Under the counter in the bookshop at Speranza there is a drawer with a broken runner. It sticks halfway, and Moira has never had it fixed, because a drawer that opens too easily is a different kind of drawer.
In it she keeps the things people are not ready to carry.
Nobody asks her to. It happens the same way every time: somebody comes in out of the rain, sits down, says more than they meant to, and then takes a thing out of a pocket and puts it on the counter between the till and the dish of sugar, and looks at it as though somebody else had done it. Moira never says yes. She opens the drawer, puts the thing inside, and closes it, which is the same as yes but quieter.
What is in there
- Letters. Mostly letters. Moira will not say how many.
- One ring.
- A photograph that has been in the drawer eleven years.
- A set of house keys, left on a Saturday afternoon in November by a woman in a coat she would not take off. She is supposed to come back for them on Monday at eight.
Somebody once asked her whether anyone ever comes back for their things.
“Some,” said Moira, and did not say which.
The stories, as they are opened
Each story takes one thing out of the drawer. They are free to read, and they stay free.
The rest are still shut. The ring has been waiting longer than the keys, and the photograph has been waiting longer than anything.
If you would like to be there when the next one opens, the evening list is free and arrives when there is something worth arriving for.
All the stories from the bookshop are in the series archive. The longer collections, with the tea recipes, are in the Shop.
