1. Jill signed her name, gently closed the book and, for somewhere between the ten
and twenty millionth time, thanked another happy reader. Book signings might be a
necessary evil and she might need to put on a happy face, but she didn’t need to
actually like it. Interacting with the milling masses of bored housewives, giggle
infested teens and wrinkled daydreamers too old to actually see themselves in her
stories gave her nausea and only intensified the cramp in her hand and the ache in
her ever smiling cheeks.
No, she viewed her work as a divine creation, a heavenly gift on par with a night
spent eating two fork meals served in courses before having to putter back home in
a 90’s Taurus littered with yellow wrappers and mustard stains.
Today she wished, not for the first time, that that instead of interacting with readers
through book signings, she could instead be a fly on the wall of their minds.
Sycophancy was flattering and to be expected, but she wanted to feel the honest
weight and emotional response to the importance of her work.
She reached for another book and laid it out on the table. She’d become quite adept
at smiling and saying clever clichés without thinking. She would guess that only one
in ten actually wanted something so specific it required her to dedicate more than
the minimum amount of precious mental energy to the task.
She reached out for the next book but felt only the glossy laminate imitation wood
provided, aptly, by Barnes and Noble.
She sighed and saw a little girl with the sweetest red bow standing in front the table.
Her blue dress, pouty lips and trembling eyes left Jill with the distinct impression
she was headed for a Sunday School that invited only the cutest little girls. In
between crossed arms this little girl cradled Jill’s book Miracles and swayed side to
side.
“Sweetheart, would you like me to sign your book?” Jill asked trying to put on her
most motherly smile. These were the types of interactions she enjoyed most, the
honest innocence of children.
The little girl clutched the book tighter and put her head down, shaking it with all
the vigor of a terrified mouse.
“No? Are you sure? What can I do for you sweety?”
The girl extended the book towards Jill but kept her head bowed, then mumbled
something Jill couldn’t catch.
“So you did want it signed?”
The girl placed the book down on the table.

2. “Returned,” she said barely above a whisper.
“You want to return the book?”
The girl nodded.
“Why would you want to return it?”
Jill continued to smile and didn’t even mind the ache, she couldn’t wait to hear the
reason. She started fishing in her purse for her wallet, if the reason was as sweet as
the girl she would just give her a twenty to cover the cost, it would be solid P.R. to
boot. The book was far too advanced for a child, she probably couldn’t pronounce
half the words. She may even have thought Miracles was a picture book since the full
color illustration of a fairy on the front could be confusing to someone so young.
“You said there were miracles-“
“Oh but there are. Angels and fairies and magic and the greatest miracle of all: The
power of love,” said Jill, quoting the back cover of the novel almost verbatim. “Maybe
when you are older you can read all about them.”
The girl didn’t say anything for a moment but then Jill heard her start sniffling.
“But…but…but,” she said, finally looking up, her eyes brimming with tears that
began to leak. “”It said that if I read it I would see miracles but daddy says that my
momma’s still gone.”
“Oh…well…I…”Jill couldn’t seem to find any divine words to gift the girl so instead
she placed the twenty dollar bill she’d fished from her purse down on the table and
pushed forward, but this only caused the girl to begin wailing and before tearing off
through the throng of waiting devotees like a fire truck with a full siren and the hose
on.
Jill felt the ache and cramp return to her body and the masses suddenly seemed so
individual as they shuffled awkwardly and murmured amongst themselves.
No one approached the table and she began to will them forward with her eyes, each
waiting for another member of the heard to be the first to cross the dangerous
waters.
A plus sized, raisin-skinned woman stepped forward with her copy of Miracles and
thumped it on the table.
“I thought it was pretty damn good,” she said. “Make it out to my nephew, Tevin
please.”

3. “Thank you,” said Jill, smiling despite the ache. “I really mean it, thank you.”