Looks like you have a bigger problem than that. Is that so? Zita smoothed her lace-trimmed bodice. I was late for all my appointments today because of this useless ankle. Love consulted her spreadsheet and shrugged. You weren’t at my wedding, the woman said ruefully. Her clasped hands loosened when she saw Love. I wish I could just tell them how to love.Īt that moment, a woman wearing a tattered wedding dress walked up the street. They make themselves miserable, Love whispered, glaring at her reflection. This year the spreadsheet tucked inside her backpack proclaimed that there were too many broken hearts in the world. Sometimes she even took private jets if the champagne was sweet enough. She rode on the backs of motorcycles and slept on benches. Her scalp itched under her baseball cap.Įvery year, Love backpacked through the entire world to take inventory. Love came in many forms, but that day, she was a whiny thirteen-year-old with a sunburned nose. Boats bobbed on the canal, and windows flashed glimpses of families preparing dinner. Her right ankle was pink and swollen, but the pain eased as soon as she dipped her feet into the cool water. I’ve been trying to help people, she said, struggling out of her dirty sneakers, and no one is listening to me.Ī stray cat cocked its head, her only audience. Love stopped at the town of Grimbaud, weary and limping upon a twisted ankle.
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