LITMIR.BIZ

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Mercury dime, with real silver in it. How ‘bout that?”

      “I’ve seen old coins before. Dad had some.” She examined it, set it aside and picked up another. “They’re nice, but I’d expect them to be shinier. How much did you have to pay for them?”

      “Not a cent, not an Indian Head cent,” he said, pushing a penny toward her. “That one’s an 1882. I found them all about a week ago while I was scavenging through some old dresser drawers in the attic. I already have a bunch and there could be more. I’m going to keep looking.”

      “How much are they worth?”

      “I’ve been meaning to find out, I don’t know, I’ll have to check them out…. Look at this silver dollar, 1922. Isn’t that Liberty Head on it beautiful?”

      “Do you always carry these around with you?” she said, lightly rubbing her thumb over the surface of the coin.

      “I love to hear the jingle. Real silver jingles, not like the counterfeit junk in your purse.”

      “Heavy, too,” she said, bouncing it on her palm.

      “Because it’s the real stuff,” he said, snatching it away and sweeping it up with the other coins. “I have a few more at home.”

      She studied his face. “This sort of thing really gets your heart pumping, doesn’t it, Gary?”

      “Not as much as you do,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “Why, does it show?”

      “Is water wet? When doesn’t it show? Your nostalgia, I mean. What I don’t understand is, people usually long for their own past, but you, you seem to be nostalgic for times before you were even born. I always thought nostalgia was for old people.”

      “Maybe that’s why I’m a history major. I can’t help it, Shell, I just love anything old-- old movies, old books, old songs, things mostly of this century, though. Not that I’m not interested in the more distant past, but… somehow, it’s almost as if, as if….”

      “As if.…?”

      “I don’t know, Shell. Let’s just say it’s sort of a hobby. A little more intense than what other people feel about their hobbies, all except maybe golfers.”

      “Like my brother Bob.”

      “Like him, yeah, and all the other addicts like him. It doesn’t bother you, does it, that I’m hooked on this… this hobby?”

      Her smile splashed on him like sunshine. “I guess not, as long as it doesn’t extend to older women.”

      They laughed together, a little too loud, and he looked around self-consciously. “How long do you intend to stay here?” he asked, shoving the coins into his pocket.

      “Probably until closing time. I really want to get this paper finished by the end of the week.”

      “Which translates into I won’t be seeing you at least till Saturday, right?”

      Her hair formed a silky scarf around her neck as she cocked her head slightly. “You’re not angry, are you?”

      “Just disappointed. I’m going to miss you.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, kissed the modest engagement ring with the tiny diamond in the center of it.

      “In a week or so it will all be over. Then we can go out and celebrate. It’s been a long time since we’ve done it, hasn’t it?”

      “Too long,” he said, gazing into the blue wonder of her eyes and wishing he could pull her close to him. “I love you.”

      “I love you, too, Gary,” she said, rising a little and stretching for a peck on the lips.

      God she smelled like heaven. “Okay, then, I’ll give you a call in a day or so. Or you can e-mail me right from the school computer here. That all right?” he asked, getting up and pushing the chair under the table.

      She smiled a sweet and glowing smile that would carry him all the way home. It bothered him, though, that she had taken his story so lightly. Of course, what could he really expect. What he had suggested would be regarded as completely mad to any rational person-- and Shelley was as rational a person as anyone could ever hope to find. But that was fine with him. He needed her to balance his impulsiveness, his active imagination and maybe his gullibility, too, if that’s all it really turned out to be. But if she loved him as much as she said she did, she could at least bend a little and show a little more indulgence toward him. Humor him, anyway.

      Excitement stirred his blood as he wheeled along, threading his way through the building dinner hour traffic. Tonight he would order something else, something that would convince her and maybe himself, too, that he wasn’t going mad. One way or another, if it killed him, he’d solve this mystery.

       Chapter 5

      

      Monday afternoon. He didn’t think classes would ever end that morning as he grabbed his books, slid out of his 1990 Honda and hurried into the house. “Any packages come for me today, Gram?” he called, his anxious voice echoing in the kitchen.

      “Is that you, Gary? I’m back here in the spare room. I’ll be right out.”

      He headed for his bedroom, saw no package, tossed his books on the bed and stripped down to put on a comfortable pair of pants and a tan Greg Norman golf shirt Shelley had given to him for his last birthday.

      

       But I’m not a golfer!

       So? I couldn’t help it, I loved the shirt. Maybe it will inspire you.

      Stuffing his wallet, a couple of Kleenex tissues and the silver dollar in his pockets, he sat down at his computer to check his e-mail. “Ah, Shelley loves me,” he said, seeing the library e-mail address and opening his mail. The message, just a line, put a crease across his forehead and then a smile on his face. Shelley’s doing it to him again, playing games, making fun of him. He read the line again:

      

       If you want a future forget the past!

      Chuckling, he deleted the message, shut down the machine, slipped on his sweater and left the room, almost bumping into his grandmother outside his door.

      “No package for me, I take it?”

      “What a day,” she said, running her wrist over her tired brow. I’ve been working like a dog, but you’d never know it. Nothing shows.” She went to the cupboard. “You want some lunch? There’s some leftover roast beef.”

      “I’m not really hungry, Gram.” He glanced around. “No package for me?”

      “Some mail came. The usual junk for me and a letter for you. Even one for your grandpa. All this time, ten years, they don’t know he’s dead? At least no bills came.” She put a plate of cookies on the table. “You feel okay, Gary?”

      ‘I’m fine,” he said, straightening up.

      “Too much school on your mind?”

      “Among other things.”

      “Worried about your examinations?” she said, sitting across from him.

      “Not really.”

      “A hard day?”

      “Not so hard, just boring. I’m glad it’s almost over.”

      “Well, that’s good. Your grandpa would be so proud of you, God rest his soul, to see you graduate from college. Nobody in the family ever did before, you know.”

      “I know,” he said, grabbing a cookie.

      “He

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