I ignored Maggie and turned to Jesse. “I got apackage.” It was such a dumb thing to say, but the curious look on his faceprompted me to explain.
Only now he didn’t know how to respond. “Cool,” hesaid.
I wanted to bang my head on the counter. Or grab thepackage, race out the front door and chuck it off the mountain.
It was in moments like these that I questioned Jesse’ssanity. Had he really just asked me out? The most awkward human on the planet?
“Who’s it from?” Maggie pressed.
Stealing courage from some deep, buried place insideme, I glanced at the label. There wasn’t a name attached to it, just an addressfrom somewhere in Ohio—a state that meant absolutely nothing to me.
No offense, Ohio.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Maggie pressed,clearly obsessed with the whole ordeal.
Reaching for scissors from the pen canister, I slicedthe seam with shaky fingers. This was one of the most surreal moments of mylife. Who knew what was in this box?
Secrets from my past?
A bomb?
A severed head?
Okay, the severed head probability was a bit of astretch. But a mysterious package showing up out of the blue just screamedtrouble.
“Good Lord,darlin’, thesuspense is killing me,” Maggie groaned.
I glanced at Jesse nervously, before committing to myfuture. Normal people weren’t afraid of mysterious packages. Well-adjusted,nightmare-free people just opened them, excited to find out what was inside.
Reminding myself that I was a normal person or atleast supposed to be pretending to be one, I peeled back the flaps and braved alook.
Was I relieved? It wasn’t a head.
It was worse.
Dread curdled with terror followed by a painful shotof panic.
The box was nearly empty save for a single flower thathad been beaten and battered in transportation. Petals and pollen littered thebox, staining it their crimson color. I felt my own color leech from my face,my hands trembling as I picked up the note taped to the bottom.
“What is it?” Maggie asked, her voice laced withconcern.
I cleared my throat and licked dry lips. “A Waterlily Dahlia.It’s my favorite flower.”
Maggie moved to stand next to me, sensing danger.“Who’s it from?”
Turning the note over, I had to blink a couple timesbefore the words written there made sense. I kept the note close so shecouldn’t see the quickly scrawled words.
Foundthis forYou
“It doesn’t say.” I shoved the note into my pocket andtried to remember what the handwriting on the first flyer looked like. Was itthe same?
Similar?
Jesse leaned forward and tipped the box toward himwith his long pointer finger. The flower fell with the movement, thuddingagainst the box. “Hmm. That was a goofy way to send it.”
“They should have had it delivered,” Maggie agreed.“It’s ruined after shipping.”
