Read Online Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear by Sharon Dunn - Free Book Online
Authors: Sharon Dunn
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have?”
“It can be. It’s spread to my lungs, the thick skin, so I have to be careful.” She leaned a little closer to Arleta. “Don’t look so glum. I’ve had scleroderma for fourteen years. The pain was awful at first, but it has sort of evened out.”
Arleta felt like she’d just run a long way in a hailstorm. Her skin tingled with cold and pain, and she didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what made me ask that.”
Gloria’s gaze did not flicker. Such kind eyes.
Gloria negotiated her way through the crowd to the counter. She emerged a few seconds later holding one plastic cup and one foam cup and returned to Arleta’s table. She wrapped the Italian soda in napkins. “Cold irritates the swelling in my hands. The napkins help. You have fun blogging.” She turned toward the door and then pivoted back around. “You might want to pick up that phone the next time it rings. You know, the God phone.”
Arleta mimed a phone to her ear. “I’ll think about it.” She watched until the crowd outside the coffee shop enveloped Gloria and she disappeared from view. She clicked open a file and typed:
I am sitting in a coffee shop near the Wind-Up Hotel surrounded by shopping bags but suddenly, the nifty sweatshirt I got with the sequin embroidered cat matters very little to me. Our trip has spun off in unexpected directions that I am sure Ginger will share about later. I have had so much fun buying a whole new wardrobe and finding a flashier new me. But I am still the same old me on the inside. My soul needs some sequins and a little sparkle too. A conversation I had with a stranger reminded me that you can shop all you want, fill your life full of stuff, but in the end you die just like everyone else. I am pretty sure I got another twenty years before the warranty expires on this old ticker. But in the end, I am not the one who gets to decide that, am I now? We live in a world that says if you got a problem, throw money at it: from deodorant to Botox, to those TV ads for all those pills (half of which I have no idea what they are for). From stinking armpits to aging, anything that makes us slightly uncomfortable can be warded off by buying the right thing. But we still can’t buy our way out of death. It comes to us all, no matter how rich or important we are.”
Arleta read over what she had written. How depressing. She pressed the Delete button and watched the cursor eat the text until the blank screen stared back at her.
With her heart pounding like a basketball under Michael Jordan’s control, Ginger peered through binoculars as Phoebe jumped on the railing and stalked toward the celebrity squirrel. “There must be a way to make that elevator work.”
Victoria rooted through cupboards until she pulled out a bag of almonds. “Only Dustin knows the code.” She tore open the package of nuts.
“Please, the lives of a very important squirrel and a cat that I dearly love depend on it.” If Phoebe killed Binky, the squirrel lovers would demand a death for a death. “Those doors to the convention floor are locked. The cleaning crew isn’t going to hear me knocking. You know Dustin. Can’t you guess at the code? People usually use their birthdays or something like that.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “All right.” After tucking the bag of almonds under one arm, she swept past Dustin’s desk and grabbed a Day-Timer. “I have a couple of guesses.” She stepped into the elevator, placing the snack on a chrome shelf. “I am only doing this because I am mad at Dustin for missing our appointment.”
She didn’t care if Victoria’s motivation to help her was revenge. She’d take what she could get. “Thank you.” Ginger stepped in behind her.
“It’s a six-number code. I know that much.” Victoria grabbed a handful of nuts out of the package and munched. “Let’s try the address for the Wind-Up.” She pushed six numbers on a small panel the size of a calculator. Ginger held her breath.
“It can be. It’s spread to my lungs, the thick skin, so I have to be careful.” She leaned a little closer to Arleta. “Don’t look so glum. I’ve had scleroderma for fourteen years. The pain was awful at first, but it has sort of evened out.”
Arleta felt like she’d just run a long way in a hailstorm. Her skin tingled with cold and pain, and she didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what made me ask that.”
Gloria’s gaze did not flicker. Such kind eyes.
Gloria negotiated her way through the crowd to the counter. She emerged a few seconds later holding one plastic cup and one foam cup and returned to Arleta’s table. She wrapped the Italian soda in napkins. “Cold irritates the swelling in my hands. The napkins help. You have fun blogging.” She turned toward the door and then pivoted back around. “You might want to pick up that phone the next time it rings. You know, the God phone.”
Arleta mimed a phone to her ear. “I’ll think about it.” She watched until the crowd outside the coffee shop enveloped Gloria and she disappeared from view. She clicked open a file and typed:
I am sitting in a coffee shop near the Wind-Up Hotel surrounded by shopping bags but suddenly, the nifty sweatshirt I got with the sequin embroidered cat matters very little to me. Our trip has spun off in unexpected directions that I am sure Ginger will share about later. I have had so much fun buying a whole new wardrobe and finding a flashier new me. But I am still the same old me on the inside. My soul needs some sequins and a little sparkle too. A conversation I had with a stranger reminded me that you can shop all you want, fill your life full of stuff, but in the end you die just like everyone else. I am pretty sure I got another twenty years before the warranty expires on this old ticker. But in the end, I am not the one who gets to decide that, am I now? We live in a world that says if you got a problem, throw money at it: from deodorant to Botox, to those TV ads for all those pills (half of which I have no idea what they are for). From stinking armpits to aging, anything that makes us slightly uncomfortable can be warded off by buying the right thing. But we still can’t buy our way out of death. It comes to us all, no matter how rich or important we are.”
Arleta read over what she had written. How depressing. She pressed the Delete button and watched the cursor eat the text until the blank screen stared back at her.
With her heart pounding like a basketball under Michael Jordan’s control, Ginger peered through binoculars as Phoebe jumped on the railing and stalked toward the celebrity squirrel. “There must be a way to make that elevator work.”
Victoria rooted through cupboards until she pulled out a bag of almonds. “Only Dustin knows the code.” She tore open the package of nuts.
“Please, the lives of a very important squirrel and a cat that I dearly love depend on it.” If Phoebe killed Binky, the squirrel lovers would demand a death for a death. “Those doors to the convention floor are locked. The cleaning crew isn’t going to hear me knocking. You know Dustin. Can’t you guess at the code? People usually use their birthdays or something like that.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “All right.” After tucking the bag of almonds under one arm, she swept past Dustin’s desk and grabbed a Day-Timer. “I have a couple of guesses.” She stepped into the elevator, placing the snack on a chrome shelf. “I am only doing this because I am mad at Dustin for missing our appointment.”
She didn’t care if Victoria’s motivation to help her was revenge. She’d take what she could get. “Thank you.” Ginger stepped in behind her.
“It’s a six-number code. I know that much.” Victoria grabbed a handful of nuts out of the package and munched. “Let’s try the address for the Wind-Up.” She pushed six numbers on a small panel the size of a calculator. Ginger held her breath.
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