Serenity

Dan Matt son pushed the speed limit on Highway 6, feeling wild and reckless. With both windows down, radio blaring, map stretched out on his lap, he sped past a sign reading Oakdale: 10 Miles and breathed a sigh. Not far now, he told himself. With his back muscles aching and his stomach (and gas tank) nearly empty, he was more than a litt le anxious to reach his destination.

Along the way, he had noted several large farms, their rickety fences lining the roadside. Here and there, cows and horses huddled in groups, grazing on thinning,
grassy knolls. Restless and impatient, he ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, then reached down and turned up the volume on the radio. At the sounds of a familiar country tune, he began humming along with the radio until his cell phone started vibrating. He yanked it from his pocket, flipped open the cover, and spoke a hurried greeting.

“Danny, where are you?”

He should have known his sister would inquire after him before the day was done. “Hi, Sam. I’m not far from Oakdale.”

“Well, I miss you.” It was hard to ignore the pouty tone.

“Already? I just left this morning.” He forced a smile. Lately, it took a lot for one to come naturally.

“It doesn’t matter. Things are not going to be the same around here without you.”

“Things have not been the same for a long time, Samantha,” he corrected.

Had it really been more than a year since his life took a sharp, screeching turn? Even now, the past memories tangled with his present senses.

“That’s true, but did you have to move away? These things take time, Danny, and the constituency did give you six months to rest up and collect yourself,” she said.

Collect myself? Is she kidding? Six months had barely been enough time to shake off the numbness before reality set in. He swallowed down an angry retort.

“We’ve been over all this, Sam. It’s for the best.”

“Leaving your congregation was for the best?” she asked.

“Sam…”

“Folks were just starting to heal. I don’t think you gave it enough time.”

Sam was nothing if she wasn’t forthright about her feelings. Of everyone in the family, she’d been the most adamant about him sticking it out with his congregation.

Did she think this last-minute conversation might convince him to turn around? It was almost enough to make him chuckle.

“I did what I had to do. Hanging around wasn’t doing my parishioners any good.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

He heaved an enormous sigh. “I was their pastor, Sam, but I was the one who needed shepherding.”

“God uses imperfect people all the time.”

“Maybe so, but a church needs strong leadership. What kind of pastor stands in front of the pulpit Sunday after Sunday and offers nothing more than a few babbling words? Shoot, Sam, even I had trouble following my sermons.”

Samantha giggled. “I have to admit, they were going from bad to worse.”

“There you have it,” he murmured, mindlessly reading passing billboards.

“I was kidding.”

“No, you weren’t. Did Mom put you up to this phone call, by the way?”

“Nope. In fact, she told me to leave you alone.”

“Smart woman.”

A tiny pause silenced Sam for a moment. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for the accident?”

At her question, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Who said I was?”

“It’s pretty obvious, although why you would is a mystery to me. You weren’t even with them when it happened.”

“Precisely. That, my dear, should explain my guilt.”

“So, you’re saying if you’d been with them it wouldn’t have happened? That’s silly. And what about this? If you’d been driving, you might all be dead. That was a treacherous storm.”

“I gotta hang up, Sam. I’m getting closer to town.”

“Dan, answer me this,” she persisted.

“What?” He gritted his teeth against his growing perturbation.

“Besides blaming yourself, do you also blame God?”

He sighed. “I am so tired of talking about this.”

“Just answer me.”

“I don’t know.” Some things were just too hard to put into words.

“Shall I discount all your past sermons about trusting God even through the tough times? I still remember you preaching at John Farhat’s funeral. You looked straight into his wife’s eyes and said, ‘We would never see the stars, Ellen, if God didn’t sometimes take away the day.’”

A ball of guilt formed a tight knot in his chest. How many people had he hurt in his leave-taking? Worse, how many had he led astray? “Let it go, Samantha.”

“I suffered, too, you know. I lost a sister-in-law and a precious niece. And think about Mom and Dad….”

Her voice drifted off as Dan watched the road ahead. “Gotta go, Sam. I’ll call you soon.”

He clamped the cover of the receiver down hard and stuffed the thing back in his pocket, then quickly yanked it back out, opened it up, and hit the off button.

Oakdale City Limits

Dan breathed deeply when he passed the familiar landmark. He’d visited Oakdale only briefly before, but something about its tranquil setting brought a sense of peace and belonging. Its rambling old oaks, fields of wild flowers, ageless pines nestled on faraway hillsides, and timeless brick homes surrounded by flower beds held a kind of idyllic appeal.

He passed an ancient cemetery and instinctively slowed, its sight only adding to his pensive mood. Cemeteries did that to him.

Andrea… Her name shot out of nowhere.

He pushed the accelerator. “God,” he muttered, “what were You thinking? Taking my family away from me was a rotten trick.”

Dan flipped the turn signal at the entrance to Oakdale Arms Apartment Complex, his new stomping ground—at least until he got a grip on himself. He saw the large moving van sitting in the parking lot. It contained a minimum of furniture, enough clothes to get by, and only those memorabilia that wouldn’t cause undue pain. He’d already made payment to the moving company, and the driver had said he would be back for his truck in a couple of days. Moving companies didn’t often operate that way, but since the driver was an old friend, he’d made special arrangements.

Dan parked the car, got out, and stretched. Oakdale looked like a nice enough community—quiet and pleasant, with a friendly aura. Its appeal was almost tangible. Maybe this would be his answer to finding some much needed peace.

He would go into the apartment he’d leased, then make a call to his old high school friend who’d offered him the construction job. He took in the sights and smells around him, felt the warmth of the summer sun on his back, and believed in his heart of hearts that he would find answers right here in this lovely little bedroom community on the outskirts of Chicago.

A hair-raising scream roused Callie May from her sleep-drugged state at precisely six fifty-six on Sunday morning. “Nooo,” she groaned, burying her head beneath her pillow. Hadn’t she just closed her eyes five minutes ago? Just give me another hour, Em. But as the screams rose in decibels, she surrendered to the fact that her eight- month-old baby was hungry and needed attention.

On her way to the nursery, she adjusted the thermostat. Early sun reached its spindly fingers through the half-drawn blinds, sending shafts of light through the kitchen window. Looks like another sunny day, she mulled. Too bad she couldn’t say the same for her spirits.

Emily’s pouty sob gave way to instant smiles when Callie walked through the door. “You’re a stinker, you know that?” she chided while lowering the bar on Emily’s crib and lifting the baby into her arms.

“Waking Mommy when she had just fallen asleep.”

Emily smeared a wet, warm kiss across Callie’s face, making Callie chuckle in spite of herself. “You think you can win me over with your kisses?”

After a hasty diaper change, Callie hoisted the baby on her hip and headed for the kitchen. “Ba-ba-ba-ba,” Emily chanted along the way, oblivious to her mother’s less- than-chipper mood, her recent “B” sounds coming out in an attempt to say “bottle.” Of course, Callie’s father begged to differ. “She’s trying to say ‘Grandpa,’” he claimed.

Pulling open the fridge door, she spotted a bottle of formula and snatched it off the shelf, then pushed the door shut with her hip. “Cold or hot?” she asked, holding the bottle under the baby’s nose. Emily reached for the bottle and steered it to her mouth. “Guess that answers that,” she said, tipping Emily back in her arms while the baby suckled.

As she reached for a mug for tea, a sudden racket in the hall outside her door sparked her interest. Yesterday, someone had started moving into the vacant apartment across the hall, but she’d been too self-absorbed to pay much attention. Now, however, she found herself padding across the room for a peek through her peephole.

At first, she saw nothing through the tiny hole in her door. But then, a tall, strongly built man emerged from the apartment, large crate in hand. He looked to be about her age—perhaps in his mid- to late-twenties. He paused just briefly, as if pondering something, giving her a chance to study his handsome, sober face with its clear-cut lines, generous mouth, and thick crop of black hair. An unexpected shiver scampered up her spine.

Even through the tiny opening, she sensed his angry mood; she saw it in his crinkled brow and clenched jaw.

He looks mad enough to spit poison. Who is he?

A squirming Emily forced her away from the door. She told herself that the man was of no concern to her, and not to mind his dark and dangerous appearance, never mind that her marriage to an abusive man had ended mere days ago and she was feeling vulnerable.

She had enough things to worry about without adding a dodgy-looking character into the mix.

Dropping into a soft chair, she gathered her baby close and blew out a loud breath. While Emily finished off the last few ounces of formula, Callie leaned back and closed her eyes. If the stranger held down the noise, she might be able to catch a few more winks before getting ready for church.

“What? You’re pregnant?” he screamed. “You finagling witch!”

An angry fist shot out and hit her square in the jaw, knocking her to the floor. Pain seared her face like fiery talons while a gasp of air pushed past her lungs. She skidded across the hardwood floor and slid up against the wall.

“Don’t hate me, Thomas. I—I didn’t mean for it to happen. Please…”

“Shut up!” he ranted, reaching for a fistful of her hair and yanking her head around till it snapped. “You’re gonna get rid of that mistake in your belly, you hear me?”

The urge to retch consumed her. Mistake? Timidly, she raised her face to him.

“I—I can’t do that.”

“You can and you will,” he wailed, pulling her hair until it nearly ripped from her scalp. She screamed with pain. Sneering, he dropped his hand and tramped to the door.

He wrenched his coat from its hook and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “I’m going out! I can’t stand the sight of you!”

When he slammed the door behind him, she lowered herself, exhausted, into a rumpled heap on the floor.

Her own sobs and the beads of sweat that dotted her forehead were what roused her from the nightmare. It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamt it, and it was unlikely to be the last. Shaken but relieved, she swabbed her brow with the back of her hand. Thomas was in Florida. She was in Illinois. The marriage was over—as was the abuse. Now, if she could just rid herself of the terrifying memories.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Camy Tang is a FIRST Family Member! She also is a moderator for FIRST Wild Card Tours. She is a loud Asian chick who writes loud Asian chick-lit. She grew up in Hawaii, but now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious poi-dog. In a previous life she was a biologist researcher, but these days she is surgically attached to her computer, writing full-time. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service.

Sushi for One? (Sushi Series, Book One) was her first novel. Her second, Only Uni (Sushi Series, Book Two) was published in March of this year. The next book in the series, Single Sashimi (Sushi Series, Book Three) came out in September 2008!

Visit her at her website.

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (September 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310274001
ISBN-13: 978-0310274001

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Single Sashimi
By
Camy Tang

Chapter one

Venus Chau opened the door to her aunt’s house and almost fainted.

“What died?” She exhaled sharply, trying to get the foul air out of her body before it caused cancer or something.

Her cousin Jennifer Lim entered the foyer with the look of an oni goblin about to eat someone. “She’s stinking up my kitchen.”

“Who?” Venus hesitated on the threshold, breathing clean night air before she had to close the door.

“My mother, who else?”

The ire in Jenn’s voice made Venus busy herself with kicking off her heels amongst the other shoes in the tile foyer. Hoo-boy, she’d never seen quiet Jenn this irate before. Then again, since Aunty Yuki had given her daughter the rule of the kitchen when she’d started cooking in high school, Jenn rarely had to make way for another cook.

“What is she cooking? Beef intestines?”

Jenn flung her arms out. “Who knows? Something Trish is supposed to eat.”

“But we don’t have to eat it, right? Right?”

“I’ll never become pregnant if I have to eat stuff like that.” Jenn whirled and stomped toward the kitchen.

Venus turned right into the living room where her very pregnant cousin Trish lounged on the sofa next to her boyfriend, Spenser. “Hey, guys.” Her gaze paused on their twined hands. It continued to amaze her that Spenser would date a woman pregnant with another man’s child. Maybe Venus shouldn’t be so cynical about the men she met. Here was at least one good guy.

Trish’s arms shot into the air like a Raiders’ cheerleader, nearly clocking Spenser in the eye. “I’m officially on maternity leave!”

Venus paused to clap. “So how did you celebrate?”

“I babysat Matthew all day today.” She smiled dreamily at Spenser at the mention of his son.

Venus frowned and landed her hands on her hips. “In your condition?”

Trish waved a hand. “He’s not that bad. He stopped swallowing things weeks ago.”

“I’m finally not wasting money on all those emergency room visits,” Spenser said.

“Besides, I got a book about how to help toddlers expect a new baby.” Trish bounced lightly on the sofa cushion in her excitement.

“And?” It seemed kind of weird to Venus, since Trish and Spenser weren’t engaged or anything. Yet.

Trish chewed her lip. “I don’t know if he totally understands, but at least it’s a start.”

A sense of strangeness washed over Venus as she watched the two of them, the looks they exchanged that weren’t mushy or intimate, just . . . knowing. Like mind reading. It made her feel alienated from her cousin for the first time in her life, and she didn’t really like it.

She immediately damped down the feeling. How could she begrudge Trish such a wonderful relationship? Venus was so selfish. She disgusted herself.

She looked around the living room. “Where is — ”

“Venus!” The childish voice rang down the short hallway. She stepped back into the foyer to see Spenser’s son, Matthew, trotting down the carpet with hands reached out to her. He grabbed her at the knees, wrinkling her silk pants, but she didn’t mind. His shining face looking up at her — way up, since she was the tallest of the cousins — made her feel like she was the only reason he lived and breathed. “Psycho Bunny?” he pleaded.

She pretended to think about it. His hands shook her pants legs to make her decide faster.

“Okay.”

He darted into the living room and plopped in front of the television, grabbing at the game controllers. The kid had it down pat — in less than a minute, the music for the Psycho Bunny video game rolled into the room.

Venus sank to the floor next to him.

“Jenn is totally freaking out.” Trish’s eyes had popped to the size of siu mai dumplings.

“What brought all this on?” Venus picked up the other controller.

“Well, Aunty Yuki had a doctor’s appointment today — ”

“Is she doing okay?” She chose the Bunny Foo-Foo character for the game just starting.

“Clean bill of health. Cancer’s gone, as far as they can tell.”

“So that’s why she’s taken over Jenn’s domain?”

Trish rubbed her back and winced. “She took one look at me and decided I needed something to help the baby along.”

Jenn huffed into the living room. “She’s going to make me ruin the roast chicken!”

Venus ignored her screeching tone. “Sit down. You’re not going to make her hurry by hovering.” She and Matthew both jumped over the snake pit and landed in the hollow tree.

Jenn flung herself into an overstuffed chair and dumped her feet on the battered oak coffee table.

Venus turned to glance at the foyer. No Nikes. “Where’s Lex?”

“Late. Where else?” Jenn snapped.

“I thought Aiden was helping her be better about that.”

“He’s not a miracle worker.” Spenser massaged Trish’s back.

“I have to leave early.” Venus stretched her silk-clad feet out, wriggling her toes. Her new stilettos looked great but man, they hurt her arches.

“Then you might not eat at all.” Jenn crossed her arms over her chest.

Venus speared her with a glance like a stainless steel skewer. “Chill, okay Cujo?”

Jenn pouted and scrunched further down in the chair.

Venus ignored her and turned back to the game. Her inattention had let Matthew pick up the treasure chest. “I have to work on a project.”

“For work?”

“No, for me.” Only the Spiderweb, the achievement of her lifetime, a new tool that would propel her to the heights of video game development stardom. Which was why she’d kept it separate from her job-related things — she didn’t even use her company computer when she worked on it, only her personal laptop.

A new smell wafted into the room, this one rivaling the other in its stomach-roiling ability. Venus waved her hand in front of her face.

“Pffaugh! What is she cooking?”

Trish’s face had turned the color of green tea. “You’re lucky you don’t have to eat it. Whatever it is, it ain’t gonna stay down for long.”

“Just say you still have morning sickness.”

“In my ninth month?”

Venus shrugged.

The door slammed open. “Hey, guys — blech.”

Venus twisted around to see her cousin Lex doubled over, clenching her washboard stomach (Venus wished she could have one of those) and looking like she’d hurled up all the shoes littering the foyer floor.

Lex’s boyfriend Aiden grabbed her waist to prevent her from nosediving into the tile. “Lex, it’s not that bad.”

“The gym locker room smells better.” Lex used her toes to pull off her cross-trainers without bothering to untie them. “The men’s locker room.”

“It’s not me,” Jenn declared. “It’s Mom, ruining all my best pots.”

“What is she doing? Killing small animals on the stovetop?”

“Something for the baby.” Trish tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince.

“As long as we don’t have to eat it.” Lex dropped her slouchy purse on the floor and walked into the living room.

Aunty Yuki appeared behind her in the doorway, bearing a steaming bowl. “Here, Trish. Drink this.” The brilliant smile on her wide face eclipsed her tiny stature.

Venus smelled something pungent, like when she walked into a Chinese medicine shop with her dad. A bolus of air erupted from her mouth, and she coughed. “What is that?” She dropped the game controller.

“Pig’s brain soup.”

Trish’s smile hardened to plastic. Lex grabbed her mouth. Spenser — who was Chinese and therefore had been raised with the weird concoctions — sighed. Aiden looked at them all like they were funny-farm rejects.

Venus closed her eyes, tightened her mouth, and concentrated on not gagging. Good thing her stomach was empty.

Aunty Yuki’s mouth pursed. “What’s wrong? My mother-in-law made me eat pig’s brain soup when I was a couple weeks from delivering Jennifer.”

“That’s what you ruined my pots with?” Jennifer steamed hotter than the bowl of soup.

Her mom caught the yakuza-about-to-hack-your-finger-off expression on Jenn’s face. Aunty Yuki paused, then backtracked to the kitchen. With the soup bowl, thankfully.

“Papa?” Matthew’s voice sounded faint.

Venus turned.

“Don’t feel good.” He clutched his poochy tummy.

“Oh, no.” Spenser grabbed his son and headed out of the living room.

Then the world exploded.

Just as they passed into the foyer, Matthew threw up onto the tiles.

Lex, with her weak stomach when it came to bodily fluids, took one look and turned pasty.

A burning smell and a few cries sounded from the kitchen.

Trish sat up straighter than a Buddha and clenched her rounded abdomen. “Oh!”

Spenser held his crying son as he urped up the rest of his afternoon snack. Lex clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from following Matthew’s example. Jenn started for the kitchen, but then Matthew’s mess blocking the foyer stopped her. Trish groaned and curled in on herself, clutching her tummy.

Venus shot to her feet. She wasn’t acting Game Lead at her company for nothing.

“You.” She pointed to Jenn. “Get to the kitchen and send your mom in here for Trish.” Jenn leaped over Matthew’s puddle and darted away. “And bring paper towels for the mess!”

“You,” she flung at Spenser. “Take Matthew to the bathroom.”

He gestured to the brand new hallway carpet.

Oh no, Aunty Yuki would have a fit. But it couldn’t be helped. “If he makes a mess on the carpet, we’ll just clean it up later.”

He didn’t hesitate. He hustled down the hallway with Matthew in his arms.

Venus kicked the miniscule living room garbage basket closer to Lex. “Hang your head over that.” Not that it would hold more than spittle, but it was better than letting Lex upchuck all over the plush cream carpet. Why did Lex, tomboy and jock, have to go weak every time something gross happened?

“You.” Venus stabbed a manicured finger at Aiden. “Get your car, we’re taking Trish to the hospital.”

He didn’t jump at her command. “After one contraction?”

Trish moaned, and Venus had a vision of the baby flying out of her in the next minute. She pointed to the door again. “Just go!”

Aiden shrugged and slipped out the front door, muttering to himself.

“You.” She stood in front of Trish, who’d started Lamaze breathing through her pursed lips. “Uh . . .”

Trish peered up at her.

“Um . . . stop having contractions.”

Trish rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak through her pursed lips.

Venus ignored her and went to kneel over Matthew’s rather watery puddle, which had spread with amoeba fingers reaching down the lines of grout. Lex’s purse lay nearby, so she rooted in it for a tissue or something to start blotting up the mess.

Footsteps approaching. Before she could raise her head or shout a warning, Aunty Yuki hurried into the foyer. “What’s wron — !”

It was like a Three Stooges episode. Aunty Yuki barreled into Venus’s bent figure. She had leaned over Matthew’s mess to protect anyone from stepping in it, but it also made her an obstacle in the middle of the foyer.

“Ooomph!” The older woman’s feet — shod in cotton house slippers, luckily, and not shoes — jammed into Venus’s ribs. She couldn’t see much except a pair of slippers leaving the floor at the same time, and then a body landing on the living room carpet on the other side of her. Ouch.

“Are you okay?” Venus twisted to kneel in front of her, but she seemed slow to rise.

“Venus, here’re the paper towels — ”

Jenn’s voice in the foyer made Venus whirl on the balls of her feet and fling her hands up. “Watch out!”

Jenn stopped just in time. Her toes were only inches away from Matthew’s mess, her body leaning forward. Her arms whirled, still clutching the towels, like a cheerleader and her pom-poms.

“Jenn.” Spenser’s voice coming down the hallway toward the foyer. “Where are the — ”

“Stop!” Venus and Jenn shouted at the same time.

Spenser froze, his foot hovering above a finger of the puddle that had stretched toward the hallway. “Ah. Okay. Thanks.” He lowered his foot on the clean tile to the side.

Aiden opened the front door. “The car’s out front — ” The sight of them all left him speechless.

Trish had started to hyperventilate, her breath seething through her teeth. “Will somebody do something?!”

Aunty Yuki moaned from her crumpled position on the floor.

Smoke started pouring from the kitchen, along with the awful smell of burned . . . something that wasn’t normal food.

Venus snatched the paper towels from Jenn. “Kitchen!” Jenn fled before she’d finished speaking. “What do you need?” Venus barked at Spenser.

“Extra towels.”

“Guest bedroom closet, top shelf.”

He headed back down the hall. Venus turned to Aiden and swept a hand toward Aunty Yuki on the living room floor. “Take care of her, will you?”

“What about me?” Trish moaned through a clenched jaw.

“Stop having contractions!” Venus swiped up the mess on the tile before something worse happened, like someone stepped in it and slid. That would just be the crowning cherry to her evening. Even when she wasn’t at work, she was still working.

“Are you okay, Aunty?” She stood with the sodden paper towels.

Aiden had helped her to a seat next to Lex, who was ashen-faced and still leaning over the tiny trash can. Aside from a reddish spot on Aunty Yuki’s elbow, she seemed fine.

Jenn entered the living room, her hair wild and a distinctive burned smell sizzling from her clothes. “My imported French saucepan is completely blackened!” But she had enough sense not to glare at her parent as she probably wanted to. Aunty Yuki suddenly found
the wall hangings fascinating.

Venus started to turn toward the kitchen to throw away the paper towels she still held. “Well, we have to take Trish to the hospital — ”

“Actually . . .” Trish’s breathing had slowed. “I think it’s just a false alarm.”

Venus turned to look at her. “False alarm? Pregnant women have those?”

“It happened a couple days ago too.”

“What?” Venus almost slammed her fist into her hip, but remembered the dirty paper towels just in time. Good thing too, because she had on a Chanel suit.

Trish gave a long, slow sigh. “Yup, they’re gone. That was fast.” She smiled cheerfully.

Venus wanted to scream. This was out of her realm. At work, she was used to grabbing a crisis at the throat and wrestling it to submission. This was somewhere Trish was heading without her, and the thought both frightened and unnerved her. She shrugged it off. “Well . . . Aunty — ”

“I’m fine, Venus.” Aunty Yuki inspected her elbow. “Jennifer, get those Japanese Salonpas patches — ”

“Mom, they stink.” Jenn’s stress over her beautiful kitchen made her more belligerent than Venus had ever seen her before. Not that the camphor patches could smell any worse than the burned Chinese-old-wives’-pregnancy-food permeating the house.

At the sound of the word Salonpas, Lex pinched her lips together but didn’t say anything.

Aunty Yuki gave Jenn a limpid look. “The Salonpas gets rid of the pain.”

“I’ll get it.” Aiden headed down the hallway to get the adhesive patches.

“In the hall closet.” Jenn’s words slurred a bit through her tight jaw.

Distraction time. Venus tried to smile. “Aunty, if you’re okay, then let’s eat.”

Jenn’s eyes flared neon red. “Can’t.”

“Huh?”

“Somebody turned off the oven.” Jenn frowned at her mother, who tactfully looked away. “Dinner won’t be for another hour.” She stalked back to the kitchen.

Even with the nasty smell, Venus’s stomach protested its empty state. “It’s already eight o’clock.”

“Suck it up!” Jenn yelled from the kitchen.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Venus needed a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

No, a Reese’s was bad. Sugar, fat, preservatives, all kinds of chemicals she couldn’t even pronounce.

Oooh, but it would taste so good . . .

No, she equated Reese’s cups with her fat days. She was no longer fat. She didn’t need a Reese’s.

But she sure wanted one after such a hectic evening with her cousins.

She trudged up the steps to her condo. Home. Too small to invite people over, and that was the way she liked it. Her haven, where she could relax and let go, no one to see her when she was vulnerable –

Her front door was ajar.

Her limbs froze mid-step, but her heart rat-tat-tatted in her chest like a machine gun. Someone. Had. Broken. Into. Her. Home.

Her hand started to shake. She clenched it to her hip, crushing the silk of her pants. What to do? He might still be there. Pepper spray. In her purse. She searched in her bag and finally found the tiny bottle. Her hand trembled so much, she’d be more likely to spritz herself than the intruder.

Were those sounds coming from inside? She reached out a hand, but couldn’t quite bring herself to push the door open further.

Stupid, call the police! She fumbled with the pepper spray so she could extract her cell phone. Dummy, don’t pop yourself in the eye with that stuff! She switched the spray to her other hand while her thumb dialed 9 - 1 - 1. Her handbag’s leather straps dug into her elbow.

Thump! That came from her living room! Footsteps. Get away from the door! She stumbled backwards, but remembering the stairs right behind her, she tried to stop herself from tumbling down. Her ankle tilted on her stilettos, and she fell sideways to lean against the wall. The footsteps approached her open door.

“9 - 1 - 1, what’s your emergency?”

She raised her hand with the bottle of pepper spray. “Someone’s — ”

The door swung open.

“Edgar!” The cell phone dropped with a clatter, but she kept a firm grip on the pepper spray, suddenly tempted to use it.

One of her junior programmers stood in her open doorway.

Copyright (c) 2008 by Camy Tang
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530