As they rounded the corner to their road, the distinct beep-beep-beep of a rather large truck backing up filled the air. Walking to their building, Josie saw it backing up right in front of the house.
Darla looked at her, brow furrowed. “You order something big?”
“No. Maybe another tenant?” The truck driver went around to the back of the truck, where they couldn’t see him. By the time they reached the building, he was unloading a huge, shrink-wrapped pallet of what looked like a hundred bags of something onto the street, using a hand-cart with a hydraulic lift.
“Hey! You Darla Jennings?” he called out.
Darla froze, turning slowly, a smile on her face. “That’s me!”
“Here. It’s for you. Sign.”
“What is it?” Josie asked, peering intently at the enormous pallet. It was half the size of her car, and looked like some sort of yard supply, like bags of mulch or potting soil.
“Cat litter,” Mr. Friendly said, nodding for Darla to sign.
“Cat litter?” Josie gasped. “That much?”
Darla handed back the clipboard and he gave her an envelope. “Okay, then. Bye,” he said, leaving the pallet on the lawn.
“Wait! No!” Josie shrieked, panicking. “You can’t just leave that there!”
“Truck delivery only, lady. You want it in your house, it’s another $150.”
“$150!” Now it was Darla’s turn to shriek. “To leave this thing on our porch?”
He put the handcart back in the truck, jumped out, closed up, and walked to the driver’s seat. “Policy.”
“POLICY?” Josie screamed. “You’re leaving me a half-ton of cat litter in my front yard and it’s POLICY?”
The roar of the engine as he took off was the only answer she got.
A tearing sound as Darla opened the envelope caught Josie’s attention. Darla pulled out a letter, read for a few seconds, and then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ah, shit.”
“Oh God no.”
“Yep. Mama won us a lifetime supply of kitty litter.”
“Whose lifetime? Edward Cullen’s?”
“Nine lifetimes, from the looks of that pile,” Darla answered, shaking her head. The shrink-wrapped monstrosity sat, crooked, on the scraggly lawn. Most of her neighbors were at work right now, but soon they’d come home, and she did not want to deal with complaints to the landlord or any of the other myriad problems that came with enough kitty litter to fill the city swimming pool across the street.
Or, at least, that was what it felt like.
“We need to move this,” Josie said, starting to pace. The coffee hit her, making her a bit manic. “Let’s cut open the plastic and start moving the bags.”
“Josie, there is no way we can get this done without help. I can handle some of those bags, but not all. And you have the muscle mass of a decaying corpse.”
“Do not!”
“You’re right.” Darla pinched her biceps. “Even less. Damn, I’ll bet my wrist is fatter than your thighbone, girl!”
“Now is not the time to compare,” Josie said menacingly.
Darla pulled out her phone and punched some numbers, then held one finger up to Josie. “Hang on.”
Josie stomped into the apartment, most certainly not willing to hang on. The view outside from the window didn’t make the pallet seem any more appealing. The taste of her macchiato burned in her mouth, reminding her too much of Alex.
Alex.
Light-hearted texting and quick little comments to each other throughout the week had been cute, but Josie didn’t want “cute.” She despised “cute.” What she wanted was more, but didn’t know how to go for it. Something was stuck between her and Alex, and figuring out how to unstick it was driving her mad.
A giant pile of kitty litter didn’t help. Flopping down on the floor, she spotted Crackhead, who was crouched under a small end table next to the couch. The cat’s eyes gleamed in the dark, and it made a mild purring noise.
“Sure, you’re happy,” she said to the cat. “You have enough kitty litter to piss in for the next three centuries.”
“Who are you talking to?” Darla asked, stepping in and closing the front door.
“Crackhead.”
“And did he tell you you’re being stupid about Alex, too?”
Josie stood and huffed off without saying a word. Storming into her bedroom, she ripped off her overly warm shirt, threw on a tank top, and stopped with her arms up as her eyes noticed something hidden under a stack of papers on a small table in her bedroom.
The book.
That f**king book.
Click. Like a telescope that shifts to focus, the movement so acute it leaves you a bit confused, Josie’s brain rotated into a position of sudden, extreme clarity.
The book.
That was the key.
Snatching it up, she stared at the cover. A Wrinkle in Time. How could time wrinkle? Closing her eyes, she willed her breath to slow, her pulse to follow, and her mind to stay clear. A picture of Alex, smiling and accepting, was part of that sharp focus.
As silly as it seemed, her baggage really was enormous, like Darla said.
Except most of it was in her hand. Right here.
This f**king book.
Eighteen years of messy internal chaos floated away and she realized she needed to open the book, start reading, and then—
Then what?
Didn’t matter. Just…then.
She would actually have a then. A future. A more.
As if on cue, her phone rang. Grabbing it from her pocket, she groaned when she saw the number. Mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Josie. This a bad time?”
“Actually, yes.”
Silence. Josie didn’t do that. Always accommodating, always deferring. Marlene’s voice came through with a mixture of aggression and confusion. “Well, it’s a bad time for me, too.” The whining was louder, though, than anything else.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Her voice was dispassionate steel. “If this is a bad time for you, too, then perhaps we can talk later.” Be officious. Clutching the book in her hand, she held it like a talisman, as if it could ward off evil spirits. Funny how an item she’d carried around her entire life, one she’d never been able to bring herself to open and use, could be a source of comfort in this moment.
“Well, aren’t you being a smartmouth.” Josie closed her eyes slowly. That word. There it was. Marlene began the slow burn, her words punctuated with sharp drags off her cigarette, the smoldering that Josie knew all too well. “Too busy for your poor old mother, huh? Maybe that’s why you didn’t send the money you promised? Too busy,” she spat, “playing around with Darla?”