SEARCHING FOR CLUES.

Today's scene takes place after: I am ... Clara.

"Clara ..." she seemed to be saying it again and again. "Yes. It is you, isn't it ..."

I felt my face turning scarlet.

"Yes. Hello." I nodded. I started extending my hand, but it seemed inappropriate. So much the wrong thing. But what was I supposed to do? I stood there, beads of rain dripping off of me. Rolling down to the wood floor.

"Come in, come in," she said. "Please."

The shift in her voice obvious. The words a common courtesy. Her gaze drifted to her daughter. Protective. Unsure.

"No, no. That's fine. I couldn't possibly ..." I trailed off.  The wind slammed against the doors, echoing behind me.

"Please. Please. Do come in. The storm seems to be getting worse. You're free to wait it out here if you'd like."

"Thank you, I ... if I could just use your restroom ... I'll be on my way," I tripped over my words. It didn't surprise me, but I hated it just the same.

What the hell do you say to the woman who married the love of your life?

"Of course. Right this way." She motioned me to follow her back down the hall. "Is there anything you need?" I shook my head, pushing into the ladies' room with a force I didn't know I had.

I stood before the mirror. Sopping. My hair frazzled. Dripping around my face. Stupid rain. I fought back tears. This was a mistake. I should go. I needed to get out of there. Now. I needed to go now.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you ..." I turned the corner quickly.

She stood there, setting up for an event. Candles on the table, candlestick in her hand. Her hands shook. She hummed softly. I knew the pain in her eyes.

"Thank you for your offer. I should really be going."

She nodded. I watched her swallow hard. Her tears? Her emotions? The words she wanted to say?

"Jacob is at the library," she whispered, searching for words. "He had a session."

She was stronger, louder. Her voice returned.

"He should be back in a few hours. Feel free to come by."

I nodded. "That's not necessary. Thank you. Please give him my best."

We had reached an impasse. Smiling at one another, a short wave goodbye.

The little girl walked me back to the front door. She skipped. She sang. She looked up at me and smiled.

She had my eyes.

======


Candlestick, Scarlet, Library

GO!

That was pretty much it for this week's prompt at Write on Edge. This was my attempt at meshing it all together into one of my stories. It does not feel like my strongest work, and I almost didn't publish and considered writing a whole new post, but then I had a revelation and I adjusted the ending. It then felt okay to post. I hope you enjoyed.

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I am ... writing

"I just can't do this anymore," I heard myself muttering aloud as I battled the wind to walk down several streets to find myself standing outside the synagogue. Waiting. Waiting for what? For Jacob to come out and see me? Recognize all we'd lost? All I let slip away before it had the chance to turn into something more? Jacob. I needed to see him. I had to go in.

I stepped slowly. The stairs were glossy and slippery in the rain. My shoes were not meant for this kind of weather. And my heart was not ready for such a fall. But I went. I walked up the steps and opened the door.

Silence greeted me from the other side.

"Hello?" I whispered, as one tends to do in a place of worship. "Is anyone here?"

The quiet seemed to break with a whisper of a song. Was that a child singing?

A young girl peeked her head from around the corner, giggling. I smiled, waved, maybe. "Hi," I said. She ran off. I looked around, taking small steps as I followed her. "Hello?" My voice halted, still soft, but stronger now. Waiting to be heard. "Is there anyone here?"

Song again broke through the stillness. The voice rose with a passion. Strength and power. I paused, squinting. It was beautiful. Breathtaking, almost. And then it was gone. Stopped.

A woman came out from around a corner, the little girl hiding behind her skirt pleats. "Can I help you?" she asked, wiping her hands on the towel she held between them. She smiled at me pleasantly. The voice. It was her voice. Of course.

"Is Rabbi Cannon in?" My voice cracked as the words tumbled out. She shook her head.

"He's not, I'm sorry. But can I be of assistance?"

"And you would be ...?" I asked, fully knowing the answer.

"Oh, forgive my manners. I'm Abby. Mrs. Cannon. The Rabbi's wife." She smiled, extending her hand to greet me. I responded with a gentle shake. His wife.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cannon." The words caught in my throat. "I'm - uh - terribly sorry to bother you. I thought I would see if he was here. It's no. It's nothing urgent. Another time ..." I trailed off, flinching. I turned, heading to the hallway I had just ventured through. Thanks so much."

"Wait." She followed me, her daughter's eyes watching us the whole time. "You're Clara, aren't you?" She whispered my name. The song gone from her voice. My eyes must have given me away. I smiled gently.

"I am."



This excerpt picks up immediately after the most recent post I shared about Clara here. Her story flashes back and forth between the present day (sort of - for the character) and her memories from many years ago. We are back in the present. Try to stay with me, it's definitely rough to do without the surrounding sections. The Write on Edge prompt this week was about music, more specifically "Show us how your character reacts to a piece of music". I hope to have done that here. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

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Bittersweet

Clara watched as the Rabbi walked up to the altar. Her heart beat heavy within her small frame. She swore the person sitting next to her could feel it. What was happening here? Was she so sure that she could ignore this? Or was she fooling herself?

He began to pray. She shut her eyes. Listened to his sweet voice. She was more sure now than ever before that it was him. That she knew this man, this voice. But what could she do about it?

She opened her eyes. Looked towards the front row. There sat a woman with a baby in her arms, and two small children by her side. He’s a father now. Her eyes brimmed with tears. He’s a father. She heard a small sob escape her lips. The gentleman beside her turned, offered her a hankie. She waved him away. Whispering, ‘No, thank you.’ The tears slid down her cheeks. She looked up at him again. Their eyes met. She felt a glimmer of recognition, she hoped? He continued to skim the crowd, his voice stronger with every word.

Clara left the synagogue. She was crushed. Not sure what she truly expected, but knowing what her heart had hoped. It had been years since she had seen Jacob. Years since she had returned to the place she had once called home. So much had happened, so much time had passed. Could he possibly not remember her?

She walked down the street, oblivious to the throngs of people brushing past her. To the rest of the city, it was yet another Saturday morning, but to her, it meant so much more.

This week's Write on Edge prompt requests we explore romantic heartbreak. This post is the first part of something that I have been working on in bits and pieces for a while now, on and off. I thought I'd take a time-out from my first story and introduce you all to someone new. I hope you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

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