Suicide Supper Club by Devane Rhett

Author:Devane, Rhett [Devane, Rhett]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Writers4Higher
Published: 2014-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

1 week before suicide, Thursday

Abby McKenzie stared at the insurance pending roster until the numbers blurred on the monitor display. For almost two weeks, Ben had delivered Dr. Payne’s office mail during the mid-morning madhouse when she was at her busiest. He left the usual stack of magazines, bills, flyers, and payment envelopes with a nod and a simple “good morning.” She had tried to gain his attention in yoga class, but he came in late, sat at the back of the room, and left before they could speak.

Except Ben hadn’t come at all today. Maybe he’d just open the door and throw their mail into a waiting room chair. Avoid any chance of seeing her.

Hurting someone as gentle as Ben Calhoun was right up there with slapping baby bunnies or snatching an all-day sucker from a toddler. Ben didn’t deserve it, and Abby was a total witch.

Face it, sweetheart. A decent relationship with a male is a no-go for you. The thought depressed her so thoroughly she found it hard to breathe. Soon it would be a moot point. If reincarnation was the truth behind it all, perhaps she’d be able to come back and make a fresh go of things. Next time around, she would have the perfect father, fall in love, marry, have children, and grow happy and fat with the man of her heart’s choice. All this, given the chance she didn’t come back as a cockroach to repay the suicide karma mortgage.

Abby took bites of double meat/double cheese pizza chased with sweet tea while she thumbed through a mound of insurance correspondence. The heck with scrimping with PB&Js and diet cola. The staff had cleared out for lunch, and the waiting room was blissfully quiet.

Abby sliced open a thick white envelope. “You are flipping kidding me.” Though the day’s insurance claims were submitted electronically, she often received written communication asking the most asinine questions. For the fifth time in less than two months, the same company had written for additional information. “What more do you want? A testament from the President? I’ve already sent you two copies of the x-ray, a letter from Dr. Payne, and everything short of a plea from God.”

Abby snapped. She scribbled notes and drew arrows in bright red marker across the letter, taped another x-ray envelope in the middle, folded the paper until it was less than four inches square, stapled it a half dozen times, then stuffed it into a stamped return envelope and shoved it in the outgoing mail. “There you go! Pleasure doing business with you.”

Maybe they’d disburse funds this time. Sometimes it paid to go a little nuts.

Abby had just taken a huge cheesy bite when she heard the click of the front door. She slugged a huge gulp of tea to unglue the pizza spackled to her teeth.

“Good morning.” Ben handed a stack of mail through the opened window and retrieved the outgoing correspondence.

“Actually,” Abby glanced down at her watch, surreptitiously licking the tomato sauce from one corner of her lips, “it’s afternoon.

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