Mary's Bones

TWENTY-NINE

When she had finished arguing with her neighbor, she noticed me in the corner of her eyes. I slowed my approach, the flier tightened behind my back in my right hand. I was able to catch her just before she entered her car. The numbers wouldn't stop mocking me on the back of her Jersey license plate.

"Can I help you? Are you a saleswoman or something? I'm already in a bad mood and I don't have time for shenanigans. So, if you are, you can just turn your pretty little head and go back to where you came from." Venom clung to her tone like glue. She tapped the ground with her foot as she crossed her arms.

I ignored her stale greeting and cleared my throat. "I'm so sorry to bother you! But you dropped this in the store the other day. I tried to give it to you but you left in a hurry. I didn't think I'd ever run into you again."

Her eyes widened at the flier. "Well, I'll be damned. You found it!" she squeaked.

"Yeah, you're welcome," I said, handing over the flier. She examined the front and back. When she was finished, she turned and shot me a look.

"Hey"—her eyes narrowed, they held a scornful gaze that lit me on fire—"you ain't touch anything, did you? I can't afford any of this information to be ruined."

I drew my eyebrows together, taken aback by her sudden outburst. I should have expected no less. Something about her tone didn't sit right with me. Maybe it was the accusation she forced upon me with her question. I was nice enough to save her flier and she spat my kindness right back in my face. It took everything in me not to let my eyes twitch. I hid my annoyance behind a forced smile.

"Then, maybe you should hold onto it tighter. You know, so it won't get into the wrong hands." I shrugged. Her face scrunched up, her eyes quietly assaulting me—probably wishing I wasn't pregnant so she could use her hands instead.

Her mean mug was worse than all the other judgmental beings I'd ever met. This only caused a real smile to meet my lips. One that dripped with innocence to irritate her. And it seemed to work.

At first, a simple thank you would have sufficed. But now I didn't even care for that. It was obvious this woman had a stick so far up her ass, she wouldn't even be able to shit it out. It didn't matter to me anyway. I had a job to get to. And judging by her choice of attire, she had one to get to as well. Or at least something important, I guess.

"Anyways, I'm glad I ran into you, and could return that. The next person might not be as kind as me. So, make sure you're a little more careful with that. . ." I let my sentence hang, awaiting her response. She caught on and held her hand out.

"Veronica." Her voice was bland.

Soon, my eyes landed on the ID clipped to her pants. It dangled whenever she shifted footing. But I managed to catch sight of her full name. Veronica Mitchell, was what the ID read.

"Well, thanks anyway"—she gestured to the flier—"for this."

I complied with a nod and headed back to my car. I could still feel her eyes on me. Her stare burned a hole in the back of my head. But I didn't spare a second look back.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Rick!" I entered the building, greeting Rick at the door.

"Afternoon, Angie." He gave me a nod and smiled. "Oh! Before you go in, you might want to check on the woman from your class. She's been standing in the hallway staring at a few paintings after she went to the bathroom. I think you should make sure she's okay. I tried but she was zoned out," he added.

"Oh?" I stopped and sent him a look. "Um, thank you, Rick. I'll be right back."

I didn't think it took me that long to get here. I raced over here as soon as I could. It was the fastest I could go.