CONSEQUENCES
Dec 22, 2019 14:50:15 GMT -6
Ruthless Aggression, Sabriynn Cassidy, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Dec 22, 2019 14:50:15 GMT -6
Suddenly, he heard his name. It wasn’t Mike. They were already in the house, loaded down with the straps of reusable bags from Whole Foods. Mike’s parents would be here tomorrow. He was in the process of bringing his half of the load when he heard his name again. He stopped, letting the bags back down into the trunk. He lowered the lid of the trunk and peered over Alundra down the driveway. Nothing. He must be hearing things.
“John?”
Except he wasn’t, the voice belonged to one of the neighbors across the street. Mrs. Richardson, a stout middle-aged woman with two little boys, was standing just beside him. There was a familiar envelope in her hand. The wind swept a long lock of dull brown hair over her right eye and she used her free hand to put it back in place.
“Hello.”
“I wanted to talk to you about this.”
She raised the envelope. Everyone on the street got one of these from them. It was John and Mike’s yearly thank you to the community. It contained a considerable monetary value. John didn’t talk too often to this woman but he’d exchanged gardening tips with her and Mike had given them comp tickets when the company had been local. John eyed the envelope and then via a concerted effort to remember Doctor Moriarty’s advice on how it’s important to look people in the eyes during a conversation, he did that, too.
“Okay.”
“I … can’t accept this.”
She handed the envelope to John.
“You have before.”
“That was before.”
The woman pushed it forward but John’s hands remained stationary.
“Before what?”
“I… don’t watch whatever you do much. But my boys do. And that isn’t what I remember …”
John’s gaze was unflinching. He could see her falter just a little as she trailed off. Slowly, he raised his hand and took envelope from them.
“That’s okay,” he pocketed it, “Merry Christmas.”
He could feel her presence there for a little longer. Maybe she had something else to say but John wasn’t worried about it. Richardson didn’t get it.
She never would.
“John?”
Except he wasn’t, the voice belonged to one of the neighbors across the street. Mrs. Richardson, a stout middle-aged woman with two little boys, was standing just beside him. There was a familiar envelope in her hand. The wind swept a long lock of dull brown hair over her right eye and she used her free hand to put it back in place.
“Hello.”
“I wanted to talk to you about this.”
She raised the envelope. Everyone on the street got one of these from them. It was John and Mike’s yearly thank you to the community. It contained a considerable monetary value. John didn’t talk too often to this woman but he’d exchanged gardening tips with her and Mike had given them comp tickets when the company had been local. John eyed the envelope and then via a concerted effort to remember Doctor Moriarty’s advice on how it’s important to look people in the eyes during a conversation, he did that, too.
“Okay.”
“I … can’t accept this.”
She handed the envelope to John.
“You have before.”
“That was before.”
The woman pushed it forward but John’s hands remained stationary.
“Before what?”
“I… don’t watch whatever you do much. But my boys do. And that isn’t what I remember …”
John’s gaze was unflinching. He could see her falter just a little as she trailed off. Slowly, he raised his hand and took envelope from them.
“That’s okay,” he pocketed it, “Merry Christmas.”
He could feel her presence there for a little longer. Maybe she had something else to say but John wasn’t worried about it. Richardson didn’t get it.
She never would.