Welcome to Wednesday, this Wednesday is just like the others (I have a bit of the Henry the 8th song running through my head right now. You know the one, I’m Henry the 8th I am. Henry the 8th I am I am. And then we get to the chorus. Second verse same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse…) Sorry, digression, where the hell did that come from?
If you don’t know what happens on Wednesday, where have you been hiding? There are times when I could use a really good hiding spot too. I mean have you ever been chased by a crazy person holding a chainsaw only to realize it’s your wife and she found out what you did with the left overs from last night…
Did you really think I was going to actually do anything productive here right now? Me neither. You know who does productive stuff? The weirdos over at Indies Unlimited. They give us picture and word prompts and then tell us to make useful stuff from them. Sometimes we even come up with stories.
Ya know, you made it this far. You may as well read this weeks Indies Unlimited flash fiction piece.
Lily arrived early and got a nice, private table. An hour passed, and the chair across from her remained empty. He’d asked to see her – so where was he?
She tried his cell phone. No answer. Couples came and left, whispering with pity as they walked past. Would he really stand her up like this?
When the last of the breakfast dishes were cleared, Lily found herself alone in the restaurant. Tears filled her eyes. The silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. Could it be?…
The man in the suit walked straight to her table. “Ms. Braxton?”
Terry had made the reservation in her name. They knew damn well who she was. This was how he cancelled? Not only late but without a phone call. Never again…
“Ms. Braxton, there is a man waiting for you at the front desk,” he said. “I believe it is in your best interest to meet him there.”
She threw the napkin from her lap onto her empty bread plate. It didn’t have the same feel as a plate smashed on the floor but it would have to do. “Fine,” she said. “Lead on.”
His bright yellow vest over the dark blue uniform contrasted against the dark woodwork near the front of the restaurant. It wasn’t Aaron. He motioned for her to step over to an alcove near the coat check.
“Your meeting had been marked on his calendar in his phone with this location,” he said.
“He was supposed to meet me here this afternoon,” she said.
The man’s eyes softened. Their watery blue would haunt her forever after this moment. “He ran into some trouble on the road today,” he said. “He hit the wall over on 8th and Vine.”
The street painting! He told her yesterday he would put an end to the painting on that wall, would make it impossible for anyone to desecrate it again.
“We thought it best to deliver this in person.”