Forever Friday by Timothy Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

once.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, Clark dear.” Huck shook her hair out, making herself resemble a wild, windblown woman. “See? Now there won’t be any question about what you allow or your future wife’s status as a short-haired floozy.”
    “You’re acting ridiculous. I demand you sit and keep your voice down.”
    “And one more thing …” Huck grabbed a few strands of hair. Holding them at arm’s length, she separated a single hair between her thumb and forefinger. “Is this the one you forbid me to cut? Or is it one of the others?”
    Clark glanced about the room, stood, and spoke in a distinct hushed tone. “I will pull out your chair and you will calmly sit.” Reaching for Huck’s chair, he grasped her wrist instead.
    “You’re hurting me. Let go.”
    “Let go of your hair first,” he replied in a tone indifferent to her pain.
    With her free hand, Huck seized her meat knife and slashed the strands in a single whack. Clark reacted with a jerk, providing Huck a chance to pull free. He stepped back.
    “Your future wife doesn’t like being ordered what she may or may not do.” Huck set down the knife and inched toward the astounded Clark. “As far as
we’re
concerned, future is a noun that depends upon how
you
invest in the present. An unwise investment means eating the profits. Any good banker knows that.” She released the strands. “Diagram these,
dear
.”
    Everyone in the room watched them float onto his plate.
    Huck strode outside. By the time Clark had called the waiter and settled the dinner tab, she’d be riding a streetcar back to Mrs. Thompson’s boardinghouse.

Summer 2006
    Adam Colby
    “Have a great evening, Mr. Colby.” A wide-eyed carhop handed me a soda and a grease-spattered sack. “See you again tomorrow and thanks for the tip.”
    I cranked my SUV’s engine, then glanced at my side mirror and watched her skate back inside the burger joint. “A great evening?” I muttered. “Someday, maybe.”
    It had been a grueling week, but the Gruver Estate Sale was finally over. At least I had a few days before pricing began on the next one.
    That’s what took the most time.
    Pricing.
    It was a tedious chore Haley had loved … back when she loved me.
    Instead of shifting into reverse, I killed the motor, reached into the bag, and selected a scrawny french fry. “Looks as pathetic as my life,” I said blankly to the car parked next to me.
    I thumped the fry back into the sack with its burgerless buddies, took a sip of my soda, and checked my cell phone. No calls from Yevette; no messages either. She’d already canceled two of our scheduledmeetings, so I didn’t hold much hope for number three, even though it was supposed to be a charmed digit.
    In the message I’d left Yevette concerning our first meeting, I didn’t go into much detail; I just explained I’d handled the Alexanders’ estate sale and had some questions. In scheduling meeting number two, I was a little more desperate and mentioned finding the postcard albums. I figured the woman who’d cared for Mrs. Alexander during her final days would be eager to talk. Either Yevette didn’t know about the postcards or didn’t want them found.
    “I have to cancel” was what she’d recorded on my voice mail both times. No reason, or even a sympathetic “I’m sorry.” Just four words as cold as my nightly junk-food supper. It was as if she knew exactly when to call. Exactly when I was busy with a customer and couldn’t answer.
    Turning the key, I restarted the engine and listened to it idle. I’d tried to move on, as Haley, and now others, had suggested. But two years was an eternity for a lost man. Besides, it was still hard to imagine not being married anymore … almost unthinkable.
    Sometimes I’d be paralyzed at the thought, though I continued to mimic the motions of running my estate-sale business. Throughout each gloomy day, I’d pore over the postcards every spare minute, searching