Unusual Events: A Short Story Collection

by Max Florschutz

  “Got something in mind?” The machine behind Jane beeped, and she spun, neatly gathering up the printed card stock in deft, one-handed maneuver.

  Alma shrugged. “I could borrow the family console. There are a couple of new games out that both Jon and Adrien have already beaten that I’ve been meaning to get to. Seems as good a time as any.”

  Jane nodded. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Keep in mind though, that’s only going to work during the day. Once night hits …”

  “Right.” One more enjoyment that this whole situation had to get in the way of, she thought as she turned back towards the front counter and began idly reorganizing the paper display. “Maybe I’ll just bring some movies or something.”

  “Hey, I know that tone,” Jane said, frowning. “I know it’s rough. The first year always is.”

  Easy for you to say, she thought. You got hit with this when you were seven years old. You’ve been dealing with it for about twenty-five years.

  “But that’s why I keep telling you that you need to tell Jonathan,” Jane continued. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but he’s your husband. He should know.”

  “I know, Jane, all right.” She let out a groan. “I know. I just …” There was another customer walking up to the front door, a small cluster of papers in his left hand. Already she could tell that he was someone looking for a photocopy job.

  “Let’s talk about it some other time,” she said as the front door began to open. “For now, can we just work?”

  “Yeah, we can,” Jane said, though Alma could hear the slightly hurt tone in her voice. She’d need to apologize later.

  But later, she told herself as she gave the incoming customer a grin and took the flier from his hands. She could already smell the heavy musk scent of his aftershave, so strong that it almost covered up the sickly-sweet scent of marijuana smoke coming from his clothes. I can apologize later.

  She glanced at the clock as she made her way back to the copier. It was fifteen past one. Only another forty-five minutes until she was done with her part-time workday. She’d have to apologize to Jane before then. After all, she was doing a lot for her, between the hiring her as an excuse to be able to cover coaching her and then organizing the monthly retreats …

  It’s not fair to her to be so brusque when she really is trying to help out, Alma thought as she closed the photocopier and put it to work. If it wasn’t for her … She felt a small shiver run down her spine.

  I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for her, she thought. Waking up in a hospital in a foreign country, tubes all over in my arm and a doctor trying to explain to me in broken English what had happened. She could still feel the same sense of panic as her semi-fluent grasp of Spanish had picked up on what the nurses were talking about, the mounting sense of horror as she identified the words, the phrases, and realized what was burning its way through her blood. She’d called Jane as soon as she could get a phone, before she’d even called Jonathan. Jane had known exactly what to do, what to say, and what to tell the doctors. Then she’d hopped on the next plane down to Argentina, shown up in a matter of hours, and been there right by her side to coach the doctors as they’d tried to fight the infection off.

  Jane had done everything she could to try and help her. The last thing she needs is me blowing her off because she’s trying to help, Alma thought as she passed the customer his papers and took his payment. And she’s right. Jonathan needed to know. Not Adrien … He was young still, and the last thing she wanted was to put pressure on him. But Jonathan …

  She watched in silence as the customer left. Jonathan needs to be told, she thought. But before that … She turned, opening her mouth as she caught sight of Jane, and—

  “Apology accepted,” Jane said without even looking up.

  Alma froze. “Wait, what?”

  “You heard me, girlfriend,” Jane said, looking up and giving her a grin. “Apology accepted. I can always tell when you’re feeling bad about something and are going to apologize. You pout. Besides, I know what day it is. You’ve been having it rough, so I’m cutting you a break.”

  Alma smiled. “Thanks, Jane. Really. For everything.”

  “Aww, you know me,” Jane said, tilting her head to one side as she moved the business cards she was handling over to the shrink-wrap machine. “What are best friends for?”

  Alma let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, well if all best friends did as much as you, I think the world would be a much better place. For everyone.”

  “I won’t disagree,” Jane said, still smiling. “In fact, that comment’s almost worthy of a raise.” She threw one hand up into the air, striking a pose. “Everyone should be a little bit more like me!” Then she laughed. “Now come on. Help me get these cards done. And while we’re at it, provided we don’t get any more customers walking in, I can give you a few more tips on making the best of things.”

  For a moment Alma hesitated. The “tips,” as Jane was calling them, were new, more confined to the last month than to the months prior when her friend had just been trying to help her get used to the idea of what had happened to her. Thankfully enough she’d dodged the most common problems that most people in her situation faced—like the nightmares that had plagued Jane for months after her own incident. Those could be dangerous, manifesting in alarming ways if left unchecked.

  Thankfully, nightmares hadn’t been a problem for her after the first few days. Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t still having bad dreams. But they’d taken on their own form, since she wasn’t as afraid of what had been done to her as she was of what it meant. Most of her dreams involved her trying desperately to keep her symptoms from appearing, which according to Jane meant that she was, for the most part, subconsciously suppressing any actual, physical reactions that she otherwise might have had. Jane had suggested going to a psychiatrist, preferably one recommended by the local Doghouse.

  Alma had declined the offer. She wasn’t comfortable as it was with what had happened. Talking to anyone about it other than Jane … She wasn’t ready for that yet. Not yet.

  “Sure,” she said, though she knew just by the look on Jane’s face that her friend knew she was only partially enthusiastic about it. But she had to try. Jane only wanted to help. And besides, she was right, some of the tips she’d offered had been pretty helpful, even if some of them she hadn’t dared try yet. Like her solution to dealing with bad cramps. She wasn’t going to try that one yet, no matter how tempting it sounded.

  “Right,” Jane said, nodding as she slid a pack of newly-wrapped cards down the counter. “So, let’s start with the most important basics.”

  “Care and health?”

  Jane laughed. “No. Tax breaks. Trust me, Alma, you’re going to see some good benefits … if you know what to file for.”

  “Not just the dental?” Alma asked as she plucked up the still-warm pack of cards.

  “No,” Jane said. “There are some other nice bonuses you can get. For starters, your insurance premiums are going to drop like a rock.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. As long as you’re registered and can prove it—which actually isn’t that hard to do, especially if you talk to your insurance provider in person—you can get a pretty nice discount.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It is,” Jane said. “You can claim things like the retreats are deductible too, if you fill out the right form with your ten-forty, and …”

  Alma nodded, only half-listening as her eyes drifted back to the clock. Another forty minutes, and her workday would be done.

  * * *

  She heard the sound of Jonathan’s car approaching the house long before she spotted the small, battered, blue jeep rolling up the driveway. The tiny vehicle was rocking back and forth as it bounced from pothole to pothole, the stiff suspension making the small holes look far worse than they really were and kicking up fountains of mud from the recent rainfall with every bump.

  “Dad’s home!�
�� she called out as she shifted the dish she was holding in her hands, her fingers sliding across the smooth stoneware surface. Even from across the house, she could still hear the eager scrape of Adrien’s chair being shoved away from his desk, followed by the rapid-fire pound of footsteps as he raced down the hall towards the front door. Outside the window, she could see Jon pulling up to the concrete pad in front of their home, waving at her through the windshield. She gave her husband a quick wave back, then went back to scrubbing the rest of the crockpot clean.

  The sound of the front door opening brought with it several scents, all of which she liked. One was the scent of the outdoors—wet and moist after the recent rainfall, but still vibrant and alive. Another was the faint, cloying scent of the jeep—almost unobtrusive, but still there—a faint, acrid, smoke-and-metal smell.

  But the best scent of all was the one that overpowered the smell of jeep and the outside air both, a soft, subtle scent that brought with it memories of evenings spent at the county fair and a slightly charming yet awkward boy who’d actually turned out to be quite sweet and intelligent once she’d gotten to know him and they’d both grown up a little.

  “Hey!” The sound of Adrien’s running feet terminated in laughter, and she smiled. “How’s Adrien today?”

  “All right.” Adrien’s voice was low, but she could still make it out, though he probably thought he couldn’t hear her. “I got in trouble at school, though.”

  “Oh?” She moved the crockpot over to the other half of her sink and began rinsing it as Jonathan spoke. The sound of the rushing water overwhelmed her ability to hear the next few moments of the conversation, but she could guess well enough what was being said. Adrien would tell him about the student that had been picking on him, and Jonathan might find out about the note, but he’d probably come to the same conclusion that she had—the other child had probably started it, but Adrien had said something back that he wasn’t supposed to. So the punishment his mother had already given him would stand, and they would discuss the whole thing in more detail later.

  She’d just grabbed the dishtowel to dry the pot when she heard Jonathan walk into the kitchen behind her. “Hey, honey,” he said, wrapping his hands around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “How was work?”

  “Not bad,” she said, pausing to lean back and give him a quick smile and a kiss. “Jane talked a lot, as always.”

  “So normal, then,” Jon said, giving her a light squeeze before pulling away. “My turn to cook dinner tonight?”

  She nodded, giving him a smug smile as she pulled away from him and set the heavy stoneware pot back in its cradle. “Yup. Your turn. And it’s Wednesday, so no leftovers.”

  “Right,” he said, nodding as he walked over to the fridge. He paused, hand on the handle. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “That?” she asked as he tapped the card she’d been given earlier that day. “Just something one of the customers at work left me. Big, beefy guy who’s opening a butcher shop; thought you might be interested.”

  “Yeah.” He plucked the card from the front of the fridge, almost knocking one of Adrien’s school pictures aside in the process. “Though that big, beefy part kind of worries me a little,” he said, giving her a quick smile.

  She let out a laugh. “Did I mention that he’s self-employed? Not working for a private school that’s paying him enough for his brain that he can afford a decent mortgage?”

  “So he’s smart too?” Jonathan said, his eyes widening in mocking horror. “Maybe we’d better not.”

  “Did I mention he has a beard?” she said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “Yuck. Give me that baby smooth face any day.” There was a sound of disgust from the doorway, followed by a rapid-pattering of feet as Adrien ran back to his desk.

  “So if I grew a beard …” Jonathan suggested.

  “Ah-ah,” she said, shaking her head. “Careful with those thoughts, smart guy. You might talk yourself into a corner. Check the back of the card.”

  Jonathan flipped over the stock and let out a low-whistle. “That’s a pretty good deal. You aren’t saying …?”

  “I’m just thinking about it, grill-master,” she said. “We can talk about it a little more first. For now, I’m feeling hungry, so I want to know what you’re thinking of making for dinner so we can get it underway.”

  “You’re helping out?” he asked as he stuck the card back on the fridge.

  “Why not?” She gave him a smile. “Adrien is busy with his homework, and I had time earlier to get most of my stuff taken care of. Besides, this way I can at least have some influence over what we have.”

  “Right.” Jonathan tugged the fridge open. “What about tacos? We haven’t made tacos in a while.”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  “Cool.” Jonathan pulled a packet of hamburger from the fridge, and her stomach let out a low growl at the sight of the red, uncooked meat. Jonathan lifted an eyebrow in her direction.

  “I skipped lunch,” she said, hoping the lie wouldn’t show on her face. It was an easy falsehood, and one that she’d made quite a bit over the last few months, but it still hurt.

  Just one more reason to tell him, she thought as she passed him a frying pan. Then you’d be able to stop lying about how much you’re eating, about why your diet’s changed … About everything. Just ... not now. Not where Adrien could listen in.

  “Anything interesting happen at work?” she asked instead.

  “Nothing major,” he said, shaking his head. “A few unruly students, but most of them calmed down once I got to work. Other than that, nothing big. You?”

  “Just lots of customers,” she said as the hamburger hit the pan with a hot sizzle. The smell of roasting meat filled the kitchen, making her salivate. “And a reminder that next week is the company retreat.”

  “Oh, yeah …” Jonathan threw her a knowing nod. “Company retreat. Going up to the cabin again?”

  “Yeah, just for a couple days. Perks of being self-employed,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring grin.

  “Still seems like you and Jane are going on these trips a lot. I know you’re just having fun,” he said, raising his hands and waving his spatula as if to ward off any odd ideas she might’ve gotten from his comment. “It’s just you and one of your best friends catching up after she ended up running into you down in Argentina—”

  That was the story they’d given him. That Jane had already been in Argentina and had heard about the accident by pure chance. It was a flimsy story, but thankfully Jonathan hadn’t bothered questioning it too deeply. He was just glad she’d been alive after such a horrible car accident.

  Right. Car accident. If only it had been just that.

  “—but it’s still four days out of … what? Every month?” Jonathan shrugged. “She’s still going to give you regular vacation time to spend off with us this summer, right?”

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t she?”

  “I don’t know, just thought I’d double check. Could you please pass me the taco seasoning?”

  He was being a little more polite than normal. Apparently he was worried that his asking might have made her upset.

  I should just tell him now, she thought. Just open my mouth and say it. Jonathan, baby? There’s something I need to talk to you about. Come on, you can do it. She opened her mouth, only to snap it shut as he gave her an odd look.

  “Alma? Are you going to hand me the … Are you feeling alright?”

  “I …” She shook her head. “Just a lot on my mind. Kind of tired.” No, I can’t tell him. How would he act? What would he do? What would he say?

  He’d say he loved you, part of her said, but there was another part that was afraid he wouldn’t. She’d seen the stories on the news. Something like this happened, something big … and the next thing they knew the couple didn’t love each other anymore. I can’t do that to Adrien. I don’t want to do that to us.

  She turned to the spice rack. “Tac
o seasoning coming up. How’s that one kid you were having trouble with?”

  She passed the spice to Jonathan as he nodded and began to talk, telling her all about his day.

  Which was good. She’d let him talk. She couldn’t yet. Not yet.

  Not yet.

  * * *

  “So Adrien, anything you want to tell your dad about school today?” Her son looked up at her, excitement falling from his face, a forkful of lasagna stopped halfway to his mouth. “Well?”

  “The bad news, huh?” Jonathan asked as he reached out and tapped the remote with one hand. The show they’d been watching came to a sudden stop, which was all right with her. It was a documentary on the growing exploration into myth and folklore to find out what was myth … and what was Unusual. It had been Jonathan’s choice, since he’d made dinner again, but the questions the researchers had been asking felt a little too close to her own situation for comfort.

  “It’s not my fault,” Adrien said, staring down at his plate. “It’s Nikki’s.”

  “Who?” Jonathan asked.

  “Nikki’s,” Adrien said, still not looking up at either of them. “She’s mean.”

  “According to the note Mrs. Slant sent home,” Alma said, pulling Jonathan’s eyes toward her. “Adrien pushed her into a desk.”

  “No I didn’t, mom!” Adrien said. “She was shoving me and making it hard for me to work and calling me names and I—I …“ His voice was starting to catch, his words coming out strange. He was getting upset.

  “What did you do, Adrien?” Jonathan asked.

  “I stood up to tell her to leave me alone and she fell over backwards,” he said, his voice stabilizing a little. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest. “And she hit her head on her desk. Then she told Mrs. Slant that I pushed her, and all her friends said I did!” He wasn’t crying yet, but the outrage for it was in his voice. “I didn’t do it!”

  Jonathan looked up at her. “So …?” he asked, clearly unsure of what to do.

  “It’s the second time he’s gotten in trouble this week,” Alma said, shrugging. “If it happens again, Mrs. Slant will call us, and one of us will have to go in and talk with her.”