How could they put my book in a place like that?

The book in question.
The book in question.

MY PARTNER, Stephen Woodfin, was depressed.

The grin was gone.

His shoulders were slumped.

His face was ashen.

As a writer, he had been knocked to his knees.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I went into a thrift shop today,” he said.

His answer surprised me.

Stephen’s a lawyer.

He doesn’t buy cheap.

“Why were you in a thrift shop?” I asked.

“I was looking for used books,” he said.

“Did you find any?”

“I did.”

“What kind of books?” I asked.

He sat down, his face in his hands.

He groaned.

At least it sounded like a groan.

“I found one of mine,” he said.

“So what’s wrong?”

“Somebody bought one of my books.”

I nodded.

“Somebody read one of my books.”

I nodded again.

“Somebody threw it away.”

“Did you buy it back?”

“I paid a dollar for it.”

He paused.

Then he added, “I didn’t really buy the book back. I rescued it.”

Woodfin shouldn’t have been depressed.

Or distressed.

Or down in the dumps.

With me, however, it’s another matter.

“I went in a store the other day,” I told him.

This time, he nodded.

“I found one of my books,” I told him.

“Which one?”

“The American Cowboy.”

“I didn’t know you wrote westerns.’

“I don’t,” I said. “Not anymore.”

“Were you in a thrift shop? Woodfin looked up.

“It was worse than that?”

“How could it be worse?”

I glanced in the mirror.

I didn’t like what I saw.

The grin was gone.

My shoulders were slumped.

My face was ashen.

“It was an antique store,” I said.

“I didn’t know you were that old,” he said.

“I’m not ,” I said.

I shrugged.

“The book is.”

Caleb Pirtle is the author of Secrets of the Dead. It’s not nearly as old.

Secrets of the Dead Cover Final 1

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