I am jolted out of my thoughts by the sounds of someone knocking on the front door. Rapping echoes from down the hall,and I hold my breath while I wait for one of my parents or my brother to grab the door. I’m not expecting company, but small towns can be odd with neighbors stopping over uninvited. Usually it’s Norma, the lady across the street, wanting to drop off some baked goods or tell us about which neighbor we need to pray for this week.
The rapping grows urgent and louder.
I tip my head to hear better, but I don’t catch any footsteps going down the hall.
Where is everyone? If they think I’m going to answer that, they are out of their minds. I’m grieving.
Whoever it is, they aren’t giving up, and their knocking is almost becoming frantic. What if it’s an emergency or something? I want to scream for them to go away, but I’m worried that will feed the Mapleton gossip mill. If I’m unneighborly, my mama will surely hear about it, and she won’t tolerate disrespect. “Coming!” I huff while wiping my tears with the back of my flannel sleeve.
I use my shoulder to give my bedroom door more than a gentle shove to open it, as this old house settles in a not-as-functional way, especially in the cooler months. Then I rush down the hall, sliding on the wood floors.
“Coming!” I hiss out right as I grab the doorknob and whip the squeaky front door wide open.
Not Norma.
Two middle-aged men stand on my porch, dressed in athletic warmup pants and Granite Ice sweatshirts—whatever that is. If it’s a new church, I’m already sure I don’t want anything to do with it. “Hi.” I toss a palm out to wave. “No, thanks. I’m a Christian and have a church already.”
“May we please have one moment of your time?” The balder of the two gentlemen inserts his heavy black boot on the threshold, tucking it tightly against the door. That’s aggressive, and mygaze squirts to the side as I wonder if I need to alert the authorities. I never bring security to Mapleton, but maybe I need to start.
“Depends.” I tip my head, hoping this doesn’t take all day. “What are you selling?”
“Not a thing,” the other man says—this one has lots of hair and teal eyes—and he holds his hands up as if he’s under arrest. “We are here to help you get revenge.”
“Revenge?” My brows buckle down. “For what?”
“You’re Sophie Summers, right?” Baldy cuts in.
“Depends. How did you know I was here?” Suddenly I really want to slam the door. It hadn’t dawned on me before I whipped it open in welcome that it could be anyone but Norma. Note to self: check the peep hole before you open the door. Looks like small towns aren’t even safe anymore.
“We saw your private plane fly in last night over our arena,” Baldy says, as if that is supposed to be a comfort. “Our arena is south of town along Airport Avenue. Your situation is all over the news, and we’re awfully sorry, but here’s the deal. Your scum fiancé cheated on you, and—”
“Rocco wasn’t my fiancé.” I practically gasp. At least I hadn’t been sold that fake fantasy. I can’t imagine how hard this would be if I had been planning a wedding. My throat dries, and I cover my mouth with my palm, so grateful I got away from Rocco before this heartbreak could be any worse.
“Sure,” he quips and keeps going. “But we saw you get horribly embarrassed in front of the whole world, and we can help you get revenge.”
“The whole w-world,” I stutter. This guy is doing nothing to make me feel better about my situation. “I’m not trying to get revenge.” Feeling uncomfortable with where this is going, I try to push the door closed, but the door bounces right off the dude’s boot. Apparently, he planned ahead for sounding insane.
Are these two hitmen?
Is this how these things go down?
I scan the sky. Partially sunny but hinting of snow later in the day.
Not a good day for murder-for-hire.
Nor would any day be!
I swipe my brow, pulling my mind back to focus.
What am I thinking about here?
These guys are insane and need to leave before they drag me into their insanity, because I’m obviously not thinking clearly. “I’m sorry but I’m not interested in anyrevenge.”I raise my index finger, tracing backwards as if to physically point to an earlier spot on the timeline.“Remember earlier, I led with I’m a Christian.”
“Just give us two more minutes, and then we’ll leave you alone.”
“We will?” Blue Eyes locks the other guy in an eye trap. “Two minutes isn’t very much, is it?”
“It’s an expression.” Baldy dismissively waves his hand. “I’m the owner of Granite Ice, a brand-new and up-and-coming AHL team based right here in Mapleton, Vermont. Our issue is that we need more fans. Ticket sales haven’t been the best, and we have this one player who’s a pain in the—”
