One Loan Soul by L.B. Carter

Author:L.B. Carter [Carter, L.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

I immediately stomp two blocks over and one block up to the bottom of Powell Street and turn uphill. If Larkynn weren’t a Pilates instructor and physical therapist, I’d have a hard time with the angle in my heels. As it is, my quads burn and glutes strain, making my minimalist underwear ride up.

Saving myself time and exertion since I’m in a bit of a mental-breakdown vortex, I clop into a trot and hop onto the ancient trolley as it trundles past, creeping at an amazingly slow pace in its effort to climb the hill at a ridiculously steep angle. The passengers, mostly tourists, give my outfit one glance and hold their tongues wisely about hitching a ride unpaid. I doubt it’s the blood and guts on my apron that are the most convincing. The wild and disturbed look on my face and the jittery tremble in my hands has got to be beneficial.

I ignore them and grip the pole and lean off the step, trying to find the right perpendicular streets, taking measured breaths. I recite them aloud as I pass them, their familiar names calming my agitation. We reach the apex of the city, which also happens to be the topographic pinnacle.

The car I stole is back, sitting benignly in front of my building, barely a scratch on its back bumper. Nevertheless, I duck my head below the peak of my hat. I’m betting Leland can soothe things over; he could charm a steak. And when in doubt, he can settle Larkynn’s crime with hush-hush cash, including covering the cleaning that cup holder will require.

I don’t actually see him and hope he’s not on the hunt. If he does, for some unexpected reason, venture to my shop, he’s going to be in for the shock of his life … maybe his future afterlife, too. It’s certainly the most surprising experience of mine thus far and, I expect, the rest of my eternity. I might even wager that such an obscenity would send Leland into the afterlife early.

He’s such a perfectionist and hard worker that the only positive to that is he wouldn’t become another Hell resident, so I’d have no chance of bumping into him again. Or if his cheating got him into the Devil’s books, he’d certainly be on a different level from me.

The trolley’s bell jangles as it nears the end of its track, aiming toward Fisherman’s Wharf. I hop off at a nondescript four-way stop as we cross Columbus and traipse down a few of the flatter streets. The smell from the chocolate factory is alluring, tempting me from my goal. Chocolate used to be my second go-to vice when I needed to deal with my feelings. I’m on a mission to reach my first, purposely channeling my thoughts on each part of my journey, directing all of my brainpower toward the simple task of how I’m getting there to evade contemplating the why I’m getting there aspect.

I cross an alley and turn left

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