Martha Shaw and the Like, Part II
“fuck that. we don’t stare. “
part I
There is another version. An alternate reality existing in equal measure, running in equal stride to the first.
In that version Noah doesn’t rebuild the old house. Allie goes to and from her fitting without incident.
It’s her last night in town. She is walking back with a few friends from a restaurant. Across from them is a bar with open windows facing the street. She can see the silhouettes of the bar patrons against the dim lightning. One of the shadows turns in the window and Allie stops breathing.
Fate is a single note echoing uninterrupted all throughout time. Even after so many years he is unmistakable. Unforgettable. Noah.
There is a stirring in her chest. The ghost of an emotion rising with intensity, choking and constricting her throat.
Allie watches the shadow move between groups and memories from that summer years ago play out in the dark street.
For a minute she contemplates going in. Or, she imagines, that he’ll see her and come outside. But neither moves any closer. Instead the shadow assimilates into the larger crowd and becomes unrecognizable.
