Treasured Past by Linda Hill

leather wallet. “I have the receipt.” He unfolded a piece of paper and placed it on the counter in front of Annie. It was undoubtedly one of her receipts, the white copy to be exact.
    “You paid six thousand dollars for this?” Her voice was incredulous.
    “Yes,” he nodded. “And it appraised at fifty dollars. I think you can appreciate my concern.”
    She raised tired eyes to his before dropping them back down to the sales receipt, studying it intently. As if suddenly remembering my presence, her gaze lifted to meet my intense stare, catching me off guard. I couldn’t read the thoughts or emotions that rifled her features. She was clearly disturbed, and for a moment I forgot about the fact that I was crestfallen. I excused myself, removing myself from their presence as gracefully as possible.
    So much for Beth’s matchmaking, my mind was speaking overtime to me. Even my own instincts had been incorrect. I had thought that Annie might actually be interested in me. So much for intuition.
    I pretended to be engrossed in a display of butter dishes while my ears strained to hear the conversation between Annie and Jim. It would probably have been classified as eavesdropping if I could have deciphered a word of what they were saying. But I could only hear mumbling.
    I picked up a dish and turned it over in my hand, pretending that I wasn’t watching as Annie pulled a large, oversize checkbook from underneath the counter and began scribbling a check. Then she was ripping it from the book, her face and voice full of apology as she handed it over to Jim. Her face was the highest shade of red that I had ever seen, and I wasn’t sure if it was out of embarrassment or anger.
    I didn’t approach her immediately. Instead, I busied myself until the last customer had left the store and Annie locked the door behind him. She looked weary as she flipped the sign in the window so that CLOSED appeared to anyone peeking in.
    I knew that she wished I wasn’t there, and I felt like an intruder invading her personal business. I decided that the best thing to do was pretend that I hadn’t witnessed what was probably a very embarrassing moment for her.
    “Should we go ahead and move the furniture in?” I asked breezily. “I’m sure you have plenty to do and are probably ready to get me out of your hair.”
    She was looking in my direction, but she seemed vacant, as though she were really seeing past me. She nodded, and without another word she motioned for me to follow her. I trailed several steps behind, noting the dejected way that her shoulders seemed to sag further with every step.
    We moved the furniture from the dock to inside the back corridor of the store in virtual silence. The only time she spoke was to give me direction. “Watch your step on the floorboard here” and “This is a tight corner, you’ll have to stay as far right as possible.”
    “Ready to go?” I could tell that she was forcing a smile as she locked up the store and we headed to her car.
    “Nice night,” I said lamely.
    “Kind of warm,” she replied, and I almost laughed. It was mid May. There was no such thing as too warm this early in the year.
    Her silence was stony as she drove out of Cambridge and through Watertown on her way to my home in Newton. She pulled into my driveway and finally spoke as she put the transmission into park.
    “I’m sorry about what happened back at the store. It was quite embarrassing, and I got flustered.” She wasn’t looking at me. Instead she stared directly ahead, focused on the garage door.
    “Don’t apologize. I didn’t even understand what was going on,” I lied. “And you know that I don’t have a clue about who Eoff and Shepard are.” I was trying to inject a little humor, and I was rewarded when I caught the slight lifting at the corner of her lips. But she said nothing.
    “Do you want to come in?” I finally asked. “You’ve already eaten the one dish I can prepare, but I can try to throw