Page 122 of Burn Bag

I pressed a hard smile across my face, hoping she would just finish the fucking story.

“Right, so anyway, we were on Second Street and the kid rode his bike across the street.”

“Did he get hit by a car?”

She frowned, cocking her head in confusion. “No, he just rode his bike across the street. So, anyway, he went across the street, and that’s when I told Harper about how I used to have a bike just like that as a kid. And then she told me that she had a totally different bike that she had to share?—”

“Daphne!” I bit out, seriously losing my patience. “The accident.”

“I’m getting to it,” she rambled on, completely ignoring the fact that I was about to throttle her if she didn’t finish the fucking story. “So, then we turned down Maple Street and we passed that old building—you know, the one that used to be a bank—and we saw a For Sale sign in the window, and we were talking about how nice it would be if someone fixed that up and did something with it. You know, there are quite a few abandoned buildings around town. If we could just get some new business, this town might actually take off.”

She stopped and stared at me. Just fucking stared at me. Was she waiting for a reply? What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? And what the hell did it have to do with the accident? I was just about to ask her that when she continued.

“So, anyway, we were on Maple and this squirrel ran out in theroad, doing one of those annoying runs where he can’t decide where to go. And then Harper started telling me about this time that she nearly ran into a tree because a squirrel couldn’t make up his mind. And then the squirrel ran up the same tree she almost hit! Isn’t that hilarious?”

“Fucking rib-tickling,” I deadpanned.

“Right? So, the squirrel ran across the street, darting in and out of traffic—well, if you could even say there’s traffic in this small town,” she laughed, looking at Harper. And together, they laughed hysterically.

Was I missing out on the joke?

“And just as the squirrel made it to the other side of the street, this car drove like a bat out of hell through the stop sign and hit?—”

“No, it was after the squirrel,” Harper interrupted.

So fucking close. I was just seconds from finally hearing the end of the story, and now they were arguing about the sequence of events.

For the love of God, just finish the fucking story!

But I laughed as they laughed and pretended I wasn’t about to strangle one of them.

“So, yeah,thenthe car blew the stop sign and hit poor Mr. Bakewell’s car!”

I nodded, not finding that at all interesting since it took so fucking long to get to the point. “And was the damage bad?”

“What damage?” Harper asked, looking at me curiously.

“To the car.”

“Which one?” Daphne asked.

“I don’t know!” I shouted, finally losing my patience. “Either one!”

“Oh, no,” Daphne waved me off. “It was just a tap. Hardly even a scratch.”

I scrubbed a hand down my face, inhaling sharply. That was a good ten minutes of my life I would never get back. And the mental anguish…fuck, could I sue my own wife for torturing me with that story?

“Probably not.”

“Probably not, what?” Daphne asked, smiling up at me.

“Uh…nothing. I gotta piss.”

There was no other polite way to put it. I was out of there. I couldn’t stay for another fucking second without ripping out my eyeballs and throwing them at my own wife. And then the cat would play with them, probably eat them.

I took the stairs two at a time and locked myself in the bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief as I leaned back against the door. “Peace.”

I headed to the bathroom and locked myself in there also, unzipping to sit on the toilet. I was making this a long one. I grabbed the Sports Illustrated out of the cabinet and opened it up, settling in for a good forty minutes of alone time.

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