It’d only been in jest, a reaction to the surprise that the cat’s presence had delivered her, but Rider’s words brought on a certain bout of guilt in Marley, as if she had quite physically put a bell around her neck. She watched as the tuff of white fur suddenly appeared atop the counter, nestling into her owner’s arm; a silent demand for attention, and one that he met with a simple raise of his fingers. Marley had never had a pet growing up–she’d had a hard enough time taking care of herself and her mother, but she’d had a penchant for feeding the stray cats that wandered the Waterhole from time to time. As the owner’s cat’s eye turned towards Marley once more, she met it with her own gaze. Sorry, it silently said.
She wasn’t the only one apologizing. Marley returned her attention to the man she’d really come here to see, the rasp of his apology bringing her back to herself. She wanted to laugh, to ask if he’d truly been sorry to hear of her mother’s death, but having already made it awkward with her comment about the bell, she refrained. She’d heard plenty of condolences the last few weeks. What was one more to grin and bear? A small “thank you” and a nod of her head was offered instead.
His question had her second guessing herself, brows furrowing together as Marley peered into the open box. Part of her irrationally feared that today, its contents would be different. That she’d just imagined the crystals and the foreign languages, the business card entirely. She had been a few glasses of wine deep when she’d finally had the chance to go through it… “I didn’t understand half of it.” She admitted, though now was beginning to wonder if that had simply been due to the wine. But as the familiar unfamiliar objects became visible within the shoebox, she felt more confident in her initial inspection, and stood by that whatever it was Helen had been hoarding, none of it would be any use to her dead.
She hadn’t meant to laugh. A knee jerk reaction. Truly, it wasn’t funny, except that maybe it was. He was speaking of objects. Inanimate objects. Junk she’d found in a box underneath her mother’s bed. What allegiances could they possibly have? “Look, I’m…I’m sorry, okay?” She tried to wipe the grin from her lips, slightly delirious from the sleep she wasn’t getting and the water she wasn’t drinking and the constant feeling of suffocation she felt even when her lungs practically burned with the deep breaths she forced through them. She attempted a play at serious, to mask how ridiculous she found this to be, but it fell short. “My mom, as you probably know, was crazy. Batshit. I don’t even know what she was doing with half this shit–stuff.” She corrected. “I mean, she didn’t even–” Believe in it, she wanted to say, but it wasn’t so much believing that Helen Callahan never expressed. It was hard to deny something that was right there in front of you. But if Marley thought about it, she’d never heard her mother so much breathe a word about the supernatural residents in town, or how the two of them had ended up amongst them. She’d never thought to ask.
With a sigh, Marley shook her head. “You said you can just dispose of ‘em, right?” Even if Marley had wanted any of her mother’s things bequeathed to her, the Callahan bloodline was bound to die when Marley did, and she didn’t want whoever it was who was going to have to handle her things to have to worry about objects and their allegiances. “ They’re probably better off that way, trust me. And I could pay you, for the trouble.”
------FINGERS GRAZED OVER the contents of the box. he could feel the magic thrumming in them: strong where the grimoire was tucked at the bottom, weaker for crystals used only once before their owner had passed. the varying objects within had values all their own ---aforementioned tomes of magic and experiences were priceless if only because it was tasteless to sell something so personal. though rider did have a few grimoires tucked on safe shelves in the back room, peered through once to ensure the contents were safe before he bound them with cord and put them away. to think helen callahan’s would join them. it was in marley’s incredulous tone, the denial, the accusation of CRAZINESS.
“ your mother wasn’t crazy. ” rider’s tone was soft, lips pressing briefly into a thin line before he sighed and gently pulled the box of belongings closer to him. “ at least, not crazy for what she owned, in here. ” and as if the accusation marley had barked was broad, he gestured to the shop around them. if helen was insane for owning those items, rider surely had to be beyond help for running a shop dedicated to it. how bad did it look that his business card had been tucked among those things? but with his gesture he wafted away those thoughts, offered only a shrug in their stead. “ people have many facets. just because she never shared a piece of herself with you doesn’t mean that she didn’t hold personal belief or spirituality in it. ”
but he didn’t know the relationship this woman had with her mother, and while helen had been a customer rider was slow to call anyone ‘ friend ’ in town. perhaps there was damage between them that would go unrepaired forever. perhaps not ---it wasn’t his place to know, especially now. still, he shrugged and shook his head. between his palms rest the weight of an anchoring responsibility, and he was all too familiar with the unfinished business of the dead. “ i can get rid of them. ” the confirmation was silent, punctuated by a curt nod.
“ you don’t need to pay me anything. i can handle it from here. ” but ... it wasn’t his place to convince her of the worth of the items within. a family legacy gone with disinterest. it was sad, surely. and later on in the evening when he bound up helen callahan’s grimoire he would say his piece for her everlasting soul, then make a home for the tome among the others, forgotten except for rider’s memory of them.
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