Every Monday morning, Henry Grace showed up right on time, his presence as reliable as the sunrise. He stood apart from the typical customers who rushed in, frantically searching for their coins or tickets with quick, anxious gestures.
Henry walked with a calm grace, his tall, slender figure dressed in a neatly buttoned navy coat. His salt-and-pepper hair, carefully styled back, glimmered under the lobby lights as he walked toward the counter. He kept making the same request over and over.
“I’d like to get two tickets for the morning show, please.”
Still, even with the two tickets in hand, he always went by himself.
As I passed him the tickets, our hands briefly touched, his fingers cold from the winter air. I gave a polite smile, even though my mind was racing with questions that had no answers.
What’s the reason for two tickets? Who are they intended for?
“Another two tickets?” Mia playfully teased from behind me, her grin wide as she helped another customer. “Perhaps he’s going out on a double date.” “It’s got that classic vibe, you know?”
“Maybe it’s for his imaginary friend,” Jake laughed, another coworker, shaking his head in amusement. “He could be married to someone.”
I stayed out of their laughter. There was something about Henry that made their jokes seem out of place.
I thought about asking him straight out, even practiced what I might say, but whenever the time came, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt like an invasion of privacy, and I knew it wasn’t my place to dig deeper.
The following Monday had a different vibe. On my day off, I relaxed in bed, observing the frost slowly making its way across the windowpane, when an idea began to form.
What would happen if I decided to follow him? It wasn’t about spying; it was simply curiosity. With Christmas approaching, the air was thick with a sense of wonder and the thrill of discovery.
The following morning, the air felt fresh and energizing, and the holiday lights lining the street appeared to sparkle with an added glow.
As I walked into the dimly lit theater, I spotted Henry already seated, his silhouette highlighted by the gentle light from the screen. He seemed deep in thought, standing tall and purposeful as always. As our eyes locked, a subtle, understanding smile appeared on his lips.
“You’re not working today,” he said gently.
I sat down next to him. I figured you could use some company. <text”I’ve noticed you around quite a bit.”
He let out a soft chuckle, but there was a trace of sadness in his tone. “This isn’t just about the films.”
“So, what is it?” I asked, unable to hide the curiosity that drove my question.
He started to talk.
“Years ago,” he began, his eyes locked on the empty screen, “there was a woman who worked here. Clara was her name.
I paid close attention, feeling the weight of his feelings.
“She had a way of drawing you in,” he said, a gentle smile lighting up his face. It’s not about being flashy or seeking the spotlight; it’s about creating a subtle yet unforgettable impact. It’s like a lovely tune that lingers in your mind. Clara was part of this place, and it was right here that our journey started.
As he spoke, I could picture the lively cinema of days gone by, the flickering projector throwing playful shadows on Clara’s face, and their soft conversations between the films.
“One day, I asked her to come along for a morning movie on her day off,” Henry remembered. “She agreed.”
He stopped for a moment, a flicker of something dark passing over his face. “But she never arrived.”
“What’s going on?” I leaned in closer and whispered.
“I found out later that she had been let go,” he said, his voice thick with sadness. “When I asked the manager for her contact details, he declined and told me to keep my distance.” I just couldn’t understand why. She was just… gone.
Henry let out a deep sigh, glancing over at the vacant seat next to him. I made an effort to push ahead. I got married and settled into a peaceful life. After my wife passed away, I found myself coming back here, just hoping… hoping to catch a glimpse of her once more.
A sharp ache hit me in the chest. “She was the one you loved most.”
She was. And she remains so.
“What do you recall about her?” I asked, my voice just a soft murmur.
“Just her name,” Henry admitted. Clara.
“I’m here to help you track her down.”
At that moment, I felt the full weight of my promise pressing down on me. Clara used to work at Lumière Cinema, but the one who let her go was my dad, Mark Donovan. A man who had always kept his distance, hardly ever recognizing that I was even there.
Getting ready to face my father felt like I was about to enter a fight that I wasn’t sure I could come out of victorious. I picked out a classic blazer, smoothed my hair back into a neat ponytail, and made sure to check every little detail of how I looked.
Mark Donovan held a deep appreciation for order and professionalism—qualities he not only embodied himself but also anticipated from those around him.
Henry lingered at the entrance, holding his hat, a mix of nervousness and calm radiating from him. “Do you really think he’ll talk to us?”
“I really have no idea,” I confessed, wrapping my coat more snugly around myself. “We really need to give it a shot.”
On our way to the cinema’s office, I realized I was opening up more than I had planned, maybe as a way to calm my nerves.
“My mother fought against Alzheimer’s,” I started, my grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. It all began when she was expecting me. Her memory was a bit all over the place. There were days when she knew me completely. On some days, she looked at me like I was just a stranger.
Henry paid close attention. “That must have been really tough.”
“It was,” I went on. “Especially since my dad, Mark, chose to put her in a care facility.” I get where he’s coming from, but as time went on, he started to pull away more. After my grandmother’s passing, I found myself shouldering all the responsibilities. He supported us financially, but he was… not really there. Forever remote.
Henry stayed quiet, his presence providing a soothing sense of stability. As we arrived at the cinema, I found myself pausing for a moment, unsure whether to knock on Mark’s office door.
Mark was seated at his desk, with papers carefully arranged before him. His keen, assessing gaze locked onto mine for a moment before he gave a quick nod to Henry.
“What’s this about?” he asked sharply.
Hey, Dad. “This is my friend, Henry,” I said, my voice shaky as the tension in the air grew thicker.
“Go on,” Mark urged, his face remaining neutral.
I have a question about someone who used to work here a while back. There was a woman named Clara.
Mark paused for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “I prefer not to talk about former employees.”
“I beg you,” I said earnestly. Henry has been on the hunt for her for decades. We deserve to know the truth.
Mark looked over at Henry, his eyes narrowing a bit. I don’t owe him a thing. Or you, for that matter.
Henry discovered his voice, brimming with feeling. I loved her. She was my whole world.
Mark clenched his jaw. “Clara wasn’t her name.”
“What?” I blinked, feeling a bit lost.
“She was known as Clara, but her true name was Margaret,” Mark confessed, his voice slicing through the silence in the room. Your mom. She took on that name because she was involved with him,” he pointed at Henry, “and thought I wouldn’t find out the truth.
The atmosphere in the room grew thick with silence.
Henry’s face went pale. “Margaret?”
“She was pregnant when I found out about the affair,” Mark said, his voice heavy with resentment. “It turns out, it was with you.” He looked at me, and for a moment, his typical coldness seemed to waver, revealing something deeper—maybe regret. “I believed that by distancing her from him, she would rely more on me.” However, it didn’t happen. And when you came into this world…
Mark let out a long breath. “I came to understand that I wasn’t your father.”
I couldn’t believe it; my thoughts were spinning, and disbelief crashed over me like a never-ending tide. “So you knew about this all along?”
“I took care of her,” Mark said, looking away from me. “This is for you.” But I just couldn’t stick around.
Henry’s voice broke through the stillness. “Is Margaret Clara?”
“To me, she was Margaret,” Mark said with conviction. “It seems like she really wanted to be a different person when she was with you.”
Henry collapsed into a chair, his hands shaking uncontrollably. She never mentioned it to me. <text”I… I really didn’t know.”
I looked back and forth between them, my heart racing. It turns out Mark wasn’t my father after all.
“I think,” I started carefully, “we should go see her.” Together. I locked eyes with Henry for a moment before shifting my focus to Mark, maintaining a steady gaze. “Christmas is a moment for forgiveness, and if there’s a perfect opportunity to make amends, it’s definitely now.”
We made our way to the care facility without saying a word. Henry was sitting next to me, his hands firmly clasped in his lap. Mark sat in the back seat, his body tense, staring intently at the world outside the window.
For a brief moment, I thought Mark might laugh or completely brush off the idea. To my surprise, he paused, and I noticed his stern demeanor soften just a bit. He stood in silence, grabbed his overcoat, and gave a nod.
“Alright, let’s get this started,” he said with a rough edge, pulling his arms into the coat.
When I arrived, the holiday wreath hanging at the entrance felt strangely out of place against the otherwise serious look of the building.
My mother sat in her familiar place by the lounge window, her delicate figure wrapped in a warm cardigan. She gazed into the distance, her expression vacant, as though lost in a realm far away from the here and now. Her hands rested still in her lap as we drew near.
Henry moved ahead, each step measured and unhurried. He walked up to her, feeling both hopeful and a bit anxious.
“Clara,” he murmured softly.
The change happened right away. She turned her head to him, her eyes sharpening with a sudden spark of recognition. A long-lost spark seemed to have been rekindled inside her. She gradually stood up.
