"Mrs. Miles," I say, looking up from the ledger where I am working on figuring out which of my customers are past the two-week mark, "I wasn't expecting you for another couple of days. How can I help you this morning?"

The petite woman laboriously makes her way up to the counter. Once there, she sets down a bag with a heavy sigh. "Morning, Mae. I think I managed to scrounge up enough money to buy back my item."

I take in the heavy shadows under her eyes weighing her down as much as the child growing within her. While I do not know all of her stories, I know enough of them to understand why each coin that I pull out of the bag is wrapped tightly in cloth. Much like the grandma and her heirloom vases, Mrs. Miles needs all the help that she can possibly get, but she refuses to take any kind of handout. Even my carefully-worded advice is often ignored.

"Well, it looks like everything is in order," I tell her, carefully brushing the money beneath the counter before she has to stand there longer.

"You're not going to count to make sure that the amount is there," she asks.

I shake my head slightly. "We have done enough business that I trust you aren't trying to trick me. I'll meet you in the back in a second if you want to get settled."

As she walks away, I notice that her shoes are starting to split, and I look down towards the pile of cloth-wrapped coins. I could tell from the moment that I emptied the bag that there weren't enough there to cover the amount that we had agreed on. However, for a woman that life has already taken so much from, I can't bear to be yet another cruel figure. Once she is out of sight, I carefully pick through the pile and slide one of the coins back into the bag.

Mrs. Miles is standing next to the shelves, staring wide-eyed at the bottles. I have found that no matter how many times my customers come back here, they are still amazed at the display. In fact, I often find myself awestruck by the different bottles, the colors that they emit and the shifting shapes that occasionally take on a recognizable form.

I start down the aisle where I know that her jar resides, determined to not make her wait any longer than she already has. I don't know if she has realized that I am in the room until her voice drifts towards me.

"How many do you have in here right now?"

Carefully moving a couple of the jars aside to reach hers, I think about her question. "Probably about four hundred in this section. The ones behind it have about three hundred, but those ones are all unclaimed ones that people haven't come back in the two-week deadline to retrieve them."

She stares at me with childlike hazel eyes as I emerge, the faint blue light of her jar highlighting the shadows of her face further. "That sounds like a lot of work for you, Mae. Yet the shop always seems so empty."

I gently steer her to the chair, setting the jar on the table next to her. "Most of the people who deal in this business either come in through the alley entrance, or they conduct their business at night. They find it easier to hide when the dark has settled over the city than when the sun is high in the sky."

"Should I start to come in the back then?"

Pulling on a pair of gloves, I shake my head again. "Mrs. Miles, as long as this is not the only business you have with me, I don't ever want to see you come in any door but the front door. The people who pass by here frequently know that you often help me do inventory in the front of the pawnshop, and there is no need for them to know that you are doing anything else here."

She takes the uncapped jar and touches it to her lips. I watch as the faint blue light disappears and starts its journey from her mouth up towards her brain. I always find this part of the operation fascinating, the fact that the memories always know which way to go to prevent themselves from getting directed to the stomach.

The woman's eyes roll back slightly, and I steady the chair she is sitting in as the blue glow illuminates her gaze for a brief second before fading. I can almost see the brain working to shuffle the memory back to where it belongs, its friends reaching out gentle hands to welcome it back.

"I forget how strange the sensation is," Mrs. Miles whispers a few minutes later. I have already removed the jar, setting it in the sink to wash before I use it again. "When it is gone, it is like touching your tongue to your gums where you are missing a tooth. You eventually forget that the tooth is missing, but once your tongue touches that gap, you are reminded all over again."

I nod slightly, reaching over to help her back up. As my hand brushes against the side of her stomach, I feel a slight flutter. A smile touches her lips, and she sighs. "You got all you needed to from that memory before I returned, right, Mae?"

"Of course, I did. And I must say that as usual, that memory was one of the best I have ever seen. In fact, it was so good that I made a little extra on it. I put the coin in your bag."

The lie tastes sticky sweet in my mouth, but I can't bring myself to tell her the truth. "Perhaps you can use it to get yourself a new pair of shoes before the cold sets in. I noticed that yours were beginning to get a little worn."

She rests her hands against the curve of her stomach with a sigh. "Maybe I will. However, I fear there are still things I need to get before the little one comes. Most, if not all, of the money will probably go towards that."

Tears are brimming in her eyes, the pain of a thousand memories clouding what should have been a time of joy and anticipation for her. I reach out with a steadying hand, biting my tongue against the urge to tell her that the memory I had just returned to her had been more revealing than all the others.

"I could use some help with inventory today if you can spare the time," I whisper, hoping that my words don't cause the water shining in her eyes to tumble down her cheeks. "I had someone bring in several boxes of things that I haven't had a chance to sort through yet. Honestly I was so ready to lock up last night when they came in that I gave them a flat rate for the whole rate without really looking to see if there was anything worthwhile."

That starts a laugh out of her, and she pats the hand on her shoulder gently. "Mae, sometimes you have too soft of a heart. All of your regulars are grateful for it, but you don't have to worry so much about us all the time. It's okay to have a life other than all of this."

"Oh, but if I had a life outside of my work, I would miss out on so many great stories. Come with me, and I will grab you a chair and the boxes."

After I make sure that she is comfortable, I return to my ledger. The lines of names along with what kind of memory they had basically sold me and the date of the transactions blur in front of my eyes. I am careful to hide the ledger when someone else comes into the shop that I don't trust because the last thing I need is to have my side business revealed. It would bring me down along with a couple dozen other people, people that couldn't afford to get in trouble with the law.

That troubling thought takes me back to Finn's strange visit, and the questions that he managed to raise, questions that I wish had stayed buried. On the rare occasions that I manage to tear myself away from the pawnshop, I have found myself wandering the familiar path to my former workplace. The concerning thing about the whole affair is that each time brings me a little closer to entering that door, the shiny lure that Finn set out in front of me doing its job.

A delighted gasp shakes me out of my thoughts, and I look down to find that the point of my pen has left a huge ink blot right in the middle of a neat line. Capping the writing utensil, I direct my attention towards Mrs. Miles, who is smiling so widely that I am afraid that she is going to break her jaw.

"What did you find?" I ask, sliding the ledger into the false bottom of one of my drawers before stepping out from behind the counter.

She turns slightly in the chair to show me that she is holding the delicate lace-trimmed baby dress that I had noticed last night when the desperate man had burst into my shop five minutes before closing. "This whole box is full of baby items. I think that whoever sold it to you was hoping to pull the wool over your eyes especially since they came in so late."

I sigh, propping a hand up on my hip. "Well, that customer definitely did. The last time I bought baby stuff off of someone, it took me months to get rid of it, and I ended up having to sell it at a loss. There's no point in me even giving up the space to store it.

"I'm going to have to toss the box, which is a shame. It's basically like tossing money in the trash. Too bad I can't think of anyone who could put this stuff to use."

Mrs. Miles' eyes are glued to the dress she is still holding, gently tracing the design of the lace. "Mae?"

I quickly raise a hand to cover the smile that is threatening to emerge and give me away. "Yes?"

"Would you be terribly offended if I took this box as my payment instead of money? It seems like such a waste for you to just dump it into the garbage, and all these things will be put to good use."

Pressing my lips together, I take a moment to answer as if I am thinking extremely hard about what she is proposing. "I'm fine with that if you are absolutely sure you would rather have the box. I hate to waste perfectly good items if I can avoid it."

She isn't fast enough to stifle the giggle, and I am not ready for her hug, a movement that crushes her belly against me hard enough that I can feel the baby moving in protest. "Thank you, Mae. The baby's going to be one of the best-dressed little girls on the block, and I might actually be able to get those shoes now instead of baby clothes."

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad that you are willing to take them off my hands."

She releases me, her eyes shining more than I had ever seen them shine in the whole time I had known her. Carefully, she bends over and picks up the box, cradling it like she had just been offered all the treasure in the world.

After another half-hour of Mrs. Miles thanking me and several rounds of messy tears, I am alone in the pawnshop again. I hope that the next time she steps into my shop, she will have a new pair of shoes to fight of the fast-approaching chills of winter.