December 26, Thursday

MAIN STREET was quiet as I pedaled into town, so different from the Black Friday chaos I remembered in Manhattan. No lines wrapped around buildings, no shoppers fighting over discounted electronics. Just a few cars parked along the sidewalk, their windows beading with the threatening rain. The snow had stopped sometime during the night and melted, so the streets were wet and glistening.

Sophia's Jewelry glowed invitingly. A bell chimed as I entered. Franny looked up from arranging crystals in a display case, her face brightening.

"Josephine! I didn't expect anyone this early."

"Thought I'd support the local economy." I approached the counter, drawn to the rainbow array of stones. "I need something for my friend Frida. Something for... good energy."

Franny's eyes lit up. "Citrine would be perfect." She selected a honey-colored crystal that seemed to glow from within. "It brings joy, abundance, and positive energy. Plus, it's nearly impossible to curse." She winked.

I laughed, remembering my earlier adventures in crystal shopping. "Sounds exactly right for Frida."

As Franny wrapped the crystal in silk paper, her movements precise and careful, I noticed other changes in the shop – bare spots on shelves, gaps in display cases.

"Are you closing too?" I asked, suddenly worried.

"Oh no," she smiled. "Just sold a lot during Christmas. It's good – means I can order new inventory." She handed me the wrapped package. "Irving's changing, but some things are meant to stay."

The same couldn't be said for Blakemore Books. When I walked in, the emptiness hit me like a physical blow. The few remaining books huddled together on mostly bare shelves, like survivors of some literary apocalypse. The children's corner, once bright with picture books and stuffed animals, was completely vacant.

Dora sat behind the counter, surrounded by cardboard boxes. When she saw me, her smile was brittle.

"Last day is Sunday," she said before I could ask. "We're practically giving things away now."

I looked around at the gutted store. "Has anyone shown interest in the building?"

She shook her head. "Mom says commercial real estate isn't exactly booming in Irving. It'll probably sit empty, like the funeral home." Her voice caught. "Another dead storefront in a dying town."

"Irving's not dying," I protested, but the words felt hollow.

"The hardware store's barely hanging on. Even Coleman's talking about retiring." She wiped her eyes. "Sorry. It's just... Uncle Wayne loved this place so much. He believed in Irving, in the magic of small-town bookstores. And now..."

I reached across the counter to squeeze her hand. "I know. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks for the gingerbread house," she said, nodding to the front window.

"It was Kelly's suggestion," I offered. "She said the bookstore should go out with something beautiful."

"Wayne would love it," Dora said, trying to smile.

The first drops of rain were falling as I loaded my purchases into the bike basket. By the time I reached the edge of town, it was a proper downpour. The cold water soaked through my coat, but I barely noticed.

My mind was too full of empty shelves and Dora's words. Another dead storefront in a dying town.

But was it really dying? Or just changing, like Franny had said?

I thought of Kelly's dream of opening a bakery, of the way the townspeople had come together to clean up the graveyard, of last night's joyful gathering at Whisper House.

The rain intensified, dripping from my hair, blurring my vision. Or maybe those were tears. The death of small towns didn't require a graveyard to mark their passing.

Only empty buildings and fading memories of what used to be.