Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt scared. I am still in the same story as I’ve been in since the summer. I will be setting it aside at the end of the week in order to participate in National Novel Writing Month.

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A banging at the door startled me out of my reverie.

Scared of who it might be, I glanced around looking for something I could use as a weapon. It sounded like a cop knock, but that might not necessarily mean there was a cop at my door. It could be anyone. Especially with the week I’m having.

The only thing near me was the bottle of nail polish remover from where I’d taken off what was left of the polish from the last time I’d done my toenails 

I twisted the cap off. Worst case scenario, I could toss it in the face of the person who was out there and make a break for it. Acetone would burn in the eyes, right?

I tip-toed to the door. And stood ready to throw the acetone if the person got inside.

“Who is it?” I almost whispered the words, terrified to ask as they’d know I was home but equally terrified not to know. I’d never sleep if I didn’t find out who it was.

“It’s Levi. Let me in. I’ve got news.”

I burst into tears. Not sure if I was more relieved it was just him or more enraged that he’d caused me such terror.

Wavering between the two emotions, I opened the door, tears still pouring down. I still couldn’t tell if they were angry tears or not. All I knew was my heart was racing.

As soon as I saw his face, I said, “What the hell is wrong with you? Beating on my door like that? After the week I’m having? You scared ten years off my life.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Oh, Lord. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about that. I made a breakthrough and I’m so excited about it, my brain turned off.”

Levi reached out for me but I took a step back. “What kind of breakthrough?”

“I think I found the name of the person who buried the jewelry.”

“You did what?” Stunned, I could only stare at him.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt greasy. I am still in the same story as I’ve been in since the summer. Or almost the beginning of time. 🙂

Check out the other tales here.

I decided to go ahead and give myself that pedicure while I vegged in front of the television and watched Dateline, one of my favorite shows.

After gathering my supplies, I turned to the right channel but almost as soon as the host started the teaser for the episode, I flipped over to the Food Network. No way was I going to watch a show about a woman stalking a former friend and the outcome was a death. Nope. Uh-uh. Too close to home this week.

Food Network had on kids baking in a competition and so that was where I left it. No one would be killing or terrifying anyone on this show.

With the television on, mostly just for noise so I wasn’t sitting in silence which would lead my brain to overthinking the events of the last few days, I got my toes all shipshape and then decided to get back to my notes on trying to identify the woman who buried her jewelry.

I got distracted momentarily by one of the contestants on the show going into meltdown mode. She wailed, “My donuts are too greasy,” and sat on the floor of the studio in floods of tears as one of the hosts dashed over to console her.

“Girl, I can relate to how you feel. Too many times this week, I’ve wanted to sit on the floor and cry. Pick yourself up and keep going. I will too.”

Neither one of us really had a choice about it if we wanted to win our respective battles. 

The phone rang.

When I answered, it was my grandmother. “What are you doing, dear?”

“Talking to this girl on my TV.”

“And is she listening?” Grandma laughed.

“No, but it was more of a pep talk for myself anyway so it doesn’t matter if she can’t hear me.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt paint. I am still in the same story and probably will be until NaNoWriMo starts. LOL

Check out the other tales here and leave a comment if you’re so inclined.

The rest of the day wasn’t too bad. Bethany was actually not in the office for the afternoon. That caused me a bit of concern as I had no idea where she was or if she was out committing further sabotage against me.

I had to let it go so I knuckled down for the rest of the day.

When I got home that evening, I sat on the couch with a book of short stories that I kept beside my chair for when I wanted to read a little something to decompress but not dive into a full book. Tonight, I decided to read Poor Girl by the English writer, Elizabeth Taylor. A ghostly story that I always enjoyed.

I tucked my feet up on the couch and tugged a soft, blue throw over them. I only got three pages into the story when the phone rang. I let out a deep sigh.  Can’t get a moment’s peace.

 I got up to get it the phone off the charger I’d set it on as I came into the house.

I let out another sigh as I looked down to see it was most likely a spam call. I never answer calls where I don’t recognize the caller. If they really are someone who knows me, they will leave a message.

When there was no voicemail left, I sighed for the third time and returned to the couch with no intention of getting up again until I was ready to cook some dinner.

As I sat down, I grabbed the throw again but noticed my feet. I’d been wearing close-toed shoes for the last week or ten days and was appalled at the state of my pedicure. Ugh. I need to paint my toenails.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt skin. I am still in the same story and probably will be until NaNoWriMo starts. LOL

Check out the other tales here and leave a comment if you’re so inclined.

“Do you have time to look more today for our mystery jewelry owner or should you get back to working on your own obligations? I appreciate all you’re doing but I don’t want to impose on too much of your time.”

“Are you kidding? I’m way too invested in this to let it for now. Besides,” he paused to scratch the skin under what looked like the beginning of a five o’clock shadow at close to one pm, “I’m calling this research for something.  It might not make it into the book I’m working on now, but everything sows a seed or two to mine later in a story.”

I laughed. “You’re mixing your metaphors.”

Levi held his open palms out at me and shrugged. “I always said you should’ve been an English teacher. You’re the most anal person I know about language.”

“Hey. That’s not very nice.” I smiled to let him know I was kidding. Truth be known, I did tend to correct people’s grammar and usage. Most of the time in my head as opposed to out loud, but he did have a point.

“It’s one of your many quirks that make you you. At least you own it.” He ate more of his chili and I dug into my sandwich.

We sat quietly eating for a few minutes.

Finally, I glanced at my phone for the time. “I better get back. This was nice. I really enjoyed it.”

“We should do it more often now that we’ve reconnected.”

“Speaking of doing something often, I’m dreading the afternoon with the mayor and Bethany.  She’s made it absolutely clear that she wants my job.” I made a face. “Not that it’s all that great a job, but it’s mine and I want to hold on to it.”

Levi crumpled the wrappers from his saltine crackers and piled them in his now empty bowl. “When you have time, let’s have a powwow and brainstorm what career would actually make you happy and want to spend time at work. It’s a vital thing to be happy where you spend most of your waking hours.”

“Oh, I get that. And I did want to do marketing when I was in school, but it’s really not what I thought it would be.”

“Nothing ever really is, is it?”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, flush. I am still doing the buried treasure story.

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After we ordered—a Reuben for me and a bowl of chili with oyster crackers for Levi—I asked, “What did your research uncover?”

“During World War Two a woman lived in the house with the family of her husband while he was in the RAF…”

“Wait. His family lived here and he was British?”

“No. No.” Levi shook his head. “When the war started in 1939, some of our young men wanted to get involved and actually went over to enlist before the United States got pulled into things. A good number of the men here served.”

“I guess I knew that from history class, but didn’t remember it. So who was this guy?” I paused. “Or the wife? Since it could be her jewelry we’re talking about.”

“I’m still trying to get all the details, but it looks like they married pretty close to when he shipped out. I haven’t found the actual marriage license record yet, but I found a census where she was living in the house. I also found the record of the ship he sailed on to England. I should be able to pin down the date of their marriage this afternoon.”

“This is so exciting. I’d love to find out why she buried the jewelry and if she left anyone behind who would appreciate the return of the items.”

“We won’t know if any or all of the items belonged to her until we can pin down any survivors that know the facts.”

“I wonder if it’s possible that some items belonged to someone else. Surely only one woman was involved in burying gold, silver, and gems under a tree.”

“It is hard to fathom anyone burying their treasured jewelry, much less two women doing the same thing and at the same tree. You’re right about that.”

The waitress set our food in front of us, leaned her hip against the side of the table closest to Levi and smiled at him. “Anything else for you, sir?”

A flush crept up his neck before he nodded at me and said, “Not for me but perhaps my companion would like something.”

The waitress huffed as if offended and turned to me. “Anything?”

Stunned at the attitude she displayed, I shook my head. I wanted to say something about her rudeness, but let it go. I’d let my tip speak for me.

As soon as she was gone, Levi said, “I hate it when that happens.”

“I bet it happens a lot. It’s your irresistible charm.” I winked. “And the dimples don’t hurt either. We mere mortals don’t get flirted with like you do. Alas.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt busy. I am still in the same story about the buried treasure.

Check out the other tales here.

I waved at Levi as I headed over to the table in the corner where he sat with a glass of soda in front of him and what I presumed was my water with a slice of lime in front of one of the other chairs at the four-seater. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket where I’d stashed on the way over. I decided to ignore it as it was probably the mayor’s favorite employee, Bethany, and it’s my lunch break.

I pulled out the chair and, as I sat, said, “You remembered my drink order.”

“It’s been the same for as long as I can recall. Even as a kid, you didn’t like this junk.” He toasted me with his glass.

“It’s just that it never quenched my thirst. I don’t mind the taste, but I stay thirsty when I drink it.”

I set my phone on the table and it buzzed again.

“Are you going to get that?”

I picked it up and glanced at the screen. As I thought. Bethany. “Nope. I’m on break.” I sighed. “You know what I miss?”

“What’s that?” He asked and seemed to smile at the face I made.

“Busy signals. Yep. Busy signals.”

He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You know. Back in the old days, you could take the phone off the hook if you didn’t want to talk. The caller would hang up as they’d know you weren’t available.”

Levi throw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, right. All I remember about the phone being off the hook was the outrageous blaring that happened to alert the whole house and maybe the block that the phone was off the hook.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. But it is annoying how many people expect because we all have phones that we are always available.”

“Boundaries.” He tilted his glass toward me. “If you don’t set them, no one will do it for you.”

I took a swig of my drink before saying, “And that’s exactly what I’m doing.” I smacked the menu. “What’s for lunch?”