FOLLOWING YOU by Eva Lesko Natiello

Author:Eva Lesko Natiello [Natiello, Eva Lesko]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FINE LINE PUBLISHING
Published: 2021-02-02T06:00:00+00:00

The second letter came in an identical envelope with an identical small clear rectangular label—one inch by two and a half inches. Identical typeface.

Dearest Shae,

Just kidding. You’re not pretty at all. But nothing I can’t fix with manicure scissors and a glue gun. You’ll thank me.

Until next time.

Forever yours.

Lawrence shoved his back against the chair, causing it to screech wildly against the floor, pinning the ironing board against the opposite wall. He bolted from the chair. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He was livid. He ripped his gloves off, threw them against the window and flipped the ironing board over.

In a rush so fast Lawrence couldn’t defend himself, the gangly legs of the ironing board—with their enormous rolling pin feet—swung upwards like a croquet mallet and struck him in the balls.

“For fuck’s sake!” He winced in pain, clutching himself. “How am I supposed to work in here!” He saw stars. “Assaulted in my own house!”

Rita knew that a man his size needed more room to roam than the average man. How did she expect him to function in his office with the ironing board left out! Jesus, she was kicking him in the balls even when she wasn’t around.

Lawrence gathered himself. He’d make no progress if he let his emotions get in the way. Man up, Lawrence. He placed the ironing board upside down with the board on the floor. He’d fold it up and put it away. Even if it wasn’t his job. Even if he wasn’t the one who left it out. It wasn’t even his ironing board!

He couldn’t get the legs to fold. He grasped the feet and tried thrusting them together like a hedge clipper. They didn’t budge.

“Jesus!” He was spending too much time on this, and Rita would be home soon, and he hadn’t finished reading the letters. Out of frustration and without thinking, he slammed his bare foot down on the mechanism. He yelped in pain. Electric-like tremors shot up his shin. Why the hell were there no directions? No buttons. No arrows. You needed to be an engineer to figure out this asshole contraption.

He wasn’t going to ask Rita how to do it. She wouldn’t show him up, closing an ironing board.

He righted the board again with its feet squarely on the ground, placed his palms on the flat surface, and pushed with all his might.

Nothing.

“Damn it!”

He shoved the board over again and instantly cupped his balls.

Lawrence roared in frustration. Thanks to Rita, it was highly improbable he’d be able to check his anger by the time they’d leave for the gardens to catch the lily guy.

He flared his nostrils and got a grip on himself. He stepped over the splayed legs of the ironing board to sit back down at the desk. From the top drawer, Lawrence plucked two fresh gloves and rammed his hands in.

The rumble of the garage door broke his seething. Damn it. He hadn’t finished. He quickly returned the first two letters to their respective envelopes.

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