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Colder Than Ice

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Grant Miller - Colder Than Ice

Your review has been submitted and will appear here shortly. Perhaps she was turning me over in her mind as I involuntarily began to do with her. Was she happily married? I needed to turn the final screw on a bad deed and let time begin the process of burying it. But now, wandering. Did this kindly woman smile at home as often as she did at work, or was it forced?

Did she smile only to ease her way through life, toward the inevitable—? I sensed rapid movement to my left. Shifting my gaze without sparing a turn of my head, I felt a familiar presence. A nervous brand of it—jittery—making the nerves in my neck and hands twitch. I stared at the seat opposite me, expecting at any moment to see his strong hands grasp the sides—the thick fingers, the veined and tanned backsides, the diamond studded wedding band that glittered like fresh snow kissed by noontime sunlight.

There were no diamonds. The gem shimmered, passing off different shades of green, from lime to avocado. I lifted my chin. The tall, freckled girl in a forest green tank top and salmon pink kapris glared at me as she pulled back the seat, sat, then scooted forward, her deep blue eyes not leaving mine for even a flicker. Her breath did however seem tightly controlled. My mouth had gone slack. I shook my head to get it working again. Who are you? I cocked my head, not sure whether I had any distant relatives by that name.

I leaned back, hoping the chair would take the hint and allow me to slide under the table. But the cushion, thin as it was, kept me in place as my stomach hardened. Isaac and I had never rendezvoused at his house, nor mine for that matter. Nowhere even near them—at least, as far as I knew. Residences were explicitly off limits; personal details were implicitly so.

He had referenced a daughter a few times. But the daughter—this girl —she looked absolutely nothing like Isaac. And yet there was something about her. Something I felt I should have been able to identify. I lifted my gaze. Her eyes fixed on mine as if she were trying to establish a beyond surface connection. She kept her lips pressed tightly together as she took deep breaths through her nose, her chest heaving. She was attempting something.

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I searched her face, her shoulders, the parts of her body I could see to massage my memory, to sprinkle water on anything Isaac had left there. But I came up blank. Her tactic was working. I straightened in my chair, cleared my throat. She leaned in further, hunching her shoulders as a snarl played under her nose. You never see him again.

We were on the same page. But thinking the young should have a bit more respect for their elders, I leaned forward a little, joining her in the conspiratorial tone. The little brat was pushing it. She almost seemed to smirk as she shook her head slightly. I know where you work. I know all about you. Speechless, I could only shake my head, not only at the audacity of it all, but at the ferociousness of this pale, reedy girl.

Did she have a criminal record? Was she armed right now? What the hell had Isaac said about her? My eyes left her face and traveled, not too quickly, across her body, this time trying to read her unspoken language, getting an honest feel—I hoped—on her intent. Did she have it in her to harm me? Could she really get to my family? Had she been a bad kid? Best I could remember, he only mentioned her in passing.

And vice versa. My husband and son, my coworkers, my friends—between the three groupings, I had everything I needed in the emotions department. Isaac had only been a toy, an action figure. Dolls meeting in playsets that would be monitored by none. And now his daughter claimed to have it all anyway, all the information I would have and could have given up.

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The girl scooted her chair backward. Still, I kept my eyes on her as she left the table, moving toward the entrance. Barefoot, she made no sounds on the wooden floor—no creaking wood or sticky soles. She talked like a mafia hitman but moved like a knock-kneed teen not yet comfortable with her body. My racing heart and fidgeting fingers seemed to have already concluded she was a threat. My legs had far less energy. Once she left my sight, I only turned and remained in my chair.

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The sight of the empty one across from me fuzzed into blurriness as my mind became a cyclone of thoughts, each one in such a hurry that comprehension of anything was an impossibility. I tipped for two. I sat on the bench near the doorway to put on my trainers. Holding my left shoe in my hand, I paused. It was forest green, and salmon pink.

What the hell kind of coincidence was that? I shuddered when stepping out onto the sidewalk. The winds had picked up. The sunglasses would stay on until I was safely back home.

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How had the girl gotten here? Car keys and her license could have been in her pockets, but I doubted it.

go to site Maybe she only carried a credit card, had gotten here by cab—like I had—and had left the same way. I double-checked the contents of my own purse to ensure I still had enough to get home. I always left credit cards at home when rendezvousing with Isaac, stocking my purse with cash and gift cards instead. This erased the chance Don would see any red flags on my credit card statement, should he ever happen to look at it.

I walked two blocks west and still saw not even a hint of the familiar red and black sedans. One last time I looked to my left and right, up and down the street, before rushing to take refuge under a nearby bus stop shelter. Secure and dry, I took the pre-paid out of my shoulder bag and called a taxi.

As I waited, three buses came and went. Instead, an all-black old model vehicle pulled up to the bus stop shelter. A Bentley. I was hesitant to reach for the door handle, thinking it had to be here for someone else.