“I don’t envy them. Or you. Physical battering? Emotional?” She holds out her hands, weighing the two options and not finding an obvious loser. Or winner.
“Gee, thanks, what would I do without your analytical breakdown of the situation,” I say wryly. Luckily, Talia’s a great friend and doesn’t hold my bitchiness against me ... too much. She simply tilts her head, giving me that trademark Mom stare that asks,You done yet?
And yes, I am. I need to pull my head out of my ass and start focusing on the positive here, like ... I’ve sold enough to make the minimum payment on my credit card bill. I had a stellar orgasm that wasn’t machine made. I have a new favorite ice cream shop and a potential shopping ground of new pawnshops. I won’t have to sit across from Griffin at any more family dinners or pregame meals if he knows what’s good for him.
See? It’s practically glittering with good news in Penny Land.
Fortifying myself with a deep breath, I list out, “Mission one, take pictures of this bland, boring eternity band of a ring and post them.” I curl my lip toward the gorgeous ring I’ve made, wishing I’d had the time to create the cluster effect I’d first imagined. But time isn’t on my side, so I went with a surefire seller. Pink eternity band? It’s perfect as a push present for a girl mom, or as an anniversary band. The optionsare endless and buyers nearly countless, which is good for my money situation but bad for my creative muse. Sacrifices must be made, though, and I promised my muse that she’ll get to play after I pay off this bill. “Two, make a run to the post office before the noon pickup. Three, get ready for tonight’s game. Aaaand break.” I clap my hands like we’ve completed our daily huddle and force another smile. This one is at least real, because I like a plan. It makes me feel like I’ve got goals and can achieve them step-by-step.
“Good luck,” Talia says warily, taking a sip and settling a little deeper into her nest. Guess I know what she’s doing today.
I kinda wish I could plop onto the couch beside her and binge-watchDrag Race, but I don’t have the luxury of time the way she does because she didn’t screw up by losing the biggest investment she’s ever made and then follow it up by screwing her brother’s best friend.
That’d be me. Way to go, Penny!
I slip the two small boxes I’m shipping out into a ridiculously oversize tote bag, then slide the straps onto my shoulder. Gripping the bag tightly, I scan the parking lot before getting out of my car. Am I overly paranoid my precious cargo might be stolen right out of my hands? Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’ve gone full tinfoil hat. In fact, I think it’s a perfectly logical response after it quite literally happened.
I keep my head on a swivel walking across the lot, looking for thieves in red hoodies, along with anyone else suspicious. Thankfully, I only see other people like me, trying to make it before the noon pickup.
Inside, I check my PO box first. I don’t get a lot of snail mail since most of my business is conducted online, but there seems to always be a stack of junk mail and catalogs I never subscribed to, so I like to keep it cleared out. I shove all the randomness into my bag, keeping my shipping boxes where I can obsessively confirm they’re still there every two-point-three seconds. And yes, I’m counting.
One-and-a, two-and-a, check. One-and-a, two-and-a, check.
Getting in line to ship my packages, I start going through the envelopes while keeping my bag clutched to my front. I’ve got a nifty sorting system happening, with the stuff to be opened to the back of the boxes and the stuff already opened to the front.
Slowly, I one-step my way closer to the front of the line.
Until, nose down in my bag, I start to hear grumbles of annoyance in front of me. “Back of the line, buddy!”
I glance up to see what the fuss is about and quickly jerk my face back down to my bag.
It can’t be. There’s no way they’re here.
It’s the two guys Griffin said were following me. What are the chances they’re at the post office on a Saturday at noon? Since they have no envelopes or boxes in their hands, slim to none.
“One second. I have a question,” one of the guys barks at the woman I’m guessing told him to wait in line like everyone else is doing.
“And I need to mail this before my morning MiraLAX kicks in. Back of the line,” she says, not conceding an inch.
My heart starts racing in my chest as fear trickles through my veins. I really thought Griffin was overreacting and it truly was a coincidence that those guys had been at Yesteryear and then near Johnny K’s. It’s a big city, but also people tend to stick to the relatively small portion that’s closest to their homes. Or at least I do, and I figure that’s the same for most people. Plus, we didn’t see them go into Johnny K’s. They might’ve been shopping at any number of stores on that block, or live in one of the apartments above the stores, or been out for a stroll to take advantage of the good weather. Any number of possibilities that have nothing to do with Griffin’s bad feeling about them.
But a third appearance? Is that beyond the scope of coincidental? It feels like it might be.
Keeping my face down, I peek through my hair, and see that one guy is talking to Ms. MiraLAX. The other guy is talking to the postoffice clerk. “I need to find out the home address of someone who has a PO box here. How do I do that?”
“You don’t,” the clerk answers, her voice monotone with a complete lack of concern about his question or the fact that he cut in line, which Ms. MiraLAX is still complaining about. “Next!”
“It’s your turn,” Ms. MiraLAX tells the man in front of her, who had been impatiently toe tapping while waiting for his chance at the counter but is now standing back like he’s not in such a hurry after all. I can understand why. The two guys are significantly larger and more intimidating up close and personal, especially now that I think they might actually be following me.
But me? Why me? I’m nobody. Yeah, the ring is a one-of-a-kind piece, but I already told them it’s unavailable. That should be that.
“Look it up. It’s box 4862,” the guy tells the clerk, taking away any residual doubt I may have still had. Because PO box 4862 belongs to PLDesigns, a.k.a. me, and is what’s listed on my website.
I have to get out of here.
I duck my head again, nearly shoving it into my bag, as I turn around. “Excuse me,” I whisper to the lady behind me as I get out of line. I force my feet to walk despite a very strong urge to sprint. It feels like one of those National Geographic documentary moments ...
Though the faster female lions are known as the primary hunters, males are better suited for ambushing larger prey, and these hungry lions have stalked this guileless prey for days across prairie flatlands and through tough terrain, their patience growing weary with every passing day. Until now, finally ... they’re ready to pounce. Sensing an invisible danger, the prey reacts instinctually, bolting away. The lions give chase, wearing the prey out as they direct it toward a lone tree. The prey foolishly takes the bait, seeing the tree as a safe reprieve and climbing as high as possible to find cover. Not realizing that was the lion’s plan all along, the prey is now trapped. There’s no way out. The lions simply have to wait out the doomed prey.
