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My Name is Rapunzel(65)

By:K.C. Hilton


It was as if he knew me.

I held my breath. John must have been holding his, too. He squeezed my elbow to either comfort me or revive me. Whatever the reason, it didn’t help.

The clerk kept talking, and I didn't dare interrupt him. Something wasn't right. Why did this book have to be his favorite? Why me? Why now? My legs wobbled. And why, why was I so stupid to pick Rapunzel to buy today?

Maybe the old man was infatuated with the character of the book—a little obsessed with the character, in my opinion, but that was his right. I took in a few more quick breaths. Nothing to worry about, I was just being silly.

“When I was a young lad,” the old man continued. “Many years ago. A young girl came into this shop. I was just a silly boy then, almost a teenager, and in love,” he chuckled. “I helped my father run the business, you see. She was about seventeen years old, and she was the most gorgeous girl I had ever laid my eyes on. Gorgeous isn’t even a suitable word. Exquisite. She was exquisite.” He closed his eyes as though remembering the sight.

Could I dash out of there before he opened them again?

“She was the character straight from this book, in this very store, come to life in front of my eyes. She also purchased a pile of books, such as you have.” He waved his other hand to the bulging bag on the counter then sighed. He actually sighed.

“I'd always hoped to see her again, but sadly, even though I’d mustered up the nerve to ask her out, she never came back. I thought she must have moved away. At least I’d hoped that was the reason and not that she had no interest in me. I pined over her for years, hoping she would come back. And then I got polio.” His eyes grew moist. “After that, I hoped she’d never come back because I couldn’t have borne to look up from my wheelchair to see her pity.”

He liked me? He had been planning to ask me out on a date? How sweet. Oh dear, what was I thinking? Please don't look at me. Please don't look at me. I should look away. I should walk away, something, anything but stand there, but my feet refused to move. What was wrong with me?

Wait a minute. I knew just where I’d seen that man before. Polio? That would mean…

In a wheelchair. That was him? The man Gretta had been pushing? How could it be? And why was he standing before me as though he’d never been crippled?

“I might be old, but I'll never forget her face. She was my fairy tale, but that story didn't get a happy ending. I always wondered what became of her.” The clerk placed the book gently into the bag then announced the total. He looked up and his eyes met mine. His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide. He gasped, then took a step back and groped behind him for the counter. He slumped against it, his hand on his heart.

Mind control was certainly not my forte. I was in big trouble now. What else could go wrong? I looked at John. What could he do? I was busted. My worst fears about being in town realized on the first morning. My vision blurred, and I grabbed the edge of the counter to keep myself from swaying.

“It's you.” The old man barely said the words out loud, lifting a shaky finger and directing it toward me. “It's you.”

Yes, it was me, but I wasn't going to be the one to tell him.





CHAPTER THIRTY




I'd been recognized! It would have been much easier to faint, but no such luck there, although I came close. What would I do? I needed to breathe, just breathe. This was the first time in 250 years that someone had ever claimed to recognize me. I'd been so careful. I never should have come to town. I should have waited longer.

I don't know if I was more sad about being recognized, scared about what it would mean, or devastated that I’d be relegated back to the castle for another half-century. And what about this man? How was it that he walked? Had he sold his soul to Gretta in exchange for some legs?

“You're the girl.” The clerk jabbed his finger toward me. “The girl—the one I was just speaking about. The girl in the shop when I was a lad!” His voice finally found a louder sound. I was glad the shop was void of other customers. It was bad enough to have two sets of eyes fixed on me. I couldn't imagine being the center of attention more than I was at that moment.

I tried to say something—anything—but my words were stuck in my throat like a lump.

John's laugh interrupted the uncomfortable silence. If he hadn't had a grip on my elbow, I would have made a run for it, but I didn't move. I didn't run.

“How could that be possible? You said you were just a boy.” John shook his head, still laughing. “If that were true, wouldn't she be as old, if not older, than you?” John was good, I must admit. He knew exactly what to say. Putting doubt in the old clerk's mind was quick thinking. Making him question the absurdity of his own memory. John did work for the newspaper after all. I was sure being an attentive reporter had its advantages.