Read Online Photo, Snap, Shot by Joanna Campbell Slan - Free Book Online Page A

let Gracie out of the playpen and snapped on her leash. I turned to the sound of Dodie’s heavy footfalls. She had a habit of clomping along, letting her heavy bulk hit the ground hard with each step. Tonight, she was walking more slowly and awkwardly than usual. I let Gracie out the back, and she quickly did her business.
    Dodie stood in the doorway to the stockroom, watching us, and stroking her chin.
    “I had a root canal last fall,” she said. “It was a whole lot more fun than this evening.”
    “With any luck, Patricia will never come back.”
    Dodie gave me a stern look. “Everyone is welcome here.”
    Oops.
    Dodie continued, “But some are more welcome than others.”
    I laughed.
    Mert stepped into the backroom. “You cain’t stop people like her. She don’t have a subtle bone in that body of hers.”
    “That’s because prejudice and ignorance go hand in hand,” said Dodie. “Like chicken fat and matzo meal.”
    Not the metaphor that sprang to my mind.
    Mert leaned against the wall and shook her head. “You know, folks forget that the father of the American Nazi Party was born right across that river over in Illinois.”
    This was news to me. Gracie whimpered by my side.
    Dodie sighed. “Ladies, I need to call this a night.”
    Mert jingled her keys. “Me, too. Let’s all walk out together, okay?”
    That was our new safety routine, one recommended by the local Richmond Heights P.D. While I’d never ask anyone to go with me—I didn’t care to be thought a chicken—I felt much more comfortable when we left as a group. As Dodie turned the lock, Mert said, “I got a new pooch for you to babysit. I’m picking him up tomorrow. His name is Mr. Gibbes. Is the kid at Sheila’s?”
    “Yes.” I didn’t tell Mert I needed to chat with Detweiler. I knew I should just call him and leave a message. But I thought it possible he’d drop by to hear what I’d learned, and I struggled to come up with a reasonable excuse for why he should. “How about you call me first? Make sure I’m home?”
    My friend gave me a long thoughtful stare as we stood beside our cars. “You got plans?”
    I blushed. “Uh, no.”
    Dodie climbed into hers and turned on her lights.
    “I’ll call first,” my best friend said. Her eyes were narrow as she swept them over me.
    Mert. She could see through me like I was an acetate overlay.
    Drat.
    ___
    I called Detweiler on my way home. He didn’t answer so I left a message. I hemmed and hawed around, feeling like a schoolgirl calling a boy for a date. By the time I sputtered out my thoughts, the ending beep sounded.
    Gracie leaned over and licked my ear.
    She knew what was up.
    I felt about two inches high as I dragged my carcass out of the car. Once inside the house, I noticed I had two messages in my cell phone, one from Ben Novak, a really sweet guy I’d been keeping at arm’s length, and Johnny, Mert’s brother. Any other woman, any sensible woman, would have been glowing with joy.
    Instead, I was ashamed of myself.
    I stripped to my underwear and crawled into bed without removing my eye makeup or brushing my teeth. How bad was I? I couldn’t stop thinking about a married man, the one man I couldn’t have; instead of being tickled to a shade of cardstock pink, I was depressed. How did this happen? How did I let myself care?
    And what was I going to do about it?
    ___
    Sunday once had been a family day for Anya and me. I’d make a special breakfast, and we’d take Gracie for a ramble through a park. However, late last spring my darling daughter had informed me I needed to find friends of my own age. She was tired of entertaining me.
    No one ever picked me for dodge ball either. But this hurt even more ’cause no one in gym class had ever given me stretch marks. A black eye once, but no stretch marks.
    Sheila was up, bright and cheery, when I called. She practically chirped that Anya had spent the Saturday night at her friend Nicci Moore’s house. I rather suspected