Nick of Time

by Julianne Q Johnson

  I fall asleep to find a fox with too many tails chasing me through my dreams.

  Thirteen

  The next day, we are at our third garage sale, and I feel like chewing off a foot in order to escape. I hate garage sales. People dig out all their crap they don't want anymore, much of it old, dirty, or meant for a child, and then they expect people to give them money for it. Why? Even if I played golf, which I don't, why would I want your rusted set? Then there are tables full of knickknacks. I never saw the point of knickknacks. You buy some ridiculous little statue of rabbit with flowers around its neck, and then it sits on a shelf collecting dust. Pointless.

  The only reason I'm not chewing off my foot is because Daphne is having a great time. Flitting from table to table, she's constantly showing me things she thinks are cool. An ashtray made out of a tiny tire, a saw blade which has a picture painted on it, and a small statue of a dragon all get oohed and aahed over.

  The dragon is actually kind of cool. If I believed in knickknacks I might be tempted to buy it.

  "Oooh, Nick, look at these!" Daphne holds up two small figurines.

  They're very dark colored, and it takes me a moment to figure out what they are. It's a pair of bulldogs, about two inches tall, sitting on their rumps. I pick one up, curious. They are surprisingly heavy, especially since I notice they are hollow when I look at the bottom. Must be made out of some sort of metal. Not pewter, the color is too dark for pewter.

  "They look old." I hand them back to her and she grins at me.

  "I think they are. I'm totally buying them. Only five bucks!"

  With that, she prances back to the tables to dig through a pile of books. I wander around until I see a box of DVDs. I sort through it half-heartedly and note the box is almost completely made-for-cable romance movies. Not my cup of tea.

  The truth is I'm too on edge to pay much attention to what these people are selling off. It's late afternoon and the day has been quiet. Too quiet. Suspiciously quiet. I haven't so much as had to swerve to avoid a clueless pedestrian. I can't help feeling this is the calm before the storm. While I used to have regular days off from my curse, I can't remember the last time I got through an entire day without someone needing saving.

  Someone drops a glass knickknack onto the cement driveway and I jump like a bomb has gone off. The two women in charge of the sale scurry over to clean up the broken glass while the figurine killer apologizes and offers to pay for the damage.

  Everyone's chronic politeness is getting on my last nerve. I don't know how many more garage sales I can take today. I'm grumpy and I'm hungry and I am sick of looking at all this crap.

  "You all right?" Daphne has paid for her little dogs and walked over to put a hand on my arm.

  "Fine."

  "You jumped a mile when the guy dropped the unicorn."

  "I'm fine."

  "Okay, Mr. Grumpypants."

  Back in the car, she tells me the address of the next garage sale and I plug it into the GPS. During a twenty minute drive to the other side of Mooresville, nothing at all happens. No children follow a ball into the street. No fellow drivers crash their cars violently into each other. It's a lovely day for a drive, sunny and warm, and nothing weird happens at all. This hateful day will never end.

  I am Mr. Grumpypants. It's not like I want to save somebody all the damn time. It's not like I am incapable of enjoying a day off or would be upset if I didn't have to play the hero. It's because I know my life. I don't get breaks anymore. If the day is quiet, I'm not thankful. I'm expecting the apocalypse.

  The last sale is sad. A couple of tables of worthless junk even Daphne, in all her optimism, cannot get excited about. We take a token look so as not to be rude and then get back into the car.

  "That's it." Daphne buckles her seatbelt. "I've had enough garage sale fun."

  "Yeah, me too."

  "You had enough the first place we stopped."

  "Well, yeah, but you were having fun."

  We're heading down sixty-seven, getting ready to turn towards our borrowed house.

  "There's a cafeteria," she says, pointing to the right. "You hungry?"

  "I could eat. You want to eat at a cafeteria? It seems a little last millennium."

  "It looks cool. Besides, the parking lot is packed. The food must be good."

  "All right, if it's what you want. But if it looks like the 'Type A' lunches we got in grade school, you have no one but yourself to blame."

  The joint is called Gray Brothers Cafeteria, and Daphne is right, the parking lot is packed. It's a big lot, but it takes me some time to find an open space. The building itself is bigger than I would expect. They must have a ton of seating room. No wonder the parking lot is gargantuan. It's an attractive place with light-colored brick and a sloping dark brown roof. There's a trio of gigantic arched windows on the end of the building, and a quaint copper weathervane on the roof.

  Our first experience once we step inside is less charming. There's a fenced queue with multiple turns as if we were waiting in line for a ride at Disneyland. There's a herd of people in front of us, maybe fifty, but the line is moving faster than any amusement park ride. We shuffle forward at a steady pace and I'm not certain if I'm annoyed by having to wait in line or impressed with how quickly they get people served.

  Annoyed is winning until I glance between a young couple next to me and see the dessert section. Oh, my. There are the usual cakes and cups of pudding, and then there's pie. There's maybe fifteen different kinds of pie. Everything from lemon meringue to rhubarb to peanut butter pie. There's a piece of coconut cream calling to me. Forget the food, it seems to say, just eat pie.

  We finally reach the counters, and I pass up the salad section with barely a glance. Next up are the desserts and I wait impatiently for the people in front of us to make their selection and move along. Then there it is in all its glory. Coconut pudding topped with a meringue which looks a mile high and a dusting of toasted coconut to top it all off. I grab a piece with the enthusiasm of a starving man and place it gently on my tray, not wanting to treat this heavenly offering with the slightest disrespect.

  I remain enchanted by my pie until I make it to the main courses. The pie is still boss, mind you, but even a pie enthusiast like myself cannot ignore the delicious aromas pouring from this section. One good look shows me this place is unlike any cafeteria I have ever frequented. Everything looks incredible and smells amazing. I am tempted first by the fried chicken and next by the baked trout. Then I see it, huge and glistening. It's not something I would normally order from a restaurant such as this, but it's pink in the middle and done to perfection. There's no other choice. I must have the roast beef.

  I pick the beef, ask the next server down the line to add mashed potatoes and brown gravy and a serving of Harvard beets. I love the tanginess of Harvard beets, they almost taste pickled.

  We pick up drinks and then arrive at the cash register. I pay for both our meals with some of the cash I got from the ATM. Grays is too close to where we are staying for me to want to take chances. As the perky cashier rings me up, I notice Daphne was unable to resist the fried chicken and she has an interesting piece of cake on her plate.

  We carry our trays to a table in a dining room which is larger than any I've ever seen. Starving after looking at all the food, Daphne and I dig in. The food is everything the tempting aromas promised. It's not fancy, it's not trendy, it's American comfort food at its very best. My roast beef is flavorful and so tender I can cut it with my fork. The potatoes taste as if they were mashed moments ago and the gravy is rich and savory. Every single thing we've ordered was made in house and made well. You can tell there's no microwaves and boxed potato flakes in this kitchen.

  Daphne's interesting piece of cake is lemon with berries. She gives me a bite, and it is good, but it doesn't hold a candle to my coconut cream pie. Nirvana.

  I'm thinking about moving to Mooresville. I'm thinking that if I move to Mooresville, I might end up weighing five
hundred pounds from eating pie three times a day. Still, it's worth thinking about.

  There's only one fly in the ointment. While we enjoy our dinner, no nearby diner chokes. No robber produces a gun and takes us hostage. No one on the wait staff has an injury which requires my first aid prowess.

  The dinner was distracting, but as we finish up and I count out a generous tip, my anxiety returns. I can't help but wonder when the other shoe is going to drop.

  We're quiet on the ride to the house; sleepy from the big meal. I’m driving my car, but I’m having trouble concentrating on the road. I feel a strange mixture of weary and antsy; eyes at half mast and a left leg that keeps bouncing up and down as if it has a life of its own. What am I doing anyway? Eating out and going to stupid garage sales. While I’m not complaining about Daphne’s company, I am tired of running around motels and borrowed houses and stupid yard sales. Daphne is awesome, and I love how we’re finally getting to know one another, but I wish we could get better acquainted at home. Adam the Douche is pissing me off. If he hadn’t started waving around a gun, I never would have agreed to run around trying to avoid him. It would have been better to wait it out at home and take care of the jerk right away. The gun makes it a whole new ballgame. I’m not nearly as willing to put Daphne in danger as I am to face danger myself. Facing danger is no big deal. I’ve had tons of experience. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s a barrel of monkeys kind of fun, but it’s doable.

  The closer we get to our faux home, the twitchier I become. Maybe it’s because I’m still waiting for the next instance of my curse to show up. It’s overdue. As I wind through the residential streets of Mooresville, no one has a freak lawnmower accident while doing their landscaping, no children fall out of trees while trying to rescue a cat, and no cars crash willy-nilly into each other. It’s twilight of a beautiful summer day, it's been completely peaceful and ordinary, and I’m about to twitch right out of my skin because I’m no longer used to having a day of rest. The last time I tried to, I was interrupted by Douche shouting and pounding on Daphne’s door. See? Even if I try to hermit up, my curse finds ways to get to me.

  At last, we pull into the driveway. Daphne looks as sleepy as me as we head towards the front door of the house.

  “Want to watch a movie?” I pull the key from my pocket.

  “Maybe a short one.” Daphne pauses to yawn. “I’m so sleepy.”

  “We’ll find something in Todd’s stash. And hey, if we fall asleep on the sectional, who cares? It’s not like we have to be anywhere tomorrow.”

  I slide the key into the lock and step into the house, Daphne close behind me. My first, stupid thought as I close the door is not remembering us leaving the living room light on.

  “It’s about time you came home. I’ve been waiting all day.”

  There he is, sitting on the sectional as if he lived here. Adam the Douche, the bane of my existence, is lounging there like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  The pistol in his hand tells a different story.

  Fourteen

  “Stay behind me.” I move slightly to the left to block Daphne from the bastard.

  “Don’t you tell her what to do, dipshit. No one gives my girlfriend orders but me.” Adam stands up. The gun is pointed more or less towards the floor, but he waves it around as he talks.

  “Daphne isn’t your girlfriend.” Standing my ground, I try to ignore the gun as crazy pants points it at me briefly.

  I’m done with this. I’m done with running and hiding and I’m sure as shit done with Adam the Douche. I’m ready to go home and sleep in my own bed. The sooner I take care of this nutcase, the sooner I get to. My only concern is keeping Daphne safe. If I was alone, I’d rush the bastard right now and get it over with.

  “I’m not here to listen to your lies. I’m here to talk to my girlfriend.” Adam raises his hand and points the gun squarely at my face. “What say you come and have a seat you cheating bitch, or I’ll put a bullet hole in your damned friend’s damned face.”

  “Stay behind me!” I try my best, but she’s frightened of the gun, and who can blame her. Daphne goes to the corner of the big sectional farthest from Adam and sits down.

  I remain where I am, ready for action the moment an opening presents itself. I can feel every muscle in my arms and legs tensing. My pulse beats a rapid tattoo in my ears. I can feel my entire body leaning slightly towards the Douche, ready to take him down.

  I can imagine my hands tightening around his thick neck and the mental picture gives me more pleasure than it probably should.

  “Now you, you home-wrecking bastard.” He steps slightly closer to me, the gun aimed at my face. “What kind of dude are you, trying to take a woman away from her man?”

  He isn’t close enough for me to get my hands on him. If he would step a little closer, I’d show him exactly what kind of dude I am. My fingers twitch, so eager they are to throttle this guy.

  “You aren’t her man.” My voice is calm, and it pisses him off further.

  “Stop lying!” His hands are shaking now, and I start to worry I might get shot by the crazy bastard before I get a chance to choke the life out of him.

  I have been in thousands of emergency situations since I turned eighteen. If you need someone to do CPR or stop a bar fight, I’m your man. I have been in more fights than I can count, though I’ve never once started one myself. Through the whole of my experience, I’ve done what I needed to do, fairly emotionlessly, and then been done with it.

  Never in my life have I been as furious as I am at this second. Never before have I wanted to kill someone because I was angry as hell. I don’t only want to stop him, I want to end him. My hands twitch again. Soon, I think, soon.

  I have to remind myself not to kill him.

  “How did you find us, Adam?” Daphne’s voice sounds pleasant but a little strained. “I mean, I know you are clever, but we really tried to hide and you found us like it was nothing.”

  I think she’s trying to calm him down. Daphne most likely saw how close the bastard was to shooting me and was trying to help. I’d like it better if she stayed out of it. I remember how he was shouting at her in the hallway of our apartment building. He’s not above hurting her if he gets angry enough.

  My knees bend slightly in reaction. I’m ready to run forward at any second to keep Douche from hurting Daphne. At this point, I don’t even care if I get shot. For the first time in my miserable life, I’ve got someone in my life who doesn’t seem turned off by my circumstances. I adore her. I’ll gladly get shot if it means she’s all right. Besides, as much as this saving-people curse sucks, I seem to lead a charmed life. I have never had a serious injury as a result of my habit of leaping into the fray. I don’t see why it would change now.

  To my surprise, Douche does seem to calm down a little. He keeps the pistol in his hand but lowers it to point at the floor again.

  “Yeah, I bet you pissed your pants when you saw me. Weren’t expecting company, were you? Thought you could buy this house and shack up together, and I’d never find you, didn’t you?”

  He’s wrong about why we’re at the house, but I don’t feel like correcting him. He’s wrong about the piss too, but let him think I’m scared.

  “I tell you,” Adam says as he starts walking a little around the living room, “It was a piece of cake to find a couple idiots like you. I remember what phone company you use, and I had a friend track down your phone number.”

  His “friend” might well be someone he met in prison, just as we had speculated. It would explain how he tracked Daphne's debit card. This guy isn't smart enough to do any sort of hacking on his own.

  "Piece of cake." Adam smirks at me as he continues to wander around the room. "I called the phone company. Told them all about my teenage son who went to the big concert downtown last night. My poor son never came home, and he's diabetic, so he really needs his insulin."

  "Someone at the phone company helped you stalk Daphne?" I want
to throw him off guard again, he's looking a little too at ease.

  "Shut up!" Adam's gun remains pointed at the floor, but he wanders a little closer to me.

  Two more steps and he's mine. My time sense goes funky. Douche Man seems to be moving in slow motion. His voice sounds lower and slower than it did seconds ago. My time to act is imminent.

  "Bastard! You don't know nothin' about me and Daph. So what if it took me a couple tries before I found someone to turn the GPS tracker on for Daphne's phone. They did, and I found her, and I ain't lettin' some dumb jackass keep her away from me."

  He takes one last step toward me to shout his last line, and it's all the opening I need. One quick lunge forward and I head butt the douche right in the nose. He stumbles back, but he continues to keep a white-knuckled grip on the gun. I follow him back without hesitation, grab him by the head, and pull it down with all the force I can as I raise a knee.

  His head connects with my knee with a satisfying thunk of sound. Never before in my life have I been pleased by such primal violence, but I remain furious this meathead has caused Daphne trouble. He cost her a favorite job. He's frightened her and terrorized her family. In my opinion, he deserves the worst I can give him.

  He must have dropped the gun, because I see it skitter across the floor to hide under the sectional like a frightened kitten. A tug on my arms reminds me I still have a death grip on the bastard's head, and he's busily trying to fall down. I release my hands, and he falls in a heap on the carpet.

  He lies there, twitching and struggling weakly. Probably no longer a danger to anyone. Seems like I heard his nose breaking when I head-butted him. While he may not be feeling too perky, I'm not taking any chances with Daphne's safety. Daphne.

  It seems to take me forever to turn my head far enough to see her where she sits on the sectional. Eyes wide, her mouth is a perfect 'o' of surprise. She sits there, frozen in time, and I don't know if it's because my time sense remains wonky or if my violence has horrified her.