Chapter 1

“Why do you always assume I’m exaggerating, Tricia?” Greta closed her eyes and let her head fall onto the headrest. She was too distraught to start the car.

“You got the sticker you needed. It couldn’t have been that bad if you got what you went for. If you only knew what I had to deal with today, you’d see that your problem is nothing. I can’t let your outburst threaten my fragile equilibrium today.” On the other end of the phone, Tricia stretched her aching back.

 “When was the last time you went to the Department of Motor Vehicles and had a positive experience?” Greta started the car but left it in park. No matter what happened to her, Tricia’s life was always worse. Unfortunately, their need to compete defined their relationship.

“Look, Maggie, we’ve talked about this before.”

“Don’t call me Maggie.” Greta shifted the car into reverse. If she could get out of the parking lot, she could escape the anger building inside her body. “You know that triggers bad memories for me.”

Tricia continued as if she had not been interrupted. “All because the chairs were not perfectly aligned in the waiting room and the pens contained the wrong color ink doesn’t mean the world will end.”

“Don’t call me Maggie.”

“That’s who you are to me. My big sister, Mighty Maggie. You are my hero, Margareta.” Tricia plopped into the chair with

the least amount of cracked vinyl and steeled herself to comfort her sister. Yet again.

“I know. But every once in a while, I wish you’d be the hero instead of disappearing. Then I wouldn’t have to leave my house.”

“That’s not healthy, and you know it.” Tricia yawned. “I still have three more hours before my shift ends. What do you have planned for the rest of your day?”

 “I’m going for an ice cream sundae to dispel my rage. I took the whole afternoon off, but now I don’t have the energy to tackle the rest of my errands. Ice cream and then pajamas for me.”

“Sounds like a wonderful plan. I’ll see you later.” Tricia checked her watch and hoped her sister would allow her to end the call now. She didn’t want to spend her entire break listening to more whining.

“I can get enough for both of us. Come over after work, and we’ll smother our problems with chocolate syrup.” This idea gave Greta the courage to maneuver out of the parking lot. Even though their negative emotions fed off each other, they were still sisters. No one understood her like her sister.

“If it’s ice cream from Sandy’s place, I’ll be there.”

“I’m just pulling into Sandy’s now. She always has her tables positioned properly. I can tolerate her shop’s configuration without hyperventilating.”

“Perfect.” Tricia rolled her eyes. “I wonder why the crash didn’t cause such severe obsessive-compulsive disorder in me as it did in you?”

 “I don’t want to talk about it. See you later.” Greta disconnected the call and counted to three before turning off her phone. Three had always been her comfort number. Two was not enough, and four was … well, four.

She counted to three again after turning off the engine. It was impossible to open the car door until three seconds after removing the key from the ignition.

Greta squinted into the sunshine and noted that most of the cars were parked perpendicular to the lines. This provided a small degree of comfort and security. The advertisements taped to the shop’s door were also aligned. If they had been crooked by even one degree, she would have returned to her car and suffered through ice cream withdrawal at home.

While she fidgeted behind another customer, Greta searched for Sandy. The owner understood the importance of applying the toppings in just the right order and quantity. The other employees were friendly, but reckless with their placement of syrups and sprinkles. In her panic, Greta didn’t notice when the employee excused herself to find the owner.

“Hello, Greta.” Sandy filled a cup with chocolate ice cream. She focused on her work and did not meet Greta’s eyes.

Greta relaxed slightly when Sandy appeared. “I need one for Tricia, too, please.”

“Of course.” Sandy moved to the toppings area and glanced at Greta. She noticed an extra layer of tension around Greta’s mouth but knew better than to comment. Telling a tense person they look stressed does nothing to sooth them. “Is this ‘to go’ or are you eating here today?”

Greta glanced around the small eating area. Sandy’s was one of the few public places she could tolerate for more than three minutes. Today was probably not the ideal time to push herself, but she decided to try and endure being among the people anyway. Her apartment, her comfort zone, was just a few blocks away, and she would be there soon.

“I’ll eat mine here, but make Tricia’s to go.”

Greta accepted one sundae over the counter and monitored Sandy as she placed Tricia’s in the freezer. Greta let out a breath once Sandy had its paper bag perfectly aligned with the side of the freezer wall. She paid without chatting, knowing Sandy would respect her aversion to small talk. The two women exchanged a brief smile before Greta settled into a red plastic chair. As always, she sat with her back against the wall where she had a clear view of the doorway.

Greta arranged her ice cream, napkin, spoon, and hands into the precise position for eating. The sweet aroma of fresh fruit toppings and the sandy beach themed decor did not penetrate through her stress. A young man pacing in front of the building did, however, disrupt her concentration. School had ended for the day, so Greta assumed the man was searching for his friends or maybe his child. He turned his head so often that Greta couldn’t get a good look at his face. This constant jerking triggered a buried memory, causing Greta to return her spoon to the table. Her sundae forgotten.

She jerked her head before throwing the phone …. before the crash.

Every atom in Greta’s body turned to stone. While she tried to convince herself that the two jerking heads were not related, the man opened the door. He didn’t walk to the counter but stood guard by the door. He held his head high, but the fidgeting of his limbs revealed his nervousness.

When the employee behind the counter caught his eye, the man yelled, “This is a hold up. Put your purses and wallets on the table. Jewelry too. And … and the cash register. I’m taking that, too.”

Through the haze of people screaming and chair legs scraping the floor, Greta’s anger boiled to the surface faster than a frog’s tongue grabs a fly. Her body did not consult her brain. It stood on its own and shouted. “Not today! You picked the wrong day to mess with me!”

The man’s head jerked in surprise, and he pulled a gun from his coat pocket. He walked to Greta and pointed the gun in her face, its barrel inches from her nose.

“Your purse and jewelry, lady! Now! Don’t think I won’t use this thing.”

Greta’s hand sliced through the air and sent the gun flying. In one fluid motion, she grabbed his pinkie finger and bent it backward. Three more millimeters and the bone would snap. Greta used this surprise to twist the man’s arm behind his back. In the process, he tripped on the table leg, hitting his chin as he collapsed on the floor.

Greta’s fury dated back to the days when everyone called her Maggie. The time before the crash. It was too late to stop it now. Greta unleased every ounce of penned up rage onto this man.

“What are you going to use now? Huh? I can reach your gun from here. Can you?” Greta jerked his pinkie finger to get his attention. “How many broken fingers do you need before you learn to respect people? We were minding our own business. Enjoying ice cream. No one here did you any harm. What gives you the right to steal from us?”

Her captive renewed his struggle to break free. Greta kicked at his leg and planted her booted foot firmly against his manhood. “Don’t mess with me, you slime! Before you start terrorizing people, make sure there are no mentally unbalanced customers in the crowd. You messed with your last female. Do you hear me? I’m going to make sure you never have the opportunity to rob anyone of their security ever again.” Greta’s foot punctuated her words with a swift kick between his legs.

The man groaned as Sandy retrieved his gun from the floor.

“Let me have it.” Greta reached for the gun.

Sandy hesitated. “It’s okay now. You have him under control. There’s no need to kill him.”

“This is your idea of okay? Nothing about this is okay. I’m done. I can’t take any more. Ever. This is the last time anyone … and I mean anyone … steals my sense of safety. I’m well past my limit. I need this to end. Give me the gun.”