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same thing … granted a much milder form.”
    “I’ve just got to face it, I may never meet anyone.”
    “Rubbish,” said Gwendolyn. “These things are fated. You will meet your One True Love, you will have a daughter and
you will
take over this business.”
    Rowie grabbed a pricing gun and started attacking some wind chimes. “And I obviously have no choice in the matter.”
    “Unfortunately for you, no.” Gwendolyn shrugged. Who was she to buck tradition? Each new generation was raised knowing they would carry on the family traditions, as well as the name. It had been a fight to even continue the lineage. Historically speaking, the Shakespeare women weren’t breeders. There were no surviving boys since the 1600’s, and each generation bore only one or two girls. The Burning Times wreaked havoc on the line, as did a wild pig at a family reunion.
    The women were part of a matriarchal line descending from William Shakespeare’s great aunt, Sylvie. (In fact, Sylvie was better known in those days than her literary nephew. With her bright red hair and extensive herbal knowledge, she was always in demand to deliver babies and heal the sick.) Sylvie bore one child, as did her daughter, Olivia. In the 1700’s there was a surge in births, but by 1975, only Lilia and Bettina, a distant relative in England, were left to provide for the name. Lilia had Rowie and around the same time, cousin Calypso was born in London.
    Rowie knew the fate of the Shakespeare line was in her hands, but things didn’t look too hopeful. She was roaring towards 30 (okay, she was 28) with no romantic prospects on the horizon.
    Rowie felt overwhelmed. “Why me?”
    Gwendolyn spoke slowly, as though to a child. “Well who else will take over? Your mother couldn’t organize a bachelor party in a brewery. Tell me, Rowena, who else is there? It’s important we sort this out now, because I may be dead tomorrow.”
    “You’re not going to die,” said Rowie.
    “We’re all going to die,” Lilia offered.
    Rowie locked eyes with her grandmother, begging her to understand. “I need to find my own path.”
    “Your path was laid out at birth, Rowie. Accept it.”
    “How will I ever meet a guy when I’m stuck working here. All I meet are desperados and ageing hippies.”
    Gwendolyn and Lilia both gasped, shocked at Rowie’s rudeness and blatant disrespect for their beloved customers.
    “Keep your voice down, young lady. I’ll have you know, our male customers are a cut above the rest simply because they walked through that door. It takes courage to change.” Gwendolyn fanned herself with the Post-its. “I can’t talk about this right now. I feel a turn coming on.”
    Rowie picked up the windchimes and stalked to the front of the shop. Most women her age had proper careers, were having families, or both. She was always with her mother and grandmother, fighting over cuckoo clocks and hanging windchimes.
    Yes, it took courage to change, and Rowie desperately wanted a change. But sometimes she wondered if she’d ever have the courage?

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    Drew Henderson couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. It hurt when the Marlins whipped the Yankees in ‘03. He’d shed a tear or two at Yankee Stadium that night. But this? This pain was in a whole new ballpark. Could he help it if he was crying?
    He’d been lying on a hospital gurney for three hours. Around him, total chaos reigned. Hurricane Hilda was roaring through the area and the emergency room at Plankaville Medical was bursting at the seams.
    Drew was more scientific than religious. He didn’t believe in God, but was open to admitting he was wrong. All he needed was some proof of existence. Yet suddenly, he found himself praying for help.
    “Please … Sir, I know there’s a lot of people here who are worse off than me but, if you do exist, could you arrange for some pain medication or something … The shot they gave me didn’t work. If you have time, that is …”