Clare took another, longer, drink from Donna’s beer and nodded. Yes, she knew what Donna was getting at. It was just that Donna didn’t understand, maybe couldn’t understand, that Clare already had that. She’d had it, with Adam. Adam who, for practically their whole lives, would lay his head in her lap and close his eyes. There wasn’t any other connection she ever wanted.

She would never feel his head in her lap again. She would never hear his voice. Feel his touch. Look into his eyes.

“Tell me a story, Clare.”

“I think you’re afraid,” Donna finished with a dare.

Clare sighed, not taking the bait but still somewhat intrigued by some new possibility dawning on the horizon of her awareness. “I’ll think about it.”

“No thinking.” Donna smiled. “Do, or do not. There is no try.”

“Nice… Karate Kid?”

“Actually I think that’s from Star Wars. Either way, it’s high time you dust off some of those journals and let the light of the world’s cold hard judgment rock your foundations a bit. Plus, that way we can be miserable together and for the same reason.”

Clare smiled. “I better get back to work,” she said as she pushed away from the table and stood.

“I’m going to hold you to it.”

Clare waved Donna off and headed back to the stage.

“I mean,” Donna called after her, “are you really planning on working in this dump for the rest of your life?”

Thrown off by the interruption, the reader onstage lost her place and stumbled over her words while several customers turned to glare at Donna. Brian shot her a dirty look and pointed his index finger at her—watch it.

By the time Clare got back to their apartment after her shift, her feet aching and her hair reeking of secondhand smoke, Donna, Sergio, and Flynn were already all the way in the bag. Donna squinted her eyes at Clare as she dropped her purse and kicked off her shoes near the couch.

“Don’t think I forgot,” Donna warned.

“Forgot what?” Sergio asked.

“Nothing,” Clare said as she waved them all off and headed to the bedroom she shared with Donna.

“Come back and have a drink with us,” Flynn called after her.

“In a minute.” Back in their room, Clare opened the closet door and pushed her clothes to the side. Four square moving boxes stood stacked two by two. They contained all her journals both from her before life, and the after. Earlier, she hadn’t been completely honest with Donna. Yes, they were mostly journals, stuff about her day-to-day life. But there was more than a couple short stories in there as well.

Many, many more.