Nick of Time

by Julianne Q Johnson

  If the whooping and squealing I hear is anything to go buy, she’s having a great time.

  After another ten minutes, I give her the stop signal and start slowing down. Daphne’s been out long enough for the first time. It’s harder exercise than you think it is when you’re doing it. You don’t want to stay out until your legs start shaking.

  Daphne jumps off the board once we slow down, and the girls begin pulling on the rope to haul it in as I turn back towards Daphne and slowly approach her. I throw the boat into neutral when we get close, and she swims for the ladder attached to the stern. It takes three of the girls to get the heavy board back onto the boat, and by the time they do, I can leave the helm to get it stowed away. When I turn to the back of the boat, Daphne isn’t on board yet.

  Back at the stern, Daphne is having trouble getting up the ladder. Even though I tried to limit her time on the water, it was long enough to make her legs tremble. I reach both hands down and haul her aboard.

  “Wow. Thanks. I wondered why we stopped when I was having so much fun, and now I know. I was afraid I wasn't going to make it back in the boat. Thank you.”

  “Not a problem. Have fun?”

  “It was the best! I’ve never done anything like it before. No wonder your sister and her husband love it out here.”

  “It is pretty awesome.”

  We head back to the house soon after, and another group goes out in the boat with Dan driving. The younger kids want to use the inner tube, and Dan drags the big thing out of the boat house. The tube will attach directly to the boat like the beginner’s board did. I like the tube better than skiing, though I can do both.

  The rest of the afternoon is filled with fun, family, and food. Eventually, we watch the sun set on the other side of the lake and get ready to leave. I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer, but the grandparents are tired and it’s better for me to get them home.

  The drive home is even more boring in the dark but doesn’t seem to take as long. Funny how it always seems longer to get to your destination than to get back again. I drop the grandparents off and head towards Speedway and home.

  “You know,” Daphne begins, once the grandparents are gone, “I noticed something about your so-called curse today.”

  “That it’s very inconvenient?”

  “No, silly.” Her laugh sounds like bells.

  “That it’s really just a Machiavellian plot to get you to like me?”

  “No, and I already like you.”

  “Umm…then what?” I ran out of funny things to say when she said she liked me.

  “Maybe there’s more to it than you think.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, every time someone said anything about your rescue today, your grandmother made such a face. Kind of sad, kind of guilty. I’ll tell you one thing. Whatever is going on, she knows something about it.”

  Eight

  "What do you mean my Grandma Fiona knows something about my curse?" I'm glad we are almost home because this conversation has taken a turn for the weird.

  "Just as I said. I think she knows something about it and she isn't telling you."

  "Look, I know I call it my curse, but I never really believed it was. I mean...what are we talking about...some sort of witches circling around a cauldron, throwing dead amphibian parts in and casting some evil eye on me? I'm not sure I buy that."

  "I'm not saying it's witches, for heaven's sake. The only witches I know are Wiccans, and they certainly don't go around depriving newts of their eyes. But there must be something, right? You can't truly believe your life since you turned eighteen has been some crazy stream of pure coincidence."

  "Maybe." I pull into our apartment building's parking lot at last. This conversation is not what I was expecting and it's left me feeling off-kilter. "Why not? They say if you have enough monkeys, typewriters, and time the monkeys will eventually write the complete works of Shakespeare."

  "So, now you're some kind of random-monkey savior? Nope. I'm not buying it. Some kind of actual witch curse seems more likely than it being random. Besides, why would Fiona look at you like she was leading you to the gallows every time anyone mentioned today's rescue if it was a bunch of coincidences?"

  "How should I know? Maybe she feels sad I don't have much of a life because of this thing. It could be as simple as that."

  "It explains the sadness, but not the guilt. She's hiding something. Hey, can we stop at my place so I can shower and change?"

  "Sure."

  Next thing I know, I'm sitting on her sofa listening to water splashing. It's a nice sofa, overstuffed and comfy. I don't especially like the giant cabbage roses printed all over it, but for this level of comfort, I could get used to the loud print. It's much better than my sofa.

  Her entire apartment is better than mine. It's obvious things have been picked out on purpose to go together. It's not overdone, mind you, just nice. There are drapes on the windows instead of blinds, and they match the pillows on the sofa. A big art print of Monet's Water Lilies hangs over the sofa, and there's an actual oil painting of a lake on one wall. Daphne has several floor to ceiling bookcases full of books, and they are even organized by author. A cherry wood coffee table sits on a plush carpet with a subdued pattern of cherry blossoms.

  In comparison, my apartment looks like a college dorm room.

  I have never given much thought to decorating. Looking around myself, I wonder why I haven't. I might not hit Daphne's level of expertise, but it wouldn't be hard to improve what I've got. What I've got is crap. I don't make a ton of money driving for Riderz, but I do all right. At the least, I could get something to replace my ugly gray sofa. Maybe a chair to match. There's a Value Furniture near here; I bet it wouldn't even cost very much.

  I feel like I've been so distracted by my crazy life I've let too many things slide. It's as if I forget to be an adult, and haven't bothered to change my way of doing things since I was in college and money was tight. I usually go to Goodwill for my furniture needs, and the truth is I don't have to do that anymore.

  The sound of splashing water stops, and shortly thereafter Daphne enters the living room wearing a towel.

  "Have you ever asked Fiona about your situation?" She's combing her hair as she stares at me, waiting for an answer.

  A towel.

  Her hair is wet and mussed, and she's wearing a towel.

  "Well, have you?" Daphne stops combing for a moment to stare at me. Her foot taps on the floor and she's fidgeting with the comb in her hands.

  "Can we please continue this conversation after you get dressed?"

  "Don't avoid the question. Have you?"

  "Daphne. You are wearing a towel. Go get dressed."

  "Why?"

  "Damn it, woman! I broke up with my last girlfriend three years ago, and while I haven't been living the life of a monk, it's been a while. You are standing there, all wet and rumpled, in a damn towel. I'm not made of stone. Go get dressed!"

  Like a deer in the headlights. That's the look she's giving me. Now I've done it. With one impatient speech, I've gone from guardian angel to cranky pervert. She'll probably ask me to leave, and then Douche will show up and I won't be there to help her. All because I can't keep my stupid mouth shut.

  The startled look fades and Daphne smiles this smile at me which makes me hungrier than the smell of Gran's colcannon. Stepping up to the sofa, she leans down and kisses the top of my head. The sprite in front of me spins on her heel and sashays back to her bedroom, giggling.

  She's giggling at me. I pretty much told her I was having trouble keeping my hands to myself, and she kisses my head and giggles at me. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  Maybe she thinks I'm dating material. Huh. I didn't see it coming. The good thing about being a pessimist is while you are sitting there on the sofa, expecting the worst, sometimes you get pleasantly surprised.

  Returning to the living room in a pair of snug jeans and a short-sleeved shirt with p
ansies on it, Daphne gets right back to the inquisition at hand.

  What is it with her and flowers? Flowers on her sofa, flowers on her shirt, framed flower art on the wall. While Daphne is independent and strong-willed, she's also very girly. I kind of dig it.

  "So, now I'm appropriately covered, have you ever asked Fiona about your situation?"

  Very strong-willed. Like a dog with a bone, this woman.

  "No, I can't say I have. Honestly, I never had any reason to."

  "Well, I think you should."

  "So I gathered."

  "Are you going to?"

  "I don't know. Let me think about it."

  She drops the subject, but not before letting out an irritated huff of breath.

  Back at my apartment, we watch some Netflix and then call it a night. As I make up the couch and she heads for my bedroom, I make a decision.

  "Daphne?"

  "Yes?" She turns towards me in the doorway to the bedroom. The light behind her lights up her hair like a halo.

  "I'll ask my Gram about the curse. I'm not going to rush to do it, but I will."

  Walking across the living room, Daphne leans down and kisses me on the head again before returning to the bedroom and closing the door.

  I'll ask my grandma about it, even though it will make me feel like a crazy person. I'll ask her because Daphne wants me to. It seems like a good enough reason to me.

  In the morning, I'm in the middle of my exercise routine when Daphne appears wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

  "Good morning!" I'm not used to having anyone to talk to in the mornings. I like it.

  "Mmmm..." is all she can manage. She rubs her eyes with the back of one hand as she stumbles into the kitchen and the waiting coffee pot. Her hair is tousled and her eyes are squinty. She looks adorable.

  "Not a morning person, then?" I call towards the kitchen as I switch to push-ups.

  "Mmmm," is the only response, which makes me chuckle.

  I try again as she shuffles to the sofa and sits down before sipping a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep all right?"

  "Mmm-hmm." She has a two-handed death grip on the coffee mug and her eyes are closed.

  "Want me to stop talking?"

  "Mmm-hmm."

  I stop talking. It's yoga time. Yoga is not well suited to talking anyway. By the time the yoga segment of my morning routine is over, most of Daphne's coffee has been drunk and her eyes are open.

  "Good morning," she mumbles.

  "Words! Actual words! My accidental roommate is awake."

  "Stop being so annoyingly chipper, why don't you."

  "No. You know, you tricked me yesterday. You were up before I was, so I assumed you were a morning person."

  "Absolutely not. I sleep heavy and wake up feeling like a zombie. I knew we needed to get up early to go to your sister's, so I got up extra early so I would be coherent."

  "See? Tricky. You are very tricky."

  We are interrupted by Daphne's phone ringing.

  "Hello? Speaking. Haven't you found him yet? Yes, I'll be careful, thank you."

  She speaks a few more moments to what I assume is the police. It sounds like her ex-coworker continues to be an issue.

  Looking at her, sitting there on my ugly gray sofa, I'm reminded of my newfound mission to make my apartment look less like a garage sale and more like a home. Nothing fancy, just nicer and maybe I could have a few matching things for a change. I've got some money in the bank, but the fact I've worked so little this week gives me pause. Maybe I could log some hours in today if Daphne has somewhere she can go while I'm gone. I can't take her with me to work--it's against Riderz rules--but I'm not about to leave her here alone until we know Douche is in jail.

  There isn't much for breakfast, but we can manage eggs and toast. I scramble the eggs while Daphne mans the toaster. The proverbial cupboard is pretty bare, and I make a mental note to stop for some groceries later in the day.

  We sit at my small dining room table and all I can notice is how rickety it is.

  "Say, Daphne, I'd like to get a few hours of work in today, if I can. I don't really want to leave you here alone, it's too close to your apartment. Is there anywhere you would like to go today for a bit?"

  "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't think about how my situation was affecting your work."

  "It's no problem. I set my own hours, and I can take off when I want. I get a little antsy if I take off too much in one week. It's Saturday. If I could get a few hours in today, I could take tomorrow off and not worry about it."

  "My folks are home today. I could go spend the day with them, they'd love it. I need to go get dressed. Then, if you don't mind walking me to my car, I'll head to my parent's house."

  "That doesn't work for me. You get dressed, and I'll drive you to your parent's house."

  "You don't have to go to so much trouble. I can drive myself."

  "It's no trouble. I like to drive. You can pretend you're my first fare."

  She smiles at me then, the wide smile with the dimples. When I'm around her, I don't feel cursed. She makes me feel like a superhero.

  It doesn't take long before we are ready to head out. Daphne's parents live in Arlington, and we chat about nothing in particular as we drive there. The house is a big Victorian painted a dusty pink and looks to have half a million white shuttered windows. It's a nice place. I wonder what it would be like to live in a big old house like this.

  I intended to do no more than drop Daphne off, but she insists I come meet her parents. They are by turns pleasant and curious. Daphne introduces me as her friend, but I get the feeling she doesn't introduce them to many male friends. They seem to be politely sizing me up, and I am left hoping they aren't disappointed.

  I don't stay long. A cup of coffee, a short chat and I'm back in the car. Despite my frustration with it the other day, the airport is my bread and butter. I pull into my usual parking lot and log into Riderz. The phone app sings me the company's motto, "We're just looking for a few good Riderz!" It's annoying and ridiculous, but mercifully short.

  I have my first fare within minutes. It's a pretty young woman in a black pantsuit. She ignores me to text on her phone the entire time, but she leaves me a nice tip. The second guy is a forty-something man in a hipster hat with a small soul patch under his bottom lip. No handlebar mustache though. I find myself oddly disappointed. Corn dog man had been quite rude, but he'd had a mighty fine mustache.

  My third fare is also uneventful. A young couple on their way home after a vacation to Seattle. They tell me all about the sights they saw there in such a pleasantly descriptive way I feel as if I've visited the Space Needle myself. It sounds like fun. I've never done much traveling. It makes me nervous when I'm in an emergency situation and I don't know where the nearest hospital is. Makes it hard to enjoy the faraway climes.

  I take the couple home and nothing unusual happens, but I'm positive something is wrong. Their house is on the next street over from the Jensens, Daphne's parents. It's too much of a coincidence and my life has taught me coincidences are serious and dangerous things. I don't want to intrude on Daphne's family time, but I can't shake this feeling of impending doom.

  I'll just check, I tell myself. I can park down the street a little and walk by the house. If nothing is wrong, they don't even have to know I'm there. If they catch sight of me through one of the many windows, they might mistake me for a stalker. That wouldn't be a good first impression.

  I know there is trouble before I even get to the house. My sense of time begins to slow. A neighbor is working in the yard, but the sound of his mower fades to insignificance. Not all sound has faded. As I creep quickly to the corner of the pink house, I hear a man shouting inside. I peek through a window, trying not to be noticeable.

  Daphne is sitting on the sofa with her parents. Her father has an arm around Mrs. Jensen, and she appears to be crying. Daphne has an expression which is a mixture of both fear and anger that doesn't seem to belong on her usua
lly cheerful features.

  Pacing in front of them, waving a gun and shouting, is the Douche-canoe. I duck back to my corner and wonder what in the hell I'm supposed to do. Normally, I know what to do in these situations right away, and leap into action. Every muscle in my legs has tightened up in preparation for exactly that. This is no situation for leaping into the fray. If I bust through a door or window, the crazy guy is likely to shoot me, or worse, one of the Jensens. He could shoot Daphne.

  Fear immobilizes me. I'm action man, what am I supposed to do here? Another peek, and I can see Douche seems content to wave his gun around and shout. Maybe it's time to do this the old-fashioned way.

  I crouch and scurry towards the big porch where I cannot be seen from the living room windows. A quick call to 911 and I'm explaining how a man with a gun is holding three people hostage. The dispatcher sends a unit out immediately but keeps me on the line long enough to find out who I am and what I know about the situation. By the time I get off the phone, I can hear the siren winding its way towards me.

  I'm standing at the bottom of the porch stairs, off to one side. A crash of sound behind me, and I spin around to see Adam Kripke pelting down the stairs. He flies right by me and dashes halfway across the lawn before he registers I'm there.

  "You bastard!" Adam spins toward me. "She belongs to me!"

  I'm not sure what happened next. I see Douche raise the gun, and I must have involuntarily taken a step back. All I know is I end up flat on my back in a bed of petunias. I hear a boom and then a sharp crack as a bullet hits the wood of the house behind me.

  The petunias smell nice.

  I hear the sound of the guy's feet pelting down the sidewalk. Maybe because of my timely clumsiness he thought he shot me. Maybe the sirens had gotten too close-- he's run from them before. All I know is he's gone, I'm alive, and the petunias smell nice. If I got a house sometime, maybe I'll plant petunias.

  After I stand up and dust off dirt and crushed flowers, I climb the steps and step through the front door.