Thanks to his grandfather’s influence, Jeremy found himself reading the obituary section in the Daily Chronicle. Grandpa Nick did it to look for good tag sales held by people’s children, but Jeremy was merely waiting for someone to come into his jewelry store. On this slow morning, he was reading about a woman named Margaret Ferris whose death, the newspaper speculated, might have been caused by her husband. As soon as he reached the end of the paragraph, the bell rang notifying Jeremy that a customer was finally here. He then folded up the newspaper before buzzing the door open for the familiar looking old man on the other side of it. 

When he walked through the door, Jeremy could swear that the amount of light coming through the window lessened, casting a threatening shadow across the man’s face. The man looked into every jewelry case for maybe 15 minutes before Jeremy heard him take a shaky breath and point at a white gold chain that had a blue diamond pendant hanging from it. 

“I’d like to look at this one more closely, please.” The old man’s voice is rough and demanding. It made Jeremy’s skin crawl, but he did what he was asked. The store was quiet for another minute before the older man let out a satisfied grunt, at least that’s how Jeremy interpreted it. He places the necklace in a black velvet box before holding it out to the man again.

“So, is this the one, sir?” Jeremy asked, trying to keep his voice still while moving as fast as he could. 

The older man smiles, mouth turned up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, looking through his eyelashes and nods. “Yes, she’ll love it.”

With that, Jeremy closes the case and takes it over to the register, hoping to put some distance between the booze smell and himself, but the older man follows. They don’t speak, only the tapping of the keys at the register ring through the store. Jeremy feels the old man’s excitement now that they’re standing close to each other. 

With a deep breath, he gains the courage to ask, “Sir, may I ask… what’s the occasion?”

He chuckles and it makes the hair on the back of Jeremy’s neck stand straight up, “Does there have to be an occasion?” The old man puts his hands up to his cheeks as if to feel the deep crinkles in his cheeks from his wide, creepy smile. “I’m merely celebrating my wife.”

“Congratulations, then.” Jeremy hoped the old man would take that as his cue to leave. He did not. 

The older man nods, “Thank you.” 

The two men stand there for a second before Jeremy realizes that he is still holding the velvet box, so he places it into a bag and holds it out to the old man. 

“I hope I have someone I want to celebrate one day,” the words pour out of Jeremy’s mouth. He’s not sure why he said that, but it felt fitting.

The old man’s menacing smile seems to grow as he takes the bag from Jeremy’s extended hand. With his empty hand, the man pats Jeremy’s hand, “You’ll get there one day,” he says, “and the waiting will have been worth it. I know it was for me and my Margaret.” 

With a wink, he turns and walks out of the store. And Jeremy realizes why the man looked familiar: the obituaries. 

That was Margaret’s husband.