“Yep,” I said. There was no way I’d tell him that if we stayed silent and unmoving, the gator would get bored and walk away.
“Screw this.” Bruce pointed the gun at the gator. That simple movement of raising his arm inspired the gator to open its jaws and hiss. It was a primal sound that even made the hair on my arms stand up.
Bruce whimpered and pulled the trigger. Either he was a bad shot or he was too terrified by the alligator, because he missed the reptile by a mile. Because the gator wasn’t pleased—who could blame it—it took a few menacing steps toward Bruce.
He fired a second, and a third time. Probably he missed because of all the sweat in his eyes. Or perhaps those were tears.
As he aimed the handgun again, Vera turned to me. “That’s my gun. Jerk.”
She calmly walked over to Bruce. “Hey.”
He turned to her. My heart was in my throat because the gun was pointed directly at her. Was she nuts? What was she doing?
I tried to keep track of the gator, but I couldn’t rip my eyes off Vera, who grabbed the barrel of the gun and Bruce’s wrist and twisted.
“GO FLUFF YOURSELF,” she hollered.
The gator hissed. Bruce let out an inglorious grunt. For a half second, I was paralyzed with fear. Should I subdue the gator or help Vera?
Neither was a good choice. But since the gator was still fifteen feet away, and because the creature wasn’t maliciously evil like Bruce, I made my choice.
I ran to Bruce and kicked him squarely in the dick while he fought with my sister over the gun. My foot hit the right spongy spot, because he doubled over with a yell that echoed through the woods.
“Ass clown,” I muttered, giving his junk an extra kick for good measure.
Vera wrestled the gun out of his grip. The gator paused and hissed. It was louder, which meant it was closer.
“C’mon,” I cried. “Let’s go!”
Vera and I tore out of the scrub, running in a zigzag pattern around trees and through the woods.
We burst into Bruce’s manicured backyard. We didn’t stop at the shed, or the patio table, or the pool. We hauled butt faster than a caffeinated squirrel on roller skates and kept going until we were in the middle of the empty suburban street, smack in front of Bruce’s house.
We doubled over, hands on knees, panting. After a few seconds, we straightened to stand and looked around. There was no Bruce and no gator.
Vera still appeared pristine, with only a little mud on her flats, but somehow I looked like I’d just spent a week on the war front. I had streaks of dirt and a few leaves stuck to me. My pants were ripped. I took off my hat and shook out my hair. A twig fell to the ground.
In the distance, police sirens wailed, and they seemed to be nearby.
Vera and I glanced around. As far as the eye could see there were dozens of identical new stucco homes, palm trees that swayed gently in the breeze, and lawns so picture-perfect and green that they didn’t seem real. No people anywhere.
It seemed incomprehensible that we’d just been in a brawl with a gator and a murderer.
A police car turned onto the street, its wheels and siren screaming.
Vera scrunched up her face. “Can you believe they tore out all those incredible orange groves for this?”
Epilogue
It was the night before the bookstore’s official first day, and Vera and I stood in the store, beside ourselves with excitement. In less than fifteen minutes, our guests would start arriving for our pre-opening bash. We’d invited the other business owners on Main Street, some acquaintances we knew from high school, the staff of the local library, and, of course, Jack.
Straight From the Heart looked out-of-this-world perfect. We had tall vases of white and pink roses placed around the store, tables stacked with romance novels and blank notebooks, a display of bookmarks and book lights, and, most importantly, floor-to-ceiling shelves that were packed with new, glorious books.
The entire place smelled like lavender and paper, roses and joy, and I inhaled a happy breath. My gaze landed on the counter, where we had a silver-framed photo of Dad, Mom, Vera, and me, from twenty years ago. We were on the bank of the Snake River, kneeling next to a medium-sized gator with rope securing its feet. Dad held its jaws shut. We figured it would be a great conversation piece while people were paying for their books.
My heart swelled with emotion.
If only Dad was alive to see this. We’d told him so many times over the years how we were going to open a bookstore together someday. And we finally had. We’d also continued his legacy with the trapping business.
