“I was thinking this morning about how you loved purple when you were a little girl.”

“Did I?” Shannon asked her aunt. “I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, you certainly did. Everything had to be purple. Your bedroom walls had to be purple, and your bedspread and the curtains. You said it was a royal color, and every princess should be surrounded in purple. You told Auntie Lonna that all you wanted for your birthday was a purple tiara like the one you’d seen someone wearing at the fair. She searched high and low for a purple tiara that year. I think it was your sixth birthday. Or fifth?”

Shannon paused, trying to remember … but … Nothing. Instead, she leaned over the pot simmering on the stovetop and dipped a wooden spoon into the brew. She blew on it first before taking a taste, and disappointment curled her nose into an upward wrinkle.

“What am I missing, Aunt Mary? I followed your recipe to the letter. Why doesn’t it taste like yours?”

Mary looked up at her from the dining room table where she’d been embroidering for an hour or more.

“Oh, dearie, I don’t really follow the recipe that closely any more, I suppose. I toss in a dash of this and a pinch of that.”

“Great,” she said on a chuckle.

“I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely.”

“I think I’ll let it simmer for another hour or so. Then we can have some with a baguette for lunch.”

“A baguette?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I made some French bread … And some vegetable lasagna. Oh, and a pot of turkey chili. Anyway, I brought a loaf of the bread with me, and I’ll warm it up to have with our lunch.”

“That sounds very nice, Shannie. That was a lot of cooking when you should be sleeping.”

“Yeah. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“This new business of yours has you very excited, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “The last couple of weeks have been crazy, but it’s all starting to come together. The board at Draper has approved my proposal, and the attorney’s taken care of the paperwork, so I’m ready to go ahead with my plans. Oh, and I can pick up my tricked-out food truck next week. I’ve got my menu plan, and I’ve found a wonderful wholesale produce company that’s going to let me order every other day and they’ll deliver it right to me. I’m going over to Izzy’s again later so she can help me plan out a press release and such.”

“Does she know about that?”

“Izzy’s in public relations. I think she’s the perfect person to help me.”

“Well, isn’t that nice?”

Shannon stirred the pot one more time before replacing the lid. She turned down the heat as she told her aunt, “I’m going up to the attic to get those recipe cards I saw up there a while back. Grandma Malone had one for breakfast cupcakes. Do you remember those? The omelets in a cupcake tin? Anyway, I saw the recipe on a card, and I really want to try it out.”

“Oh, dearie, it’s such a mess up there. I’ve never cleaned up the books that fell and conked me on the head.”

“I can do that while I’m up there then.”

“Be careful, Shannie. It can be dangerous in the attic.”

She giggled as she shuffled toward the stairs. “Apparently. Don’t get into any trouble down here while I’m gone.”

“I’ll give it my best effort.”

At the top of the stairs, Shannon tugged down the ladder to the attic and climbed it to see the books and cardboard carton still sprawled across the floor. The antique spinning wheel—the culprit that had started it all—looked innocent and casual angled into the corner as if nothing had ever happened.

She stepped over the books and sat down on the Malone family hope chest. Clutching the colorful vintage hat box with the blue velvet cord, she poked through the photos and index cards tossed inside. She found the one she wanted in just a few seconds.

BREAKFAST CUPCAKES.

A wave of sweet memories of cold winter mornings washed over her as she reviewed the baking instructions. Small cheese and egg omelets baked into muffin tins, served warm with blueberry compote and tender, flaky biscuits.

“Who wants hot chocolate?” Her grandmother’s gravelly voice came back to her out of her past.

She ran a finger over the shaky writing on the card. “Nutritious breakfast on-the-go,” she read out loud. Her grandmother had scribbled the words at the bottom of the recipe. And on the back, suggestions for possible variations.

“Stick to just three added ingredients per cupcake,” she’d written. “Sausage, mushroom, and onion. Ham, feta, and spinach. All veg—onion, tomato, and bell pepper.”

Shannon tucked the card into her pocket with a sigh and dragged the cardboard box on the floor toward her. She gathered an armful of the books that had spilled from inside it and sat down to review the titles as she packed them away again. There was Jane Eyre, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, Pride and Prejudice.

It suddenly occurred to Shannon that this one particular box of books didn’t belong to her aunt at all; these books had been hers. They were books that her mom had passed on to her, books they’d shared together. These were the books that had ignited something inside Shannon; something that had never left her. But there were still a few corners of her mind where coma-webs still lingered, and she looked down at the books in her arms and realized that all she had left of them were vague impressions. Emotions. Distant fires clouded with distracting smoke.

When she picked up the copy of Emma by Jane Austen, this one was different. The smoke cleared in front of this one, and Shannon grasped the recollection of the plot, the humor, the love she’d had for the main character. She opened the book and thumbed through the pages, inhaling the underlying mustiness, the top notes of grassy paper and tangy printing ink. In this new age of Kindles and tablets where one could carry around hundreds of books that weighed no more than a few compact ounces, nothing could ever replace the fragrant reminder of adventures long past.

As she stacked them, one after the other, into the thick cardboard box that had housed them for she-didn’t-know-how-many years, she strained her memory trying to remember when—and more importantly, why—she’d given them up to a sealed box instead of an open bookshelf. Determined to lug the box of books home with her, she picked up the others from the floor.

When only two odd-shaped bundles remained, Shannon retrieved them and sat down on the chest again. One of them, the package of colorful books tied together with a faded blue ribbon, lifted both sides of her mouth in an unbidden grin at the mere sight of it.

“Dr. Seuss,” she said on a sigh.

They were all there; her whole collection.

Cat in the Hat. One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. And the one that made her heart sing, even all these years later: Green Eggs and Ham.

“I do not like them, Sam I am. I do not like green eggs and ham.”

The words had popped out of her memory and flown across her lips, and Shannon sat there in the afterglow feeling a little stunned. Were there any more bizarre little flashes she hadn’t even known were hovering, waiting to jump out of her?

“I would not like them in a house, I would not like them with a mouse,” she blurted, and then she cracked with laughter. “I can quote Dr. Seuss, but I can’t remember that purple was my favorite color.”

She set the Seuss books into the box with loving care before picking up the second packaged bundle from the floor. As realization dawned, Shannon gasped and her hand flew to her heart before she sank into a deep and cleansing sigh.

“My fairy tales.”

The collection of her favorites—bought for her by her father on her fifth birthday. She untied the bow and loosened the long piece of twine holding them all together in one tidy little package. The cardboard books with fragile white pages came in a variety of sizes, and she flipped through them, examining the covers with fresh eyes.

The Princess and the Pea. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Cinderella. The Ugly Duckling. Thumbelina. And yes, Sleeping Beauty.

She opened the book and flipped to the last page, just to make sure the snoozing princess actually had a happy ending. Spotting the magic words, happily ever after, she sighed. “Well, that’s a relief, at least.”

She stacked the books again and tied the twine around the bundle once more, this time with Sleeping Beauty on the top. As she set the final bundle into the cardboard box and folded over the flaps, Shannon’s thoughts wandered toward Daniel and lingered there. She hadn’t heard much out of him since that day she’d left him in the living room, holding nothing but the news of his abandonment plans while she walked away. A few text messages, an email congratulating her on the board’s acceptance of her proposal, but no phone calls or visits or late-night Skype chats.

During her physical therapy session, Carrie had mentioned a going-away cake the staff planned to give him sometime before he left for Africa. Or Zimbabwe. Or wherever it was he was going. She couldn’t remember. But she knew she wouldn’t be attending any such cakefest, that week or any other. Especially when he’d grown so distant after the declaration of his plans to sever their ties.

For my own good, she thought bitterly. Coward.

The notion of Daniel flying to the other side of the world induced a mist of tears that stung her eyes. She’d come to depend upon Daniel so much since awaking from her coma; not the kind of dependence that stemmed from desperation or incapacitation. Shannon was getting stronger all the time. She didn’t need Daniel Petros.

But she sure did miss him.

Before she even knew it, she’d placed the box of books on top of the chest and slipped past it to the floor … and to her knees. With her face planted in her hands, and her hands resting on the rug, the dam broke and she let the tears loose … and allowed the prayers in her heart to find their voice.

“Lord, help me,” she softly cried. “Don’t let me put my eyes on Daniel—or anyone else—as my salvation in this new world. Let me keep my eyes on you. Help me to wipe away the frost on the windows of my mind and fully remember what we had before, you and I. If Daniel is supposed to go away, then send your angels with him to keep him safe. But whether he goes or doesn’t go, I need you. I can’t do all of this without you …”

“Shannie? Are you all right up there, dearie?”

Her aunt’s voice cut through her spirit and Shannon sat upright. “Yes. I’ll be right down.”

Once the thump of Mary’s footsteps indicated that she’d retreated down the hall, Shannon covered her face again and clamped shut her eyes.

“I used to know you so well,” she prayed in a whisper. “I depended on you for everything. I think Edmund thought I was a little crazy that way, but I didn’t care. You were my everything.” She opened her eyes and dried her tears with her sleeve. “I want that again. I want you again. I need you, God.”

Izzy and Shannon saddled up to the counter between Izzy’s kitchen and dining room, their two tall barstools moved close together to allow them to share a glimpse of the very large screen on Izzy’s laptop.

“Did Carrie say where he’s headed?” Izzy asked, her fingers frozen in a holding pattern over the keyboard. “Or did Daniel tell you?”

“I think so,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t think I even heard everything he said. One minute, I was just whining to him about everything I’ve lost, and the next minute he was telling me I’m losing him too.”

“Temporarily. And this doesn’t seem like it’s such a terrible thing for you, honey. It’ll give you a chance to sort things out without him.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Shannon said with a smile. “I’m hoping you can help me focus on regaining my life, or even creating a whole new one so I won’t have time to miss him any more than I already have.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Izzy continued tapping out the rest of the press release she’d agreed to write for Shannon’s new endeavor. At the final key stroke, she swiveled her chair and started talking a-mile-a-minute.

“So we’ve got two shelters onboard, and all you have to do is call them once you’re all set up so you can work out a schedule with them. Do you have your schedule with Draper?”

“Yes. I’ll be in their courtyard from noon until six on weekdays.”

“Then let’s tentatively plan for you to serve breakfast to Shelter #1 on Monday and Wednesday, and to Shelter #2 on Tuesday and Thursday. How does that sound?”

Shannon nodded. “Okay. Good.”

“You should probably suggest a timeline of eight o’clock until ten. You don’t want to be there too long, and that will give you a couple of hours for clean-up and lunch prep.”

“Listen to you,” Shannon teased her. “You’ve got the whole food truck lingo down.”

“Honey, I’ve been eating and breathing this for two straight weeks,” Izzy replied with a chuckle. “Now let’s talk PR.”

“You mean the press release?”

“That, yes. But I’ve also got you set up for a few interviews—”

“Interviews?” Shannon’s heart started pounding double-time.

“Just a few of them. A local radio spot, and some face time with a couple of food bloggers out there with some interest in what you’re doing.”

“Do I have to travel to do that? When will I have the time with all of the—”

“You’ll do them via phone and Skype, honey. And we’ll get them out of the way before you even launch your endeavor.” Izzy touched her arm and gazed seriously into her eyes. “This is what I do, Shannon. You don’t have a thing to worry about, okay?”

Shannon inhaled sharply and nodded. “Okay.”

“Now let’s go over the release and make sure we’ve covered all the points. If we can generate a buzz and get some local sponsorship for the breakfast program—”

“Oh! About that,” she cut in. “Remember how you said we should give the program a catchy name?”

Izzy nodded. “What are you thinking?”

“How about Urban Manna?”

She tried it on for size. “Urban Manna. Urban Manna …” A smile rose over the horizon of her face. “I like it. Let me just revise this a little …” Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she made changes to the press release, muttering as she did. “Dine-1-1, offering meals to … adding a non-profit breakfast program for needy Austin residents … Urban Manna will bring much-needed relief to …”

Izzy interrupted herself, ripped a page from the notepad next to her computer, and handed it to Shannon. “Here’s the names and contact info for the two shelters. Why don’t you call them and arrange the schedule we discussed.”

Before Shannon could even reply, Izzy had released the torn page into her hand and returned her laser focus to the press release on the screen. She read—or muttered—it back to herself, and Shannon only caught bits and pieces of it as she retrieved her cell.

“… homeless and battered women shelters … hot meals … giving back to the facility that provided care … languished in a ten-year coma …”

Oh dear, Shannon thought as she took her phone into the next room. Nobody spins a story like Izzy. She’s a born publicist.

She plopped into a chair and stretched her aching legs. The strain reminded her to make time for a PT appointment with Carrie. Mobility sat up there at the top of her list of priorities these days. She couldn’t accomplish everything she had planned if her broken-down body gave out on her. Calling to mind some of the strengthening stretches Carrie had taught her, she carefully lifted her leg and flexed the muscle as she dialed the first number on the list Izzy had given her.

“Yes!” she exclaimed as the party answered from the other end of the line. “Marlene Vaughn? This is Shannon Ridgeway from Dine-1-1 …”

Shannon Ridgeway from Dine-1-1.

It gave her a little rush to say it out loud.

“I believe you’ve been in contact with my PR representative, Izzy Rojas?”