The smile Lucky brings stays on my lips as I set down my phone, but the feeling of sadness that passed from Ambrose’s face to me lingers, too.
Moving from the table, I head to a counter where green fondant sits atop non-stick paper, rolled and ready to be designed.
Time has started to fly by, and if I want to be done in time for my afternoon drop-off, I need to finish up soon.
I press a special cutter into the pre-rolled sugar and create a small four-leaf clover. Carefully, I place it on top of one of six very special cupcakes that will travel in their own box.
These are a thank you gift for Lucky, not just for being my friend when I needed one most this last week, but without him, I wouldn’t have money to afford food for the next couple of weeks.
So, I guess his luck is rubbing off.
I could use a little more of that luck because I have no idea how to get the cupcakes to their destination, and an Uber with four hundred and six cupcakes sounds like a nightmare.
The thought of asking Lucky to pick them up and help me deliver them has crossed my mind, and I’d be a liar if I said it had only happened once.
But then again, he’s always on my mind these last few days. Maybe that’s why last night got as raunchy as it did.
He’s just a needed distraction, I lie to myself.
A needed distractionwho lives close by.If he didn’t, the app wouldn’t have shown us to each other. All the creeps I’d come across on that thing live within walking distance. Or, at least, they would if I were having an energetic day.
These cupcakes have kinda sucked the life out of me.
Yes, it’s the cupcakes, not my brother being in the house.
Except it’s definitely not the cupcakes.
I ignore the urge to ask Lucky as it presents itself again.
Ask Lucky to help. Do it now while you know he’s on his phone.
Part of me thinks he’ll agree, and part of me wonders if that’s true because he hasn’t offered.
Those thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell.
I make my way through the house, not checking every corner and shadow because I don’t feel the need to do that right now. The lack of ghostly visits from my mother and father may have helped slightly with my nerves.
Maybe they’ve realized I’m traumatized enough with another one of my relatives at home. But I can’t help but wonder if their absence is because I start my morning with a stretch and a lap of the downstairs with a sprig of burning sage, or if it’s because they saw things I didn’t with Shane and didn’t want me alone with him, or maybe they’re avoiding Ambrose.
It isn’t the latter, as the last time I saw Daddy, he led me to his son.
But whatever it is, I’m happier with them resting and at peace.
My peace disappears for the second time today when memories shift me back in time, and I feel calloused hands closing around my throat. I feel sharp porcelain scraping through my chest.
I didn’t realize at the time, but Shane sawed at my skin, desperate to hurt me.
It’s finally healing, a painful, crusty memory beneath rubbing fingers.
If I think about it too long, it’ll hurt me all over again.
I push Shane from my head as I approach the door. New thoughts about who’s here to check on me fill the space.
Could it be him?
Who else?
Annabelle is still at her meetings.
