Chapter one
FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH
Justonce,I’dliketo go an entire day without having to watch my back. To breathe normally, unclench my jaw, and not have to peek around every corner for threats.
Today will not be that day, though, and if I’m being honest with myself, tomorrow probably won’t be any good either. Still, my shoulders drop at least three inches as I lock the door behind the sweet family that were my last customers of the day at the Book & Barrel.I let out a sigh of relief that they made it out just in time to avoid the downpour.
The sunset isn’t due for another hour, but the clouds that have hovered above the parking lot all day just recently condensed into a dark, angry gray, as if they were biding their time for just the right moment, or the right person, to unleash upon. What should be an idyllic scene, as the kids skip down the sidewalk swinging their bags of new books around their tiny wrists, quickly turns ominous in the rapidly declining sunlight.
Their parents trail behind, weighed down by the three cases of wine I just sold them, without any sense of urgency. They, too, are completely oblivious to the dark omen right above their heads that has been keeping an eye on me all day. Even as a few heavy raindrops splatter on the ground around them in warning and stain the wood boxes containing their spoils, they do not rush for cover. Instead, they do the opposite and tilt their smiles up towards the sky.
To them, it’s just a little rain. I’d be willing to bet they have no clue today is a Friday the thirteenth, either; why would they? They are just a normal family, having a normal day, in their normal life. If I weren’t so annoyed at their leisurely pace to get to their car, I might envy them.
With the sun hidden and the rain starting to fall, the temperature inside the bookstore drops five degrees, and I pull my cardigan tighter around my body to fight the chill that sweeps across the back of my neck. I am about to reach for the cord that turns off the neon Open sign when the youngest child, a girl, challenges her brother to a race.
Good, I think to myself. Maybe that will encourage the rest of the family to hurry up too.
My hand stops midair as the couple does not speed up, though, and instead, does the exact opposite. They choose to pause on the sidewalk and lean in for a kiss that lingers far longer than it should for being in public, while their daughter barrels towards the busy street with her brother following closely behind.
With less than a second to react, I do the first thing that comes to mind to get their attention and bang my hand on the glass. Terrible idea, because instead of them looking toward their children, both parents turn back to look at me instead.
I point frantically towards the street from behind the glass, but by the time they register what I am saying, it’s too late. Their little girl is fast, despite being so small, and is on a directcollision course with the utility truck that just came around the corner.
From there, everything happens in slow motion.
The screech of tires, the bounce of the girl’s pigtails as she launches herself off the curb, and the swing of her bag of picture books she will never get a chance to read, all under the rapidly darkening sky that gives the scene an even more nightmarish quality.
Even though I’ll never make it in time, I push against the front door as if I can race out there and stop it, completely willing to sacrifice myself if the bad luck gods would accept me in the little girl’s place, but the door just rattles defiantly, holding me back from any attempt to try to fix this.
Right, because I locked the door as fast as I could the second the family stepped over the threshold.
This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have stuck around and watched them. Not when the bad luck I harbor all year long expands around me like a five-foot force field on this specific date, tainting anyone who comes too close.
Just as the scream in my chest reaches my mouth in anticipation of being a witness to the impact, her brother steps forward like a knight in shining armor and grabs the back of her overalls. He yanks her backwards, hard, and not a second too soon, saving her from making this yet another Friday the thirteenth in my life that is marked by tragedy. The little girl may have been spared this time, but her momentum is transferred to her bag of books, making them fly through the air. They land in the street, disappearing under the screeching tires of the utility truck as a reminder of what my curse is capable of.
The parents lunge forward to wrap both kids in a protective hug, allowing air to finally rush back into my lungs. I watch for only a moment to confirm that they are all safe and hustle to the back of the store.
“Monika!” I yell as I weave through the displays of books and wine glasses to get to the children’s section.
My boss, the owner of the Book & Barrel, snaps her head up from the till. “Drew? Is everything okay?”
Monika does not typically respond well to hysterics, but my adrenaline is pumping too hard for me to temper my words. “No. That little girl almost got run over by a truck because of me.”
Monika’s eyes widen, and she discards the stack of bills she was counting to get a better look out the front of the store. While she surveys the scene, I ride the wave of adrenaline and collect the three replacement books to drop into a new bag at record speed and add a sticker of a puppy on top for good measure before shoving it all into Monika’s chest. “Will you take these out to the little girl, please?”
Monika looks down at the bag. “Are you sure you don’t want to take them to her yourself?”
I shake my head furiously and drop it into her hands, then get moving again before she has a chance to fully form her look of pity.
Once safely behind the door that separates the retail space from the back storage room, I grab my purse from my locker and fish my phone out to set a timer. Ten minutes should be enough time for Monika to give the little girl her replacement books and for the scene to clear out. My lock screen displays multiple missed calls and voicemails, but I swipe past them to set the timer and then tuck my phone into my pocket.
I close my eyes and lean back against the wall to wait it out but struggle to control my breathing. My brain insists on replaying the moment I was certain the girl was about to become another casualty of my curse over and over again like a punishment. It was risky enough to let myself drive today, and driving while hyperventilating will increase that danger exponentially, so Iflatten my palms against the wall behind me and force myself to name how it feels out loud.
“Solid. Cool. Smooth.” I breathe between each word. It helps a little, but the distraction is short-lived as I am reminded that the glass I banged on a second ago could be described in the same way, and the vision of the girl’s parents turning back to look at me when I tried to alert them about their daughter replaces the vision I had just managed to block out.
I sink to the ground and put my head between my knees, deciding to skip all other coping strategies and just go for the one that almost always works. Within a few minutes, I am able to feel my face again, and I manage a few deep, shaky breaths.
That was close. Too close. And if her brother hadn’t intervened . . . I push away the thought before allowing it to take root.
