William’s hesitation must have given the impression he wasn’t interested—which was true—because Grace then continued.

“Oh, you’re probably not the demographic, but even so she has an interesting story. Motivational. You know she worked in a bookstore just like me. Nothing wrong with that of course. Then her agent finds her manuscript sitting in his pile of to-be-reads. Someone left it there by mistake. He’s eating his lunch and thinks he’ll just read until he’s finished his food. Well, he sat at his desk for the rest of the day not stopping until he’d read it all. Isn’t that just the best story? Dreams really do come true. Orelia Mason is proof.”

William took several deep breaths to calm his anger, which had fired inside at the mention of Orelia’s taunting quip Dreams really do come true. The lie that Morris discovered her was outrageous. He’d read that somewhere but hadn’t realized how much it had become part of her legend. He wished he could set Grace straight with the truth, and share that plum was not her color.

More pressing though was his need to escape the store before Orelia or Morris spotted him. Grace didn’t seem in a hurry as she continued to linger as if waiting for a reply. All he could think to do under pressure was pretend he was having some sort of attack, so he coughed. Then coughed more.

“Aheh—uheh. Uh-ah.”

He put his hand to his mouth and hacked. The cough wasn’t too much of a stretch as now he did feel sick. First thing he’d love to do was to vomit all over this one’s pristine blue uniform. That would show her what he thought of her version of Orelia Mason’s story.

“Aheh-ehh-ahh. I’ve … aheh ... got a bad cold. Aheh. Can’t stay.”

“Sure. Shame, as Orelia Mason is something special,” she said, as he pushed past her with his gaze lowered.

All the forced coughing had made his head spin. Now with his throat raw and aggravated, he began to cough for real, until his breath stole from his lungs.

Around him, books and shelves melted into a vortex of color and words. Even the floor seemed to shake as though he’d stepped on a twirling roundabout.

Panic rose inside his head and he wondered if he would pass out. Or something worse. Maybe the ultimate irony was he would meet his death, right here in this bookstore with Orelia nearby.

By the time he’d staggered to the door and flung it open to escape to the night outside, he’d forgotten why he was even inside the store.

The only thoughts in his mind: something’s terribly wrong. William, get far away from here.

Something inside that store had made him sick. With all the stress he’d been under, with his Orelia campaign and what she’d done to him, this might really be a heart attack.

William made it to the end of the street and turned the corner before exhaustion and coughing overcame him and he fell against a brick wall. He leaned there for a few seconds before, without warning he collapsed, without a modicum of grace, onto the pavement.