Asher: Didn’t send anything ;-(
Me: Oh. Maybe my dad sent them.
“Hey, baby girl,” Dad answers on the first ring.
“Hi Dad, um, I was wondering if you sent me flowers?”
“No. Why?”
“I got a delivery of roses this morning and Asher didn’t send them.”
“I didn’t send anything.”
My breathing starts to pick up and I know my dad can hear it through the phone.
“I’m sure they are from someone you know,” he says quietly. I’m not as sure as he is. I feel paranoid, but after the roses that someone left me at my dad’s house, there is always a nagging in the back of my head telling me that something bad is going to happen to me again.
“I can tell you’re scared but don’t worry so much. Nothing has happened since the break-in.”
“You’re right. I’m acting crazy,” I tell him. Flowers are not a big deal.
“If you feel unsafe, just tell me and I will be over there.”
“No, Dad. You’re right. I’m fine.”
“Okay, baby girl. I’m going to go to sleep. My phone is on if you need me.”
“Thanks, Dad. Love you,” I whisper, feeling like an idiot.
“Love you too, baby girl.” He hangs up and I call everyone else I know who might have sent the flowers. No one did.
Asher: Was it your dad???
Me: He said no. I called around and no one else sent them.
Less than a second later, I get a response.
Asher: I’m calling Dad now.
Me: I don’t think that’s necessary.
Asher: Dad will be there in 5. I’m on my way. Stay inside and lock the door.
Me: I’m fine. Stop worrying. It’s making me freak.
Asher: Rather you be paranoid.
I hear the car pull up and I jump off the couch from where Beast and I are cuddling, and run to the front door. I look out the peephole just as Asher’s dad is getting out of the police cruiser. I open the front door and step out onto the porch, and hear the crinkle of paper under my bare foot. I bend down to pick it up. It is a plain card-size envelope. I can feel the weight of the card inside. I start to open it when it is snatched out of my hand.
I jump and let out a startled yelp. I had been so caught up in the envelope, I forgot about Asher’s dad. “Crap, you scared me,” I say, looking up at Mr. Mayson.
He chuckles. “I got that when you screamed.”
“I didn’t scream,” I say in my own defense. I’ve become close with all of Asher’s family. His parents have taken me in as one of their own. And his brothers treat me like I am the little sister they missed out on having. Now they’re making up for lost time by picking on me and torturing me on a regular basis. Sometimes Asher gets annoyed with them, but most of the time, he joins in on the fun of pissing me off.
Mr. Mayson smiles like he thinks I’m being funny, then looks down at the envelope. The smile leaves his face quickly and his eyes come back to me. “I hope you made sure to look out the peep hole before you came outside.” His tone is serious.
“I made sure,” I mumble, hoping this is nothing serious. I don’t want to start living my life looking over my shoulder.
“Let’s go in and you can show me what you got and tell me about the person who dropped them off.”
“Are you going to open that?” I ask, pointing at the card.
“When we get inside.”
We walk into the house and I close and lock the door behind us as we turn to go into the kitchen. Mr. Mayson is standing at the kitchen island in front of the flowers. I notice that he now has on a pair of gloves. His head is bent and he is looking at the open card.
“What does it say?” I ask.
He holds it up for me to see. On the front of the card is a picture of Manhattan at night. When he opens it, I stumble back and my stomach drops. I am looking at the words written in bright red ink.
Coming events cast their shadows before
I had a vision in the summer light—
Sorrow was in it, and my inward sight
Ached with sad images. The touch of tears
Gushed down my cheeks the figured woes of years
Casting their shadows across sunny hours.
Oh, there was nothing sorrowful in flowers.
“Holy crap.” I cover my mouth and run to the hall bathroom to throw up the piece of toast I had for breakfast and the coffee that I drank. I feel a cool rag on my neck and a hand rubbing my back.
“Are you okay?” he asks and I can hear the anger in his voice.
“Yeah,” I say, flushing the toilet. I take the rag off my neck and wipe my mouth with it. I look up into his eyes and can tell he is pissed off. I just hope he isn’t mad at me for bringing this kind of trouble to his son’s front door. “I’m so sorry,” I say, putting my face into my hands. I can’t figure out why this is happening to me. I feel him pull me in for a hug.