On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1) by snyder-carroll s. Page A
Authors: snyder-carroll s.
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figure out a way to get something on the black market, not that she knew anything about that sort of commerce, but she’d sure as hell try.
Despite the even colder temperature now that it was later, Al walked Hester to the door of her apartment.
“Why don’t you come in? We could talk.” The night had gone by, and she didn’t know one new thing about this man she’d just had torrid front-seat sex with.
“I’m beat. Maybe some other time.” And he turned and left.
Later, starving hungry and rummaging through the refrigerator, disappointment descended on Hester. Not even a goodnight kiss. She’d wanted to impress Al, to dazzle him with her wit and vivaciousness, but she’d failed miserably.
Well, not at everything. So they hadn’t talked much. So what? They hadn’t needed to.
When she closed her eyes, she could still hear the sound of his voice saying her name, “Hester, Hester.” She was on top of him. He was squeezing her breasts. She put all her weight into each thrust.
Ten
The kitchen light shone into the living room, startling Hester, who had finally fallen asleep. She checked her cell phone. 3:12 a.m. The power was back. She found the remote and clicked on the television. The ShamWow infomercial guy was fast-talking about their super-absorbency. Hester clicked it off. Her head buzzed. She stood up slowly and went into the bathroom. When she flipped the switch, she was stunned. She’d forgotten about throwing up, clogging the toilet, and it spilling all over the place. The rug was soaked, the linoleum slimy. She gagged on the foul odor. Jesus, the thought of cleaning it up made her sick.
“Mrs. Murphy, you in there?”
Hester recognized Chet Blount’s nasally voice. She wished her nosey neighbor would go away. She didn’t answer.
“Just want to know if you’re alright. Got in from Ohio around midnight and couldn’t unpack without electricity, so I sat in my lounger till the lights came on. Saw yours were on, too. Figured I better check on you.” He was hollering through the kitchen window. “Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”
Hester said nothing and held her breath until she heard the sound of his footsteps scraping through the gravel as he shuffled back to his trailer. Hester thought Chet asked too many questions, but Al said she shouldn’t let that bother her. Still, she didn’t like the way his beady eyes darted around when he was talking to her, and he was always talking. If she tried to get a word in edgewise, he stared at her blankly which gave her the impression he was skeptical of the veracity of what she was saying. He reminded her of her father who used to look at her the same way after she came home from a date. He’d ask her where she’d gone and what she’d done, then wait to catch her in a lie. Hester could barely remember what her father looked like, it had been that long since she’d seen him. He could be dead, for all she knew.
The next morning before Hester had a chance to figure out what she was going to do about the damaged roof and ruined bedroom and stinky bathroom, she saw old Chet coming around the side of his trailer, holding his mug of coffee in one hand and scratching his scruffy beard with the other. She hurried out of the sliding door and met him on the patio before he could get any closer, or God forbid, inside her trailer. It’d be impossible to get rid of him then.
That’s how lots of people at Pleasant Palms were, and it was one of the few drawbacks—she was discovering—the place had. Most residents were retired with nothing to do, so they spent eons of time talking, mostly about themselves; and when that topic was exhausted, they seemed to be on a pointless, yet thorough, fact-finding mission.
“Well, Mrs. Murphy, aren’t I glad I didn’t come down any earlier. My niece-in-law insisted I stay and have Thanksgiving with them. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you, Uncle Chet,’ she said. So, you know, how could I
Despite the even colder temperature now that it was later, Al walked Hester to the door of her apartment.
“Why don’t you come in? We could talk.” The night had gone by, and she didn’t know one new thing about this man she’d just had torrid front-seat sex with.
“I’m beat. Maybe some other time.” And he turned and left.
Later, starving hungry and rummaging through the refrigerator, disappointment descended on Hester. Not even a goodnight kiss. She’d wanted to impress Al, to dazzle him with her wit and vivaciousness, but she’d failed miserably.
Well, not at everything. So they hadn’t talked much. So what? They hadn’t needed to.
When she closed her eyes, she could still hear the sound of his voice saying her name, “Hester, Hester.” She was on top of him. He was squeezing her breasts. She put all her weight into each thrust.
Ten
The kitchen light shone into the living room, startling Hester, who had finally fallen asleep. She checked her cell phone. 3:12 a.m. The power was back. She found the remote and clicked on the television. The ShamWow infomercial guy was fast-talking about their super-absorbency. Hester clicked it off. Her head buzzed. She stood up slowly and went into the bathroom. When she flipped the switch, she was stunned. She’d forgotten about throwing up, clogging the toilet, and it spilling all over the place. The rug was soaked, the linoleum slimy. She gagged on the foul odor. Jesus, the thought of cleaning it up made her sick.
“Mrs. Murphy, you in there?”
Hester recognized Chet Blount’s nasally voice. She wished her nosey neighbor would go away. She didn’t answer.
“Just want to know if you’re alright. Got in from Ohio around midnight and couldn’t unpack without electricity, so I sat in my lounger till the lights came on. Saw yours were on, too. Figured I better check on you.” He was hollering through the kitchen window. “Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”
Hester said nothing and held her breath until she heard the sound of his footsteps scraping through the gravel as he shuffled back to his trailer. Hester thought Chet asked too many questions, but Al said she shouldn’t let that bother her. Still, she didn’t like the way his beady eyes darted around when he was talking to her, and he was always talking. If she tried to get a word in edgewise, he stared at her blankly which gave her the impression he was skeptical of the veracity of what she was saying. He reminded her of her father who used to look at her the same way after she came home from a date. He’d ask her where she’d gone and what she’d done, then wait to catch her in a lie. Hester could barely remember what her father looked like, it had been that long since she’d seen him. He could be dead, for all she knew.
The next morning before Hester had a chance to figure out what she was going to do about the damaged roof and ruined bedroom and stinky bathroom, she saw old Chet coming around the side of his trailer, holding his mug of coffee in one hand and scratching his scruffy beard with the other. She hurried out of the sliding door and met him on the patio before he could get any closer, or God forbid, inside her trailer. It’d be impossible to get rid of him then.
That’s how lots of people at Pleasant Palms were, and it was one of the few drawbacks—she was discovering—the place had. Most residents were retired with nothing to do, so they spent eons of time talking, mostly about themselves; and when that topic was exhausted, they seemed to be on a pointless, yet thorough, fact-finding mission.
“Well, Mrs. Murphy, aren’t I glad I didn’t come down any earlier. My niece-in-law insisted I stay and have Thanksgiving with them. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you, Uncle Chet,’ she said. So, you know, how could I
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