“Forget about it,” said Janine.
And he did. Fifteen years later.
The brood he’d stewed in the meantime was one hefty tomato.
“Fancy meeting you here.” It was Janine.
Ronald covered his ears, sat his coffee down, and ran out of the 7-11.
Throwing the car in drive, he propped his elbow on the passenger seat and cranked his head around. He ran into a car at the gas tank in front of him.
His stomach was a pit of empty space through which he could feel his soul sinking indefinitely. His mind wracked its various alternatives and an avenue through which to shift to any of them. No. And then the shock wore off.
“Oh my goodness.” His mouth was still open. He shook to and turned his collar up, looked for sunglasses. Nope. He stepped out to see. No one was in the other. The damage was slightly more than minimal and more then he’d expected, his mind still clinging to the last hope of no harm done.
There was sharp cursing and then, “Ronald!”
It was Janine.
How could he forget?