Free The Obituary Writer by Ann Hood

should contact the hospital in Denver. Vivien’s breathing slowed. Yes. That would be the sensible thing to do. More than anyone, she could tell them about the thin white scar beneath his chin. She could even tell them how he got that scar as a young boy, trying to jump a fence. She could describe the constellation of freckles on his back, and the distance one would have to travel to reach his thighs from his toes.
    The sharp smell of earth and spice brought her out of her reverie. That Italian man, the one who knew Lotte and her husband, who always asked her to dinner, stood in front of her, a worried look on his face.
    “Miss Lowe,” he said in his halting English, “you need to sit? You need some water?”
    “No,” Vivien said. “I’m fine.”
    He peered at her. “Your face,” he said, “it’s very . . .” She watched him struggle for the word. “White,” he said finally, defeated.
    “You mean pale,” she said.
    “Pale,” he repeated, giving the simple word too many syllables.
    “Well,” Vivien said. “Nice to see you again.”
    “Sebastian,” he said.
    She had started to walk away from him, but she turned. “What?”
    “I am Sebastian,” he said. Se-bah-sti-ahn. He held a black hat in his hand, and worried the brim as he spoke.
    Vivien nodded. “Yes. Of course. Sebastian.”
    The light was changing, morning becoming noontime, and here she did not even have her books yet. She left the Reference Room and went into the smaller room where Kay sat at the circulation desk, immersed in a book.
    “Is the new Zane Grey in?” Vivien asked her.
    “I put it aside for you,” Kay said. She retrieved it from the Reserved shelf behind the desk.
    “How’s that one?” Vivien said, motioning to The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse opened in front of Kay.
    Kay hesitated. “I have no idea,” she admitted, blushing.
    Vivien laughed. “I knew you were listening.”
    “Guilty,” Kay said. She lowered his voice. “Poor guy. He comes in here every Friday morning, just hoping to have a few words with you.”
    “You sound like my friend Lotte. Just have coffee with him, she says. What could it hurt?”
    The two women watched as Sebastian studied a copy of National Geographic , frowning over it.
    “I think he’s handsome,” Kay whispered.
    He was short and well-built, with dark wavy hair and a voluminous mustache. No matter what time of day Vivien saw him, he appeared to need a shave, his cheeks always covered in five o’clock shadow. His eyes were large and deep brown, and gave him an air of sadness somehow.
    “I suppose,” Vivien said. “I . . .” She considered explaining to Kay Pendleton how she was in love with a ghost, but stopped herself. Vivien knew too well how easy it was to open your heart to strangers.
    Kay waited, but Vivien just shook her head.
    “I’m not interested,” she said finally.
    Kay held up her book. “You can have this one if you’d like.”
    Relieved for the change of subject, Vivien agreed.
    Kay stamped the books in red and handed them to Vivien. “I would remind you when they’re due,” she said, “but I know you’ll have them back next week.”
    Vivien tucked them into her bag, beside her scrapbook. “I wonder,” she began.
    “You want that newspaper?” Kay said.
    “I know the rule is not to let them leave the library—”
    Kay leveled her gaze at her. “I’ve never followed a rule in my life,” she said. “And I suspect you’ve broken a few yourself.”
    Vivien looked away from her.
    “Go on,” Kay said. “Take it.”
    “Thank you,” Vivien said.
    She went back to the Reference Room and carefully folded The Denver Post , sliding it too into her bag. When she looked up, Sebastian was watching her. He was handsome, in a way, Vivien thought.
    Sebastian smiled at her, and she noticed that his front teeth were slightly crooked, which made him even more attractive.
    “Vivien,” he said, “tonight I will see you perhaps?”
    “Oh, I don’t think