I would have laughed, but I knew from experience that doing that just now hurt, so I refrained.
“Why didn’t you buy it?”
“Well,” she said slowly, half of her mouth lifting in a grin, “I did, but not for me. I bought it for Dariah.”
Dariah, her sister, had been with her partner, Giselle, for five years. I hadn’t met her because she was a scientist who worked crazy hours and only just managed to find a couple to sleep every night. I had no idea how Giselle coped with her working like that. Then again, she was a lawyer, so maybe she worked similar hours?
“Do you think she’ll…” I stopped, wondering what the etiquette was for a situation like this. Was it rude to ask if she’d use it? If she’d be grateful? If she’d use it to beat the crap out of Jacinda?
“She’ll probably find it funny,” she shrugged, saving me from asking anything. “She sent me one at Delicious Divas last week, so it was only fair I pay it forward.”
I wasn’t sure Jacinda understood the concept of paying it forward. But still. “You sent it to her at her work?”
“Yup.”
“To her scientist’s desk? The one she looks at science things on?”
“No.” Jacinda’s tone made it sound like I was crazy for asking that, but I wasn’t sure that was true. “Her secretary opens everything, so he’s the one who’ll have it on his desk until she picks it up.”
I… I just didn’t know what to say to that.
Turning back to the television, I squeaked—croaked like a frog—when I saw the time. I had to go and pick up Shanti and Nemi from preschool, and we were out of milk and some other things. I also needed to put gas in the car, or we wouldn’t make it home.
“Shit, I need to go. Are you still good to make soup for dinner?”
No one would think it to look at her, but Jacinda was a fantastic cook. She could make almost anything, but my favorite was her chicken and rice soup. When she’d arrived earlier, she’d had the fixings for it with her, knowing Shanti loved it even more than I did, but I didn’t want to assume in case she wasn’t up to it.
“Of course. It’ll be done by the time you get back.”
Walking stiffly over to where my purse and shoes were, I got ready and put my sunglasses on. It might have looked weird, but I’d learned my lesson earlier and knew now that I’d either sneeze when I got into the sun—which would make my head hurt—or it’d make me feel like I was dying. Either way, the extra pain wasn’t what I needed, so I was putting my sunglasses on before I left.
Waving over my shoulder, I opened the door and almost died when the sun hit me anyway. I swear this head cold was me changing into a vampire. Not only did my head hurt, but the heat of the sun on my body felt like I was on fire.
Which was why I threw my hands up in the air to shield my face and ran to my car, not giving a shit that my neighbors would see me. If I was changing, the vampire virus would hit them too soon enough. Maybe they’d learn from my mistakes?
“Is there anything else I can get you?” the lady behind the till at the gas station asked, eying me like I was a mutant.
Granted, I was leaning on the counter with my head in my hands, trying to stop it from exploding as I paid for the gas and groceries I’d bought, but she could at least have tried to hide her ‘judginess.’
I’d just started shaking my head when I remembered something crucial—toilet paper.
Sighing, I held a finger up and walked over to the far, far corner—most likely put there in case someone came in with a contagious stomach problem, or just so they could laugh at them as they ran to the till point with their ass cheeks clenched together—and picked up the kind Shanti preferred.
That’s when I heard the deep voice of the person I hadn’t noticed had entered the store.
“Put the money from the till in the bag.”
I was hidden from sight by the racks of stuff on sale, but I managed to tiptoe to the far end of it to look around it. Standing with a shotgun pointed at the woman who’d been judging me only seconds before was a large man dressed in dirty jeans and a flannel shirt.
I couldn’t hear what the girl said, but her hands stayed up at the sides of her head instead of opening the till to get the money out like he’d asked her to do as he turned and looked out at the forecourt.
Turning back and not saying a word, he pointed the shotgun up at the ceiling behind him—the part that was over my head—and let off a shot.