looked up, brow furrowed.

"That monster book, again?"

"You read too much, girl." Her stepfather grumbled from behind his newspaper. "You should be going bars, meeting people. Not stuck in your room reading dusty old books."

After dinner, her stepfather would sit in his chair in the living room with a cigar and fall asleep watching TV. His days were filled with phone calls, trying to get everyone he could to sign up for this or that weight loss pill or anti-wrinkle cream.

Alice poked around at her food. The silence was deafening.

"I'll be finished writing my book soon." She looked out at both of her parents, their eyes on her now. "After I edit it, I'll just need to look for a good agent to help me get published."

She had the wrong audience.

Her mother said nothing but stood up and collected the dishes. Her stepfather scoffed and shook his head.

"How in the world are you going to afford an agent? Those cost money, ya' know."

"I know they do," Alice had been saving up what remained of her paychecks for two years, but she didn't want to let her family know. "I'll figure something out." she whispered, almost to herself.

"Be realistic, Alice." Her stepfather barked over his cigar. "Life is simple. Everyone works crummy jobs day-in-day-out to get by. That's it. Dreams only get in the way."

Alice kept her mouth shut. Part of her felt like her stepfather was right. He stood up and stopped to look at her before finding his signature spot in the living room.

"Writing is no decent way to get by, kid. Find something real to do."

Mr. Hawthorn's Home

Alice walked up the front steps of a small yellow house near the bookstore. It was kept up well and had pink knockout roses lining the white fence. Marigolds were planted along the front of the house. The home had a light feminine touch that was likely due to Mrs. Hawthorn.

She probably loved these flowers.

Alice rang the doorbell, balancing two hot drinks and chocolate cake in her other arm. Mr. Hawthorn answered the door.

"Hi, Mr. Hawthorn," Alice greeted the old man. "thank you for having me over to talk about my book. I brought your usual order from the cafe."

The house smelled of potpourri and coffee. The walls were a creamy white, windows lined with yellow floral curtains. Artificial yellow flowers adorned in vases beside the flat-screen television. The modern furniture in the living area made it feel like a much younger person's home.

"My son recently re-decorated the place." Mr. Hawthorn gestured to the living room decor. "He told me I needed to 'upgrade' my living situation. The youngster. I told him Grace's touches stayed. She loved yellow. Marigolds were her favorite flower."

"She had lovely taste." Alice said, sitting down on the new leather sofa. Mr. Hawthorn noticed Alice's unfinished manuscript on the coffee table.

"Is this the famous book?" He asked.

Alice nodded, flustered. No one had ever read her work since College. "This is it. Thank you for taking a look at it."

Mr. Hawthorn put on his glasses and looked over the manuscript. After a few moments, he placed it gently back on the table and pulled a large binder from a brown box sitting next to the couch.

"I want to read your book over the next few days, and really examine the words. But, today I do want to show you some of my wife's work. Grace would have liked you, always wanted a daughter."

As he opened it, Alice saw letters of recommendation, manuscripts, and old photographs.

"She was a writer, like you. Our son has never had an interest in reading or writing, more interested in marketing."

Mr. Hawthorn looked fondly over the photographs. A young woman with dark ringlets and a kind smile was the focal point of each photo. In some of the photos, a blonde young man had his arm around her.

"Was this the two of you?" Alice asked holding up one of the photographs.

"It was. Grace had just found out she placed as a runner-up for the 1954 Pulitzer Prize for fiction. She didn't win, but she felt like she had. We went out for drinks that night."

Alice held the photo tenderly. They were about her age, probably mid-twenties, back then.

"I wanted to show you this because I thought it might inspire you. Sometimes, seeing someone else's success helps us realize our own potential."

***

She gave the old man a hug before leaving. "Thank you, Mr. Hawthorn, for believing in me. And for sharing your wife's story."

He wished her well and began to close the door. But before Alice had reached the gate, Mr. Hawthorn called back out to her.

"Remember Alice, you can do anything with a mind like yours."

Once a bully, always a bully

That night was one like many before. Her mother was at work at the gas station, her stepfather was home drinking scotch and watching sports on the TV. Alice tried to make her way to the stairs unannounced.

"Where were you all day?" Her stepfather slurred, not turning around to see her. "Your shift ended at noon."

"I went to a friend's house after." Alice offered.

"You don't have friends."

Her stepfather took a swig from his glass. Usually, Alice would have taken a comment like that. But something in her snapped.

She stormed into the living room and stood in front of the television.

"You're a drunken mess and a bully. And the MLM's you work for are corrupt. That's not a decent way to get by."

Alice paused, looking her stepfather in his glassy eyes. A quote ran through her head.

I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel,

"When you and mom married I thought you would take care of her. And even though you and I aren't biologically father and daughter, I always wanted you to be my dad.”

Alice held back the tears stinging her eyes.

“She is the best person, and you are missing out on that because you are so stuck in your own self pity. Get a real job, and make a life for yourselves. If not for your own happiness, do it for hers."

I never belonged here anyway

The next morning, Alice's things were packed up into boxes. She got up earlier than normal, made herself coffee, and started searching the web for apartment listings.

A week passed, and the morning of her move came quickly. Alice's mother walked her out to her car, her slender arm draped around her daughter.

"I'm so sorry, Alice. He is a good person, he's just lost. Your words that night... I think he's taking them to heart." Her mother's eye's welled.

"It's okay, mom," Alice said, giving her mother a hug. "It's not your fault. It's just time for me to go. I never belonged here anyway."

Alice kissed her mother and told her to visit anytime. She pulled away from the driveway, waving goodbye.

New Beginnings

As she pulled up in front of the brick apartment building, she felt something very foreign to her. Freedom.

She almost tripped on it while carrying the first box up the stairs, but sitting there in front of her door was a brown paper package, large enough to hold a binder. She quickly unlocked the door and brought it inside.

Unwrapping the package, Alice found her own manuscript, along with three others by Grace Hawthorn. Tucked behind was a small letter, on the outside of the letter was a quote;

“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful." -Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Alice smiled, knowingly, and opened the letter.

Dear Alice,

Your book is magnificent.

I hope this gives you the inspiration you need for your ending. We all hold stories within us. This is as much a gift to you as it is to my Grace. She would have wanted you to have it.

Remember, you are capable of great things.

-Your friend,

Mr. James Hawthorn

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-Leah H.