Read Online A Small Matter by M.M. Wilshire - Free Book Online

and took them
with a sip of Suicide.
    “What’ve they got you on?” Mary-Jo said.
    “I’m really not sure,” Vickie said. “I'm
self-medicating. My fiancé supplied me with them this
morning--they’re working, that’s all I care about for now.”
    They sat and sipped, nodding in tune to the
beat from the bar--Elvin Bishop, Fooled Around and Fell in
Love--the angel-sweet crooner framing his testimony to the value of
true love found.
    “Your brother’s name is Dalk?” Mary-Jo said.
“Is that a nickname?”
    “I know what you mean,” Vickie said. “It’s
unusual, isn’t it? He had a lot of trouble from the other kids when
he was growing up--plus, Dalk’s a little on the short side--it’s
probably why he was attracted to the warrior life.”
    “Does it mean anything?” Mary-Jo said. “The
name Dalk, I mean.”
    “Dad always told us it was the ancient Celtic
word for iron, which meant strength,” Vickie said. “But after Dad
died, we did some research and weren’t able to find any proof. It’s
possible Dad simply made it up. At this point, it’s a mystery.”
    The Promenade before them was suddenly
deserted, in one of those accidents of fate and timing, and Vickie
felt the curious sensation of silence about her. She took a deep
breath and felt something hard at the end of it, as though someone
had tied a rock to her lungs with a string. When her lungs
expanded, the rock pulled downward at the same time, making her
effort to obtain oxygen enormous.
    “Ohhhh,” she wheezed. The feeling passed, the
rock disappeared, and she inhaled deeply, greedily.
    “You went three shades whiter,” Mary-Jo said.
“Shall I call for a doctor?”
    Vickie felt ashamed of her weakness.
Struggling to avoid eye contact, she turned deliberately away.
“No,” she said. “No doctor. Phew! I feel like I survived an Al Gore
masseuse bear hug--I have no idea where that came from.”
    “It’s anxiety,” Mary-Jo said. “What with all
you’re facing, it’s not unexpected. A lot of people go through it
when they contemplate purchasing real estate.”
    Vickie turned back around. “Well, I’m pretty
tired of this nonsense--I keep praying for it just to be over--but,
you know, I’m still here. My fiancé is probably keeping me alive
with his prayers.” She sipped her drink and the straw sucked air.
She needed another frozen cylinder of booze. In her attempt to
signal the waiter, she was surprised to find she could barely lift
her arm. The thing weighed a ton.
    “Order me another drink,” she said to
Mary-Jo. She took a quick look around. Nobody seemed to be noticing
her display of weakness, but Mary-Jo’s face brimmed with emotions
Vickie couldn’t place for a second, but then it caught up with her.
Mary-Jo was giving her The Face--the one people gave to the
dying--a sickening blend of sadness and pity Vickie had never seen
before. She realized that she herself must have given such a face
to other dying people in her lifetime, but it came as a shock to
find it turned on her.
    “Stop with the face,” she said to
Mary-Jo.
    “You’re a brave woman,” Mary-Jo said. “I can
see you fighting it with everything you’ve got--you’re a little
saint.”
    “If I’m anything,” Vickie said, “it’s a
concerned sister. I’m concerned for Dalk--but only because I
suspect he’ll be adrift without me. That’s why I need you to find
him a good house.”
    “Then let’s get busy and find him one,”
Mary-Jo said. She slid closer to Vickie and together they flipped
through the electronic database of pictures of available beach
properties. Vickie sat back. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’m too
tired. Shut the computer off.”
    Mary-Jo closed the lid and the machine
whirred its way to silence. “Maybe tomorrow, when you’re feeling
better,” she said. “I understand.”
    “No,” Vickie said. “You don’t understand--I
can’t do this--I’m too weak. You’re going to have to do the whole
thing for