Page 10 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“Oh my God, lady, shut up!” the downstairs neighbor yelled.

She wanted to go down there and shake Jaxon. Hit him in the back of the head with a baseball bat and see how much he enjoyed a concussion. She wouldn’t, because she was a good person and didn’t want to be arrested.

“If you come here again, I’m calling the cops!” she yelled. Not that she expected the police to actually do anything. A man lurking in a public park? They’d laugh at her. She’d have to be mid-murder for them to take her seriously.

“I’m calling the cops now,” her neighbor answered.

“And your costume looks like a trash bag!” She slammed the window shut.

Geri wore sunglasses like a hungover rockstar and clutched her cup of coffee. The overhead lighting hurt her head. She took ibuprofen before she left her apartment for the ache in her body but it was doing nothing for the pain behind her eyes or the pain in her ankle if she put her foot down wrong. She should have turned down Savannah’s coffee invite, but her coworker said it was too important to wait.

She wanted to talk about her upcoming wedding. Geri failed to see how that could not wait.

That was grumpier than she felt. Truthfully, she jumped at the chance to get out of her apartment. As much as she wanted to be home while she was in the hospital, now that she was home, she was bored. She reached that listless stage of recovery where her body demanded sleep, but it never lasted long. She kept jolting awake. Her head hurt too much to concentrate on anything and her body was too tender to get comfortable, so no laying on the couch watching movies. The television played just to fill the apartment with noise.

Two weeks off from work sounded great, but this wasn’t a vacation. It was miserable. At least a coffee date added some variety to her day.

Geri’s phone vibrated with an incoming call. She frowned, dismissed the call, and flipped her phone face down to put it in do not disturb mode. She didn’t recognize the number but had a good idea who it was: Jaxon.

“Do you need to take that?” Savannah asked. She had long blonde hair in beachy waves and wore a lot of deep purple velvet and lace. The outfit was a little too witch-in-the-woods for Geri’s taste but it suited the woman’s vibe.

“It can wait,” Geri answered, returning her attention to her coworker. The invitation to coffee was surprising. Not that the women had been unfriendly, far from it, but Geri wasn’t outgoing. She usually read during her lunch break and had no patience for gossip. She wasn’t the let’s-hang-out-after-work type. “Why’d your photographer back out?”

Savannah leaned forward as if to confess a secret. She had a lovely warm aura of autumnal colors of red, gold, and orange that put Geri at ease. “Creative differences.”

People said that, but it was one of those phrases that meant nothing.

“Do you think your ex-husband can help me?” Savannah asked.

Ah. Now the coffee date made sense.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Geri said.

“Why? Is he a bad photographer?”

“No, he’s really talented.” The jerk.

“Then hook me up. I’m desperate.”

“He’s my ex,” Geri said, struggling with how to say that she didn’t want to talk to him. Actually, that would do. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Why?” Savannah’s tone grew serious. “Did he lay hands on you? Hurt you? Is that why…” She waved a hand at her face.

“No. I fell.”

Savannah did not look impressed by that answer. “I know people. You know, that kind of people. We can break his legs.”

That was surprising. Savannah seemed too sunny to know that kind of people.

“Then he wouldn’t be able to photograph your wedding,” Geri said.

Savannah shrugged. “The price of justice.”

Damn. She liked Savannah. Why hadn’t they hung out before? Oh, right. Geri was an antisocial goblin who hid from people.

“I was on a walking trail and slipped. Got a concussion and bruises everywhere,” she said, pushing up a sleeve to reveal the purple-green bruise on her forearm. Yes, she was glossing over the prank situation with Jaxon, but she didn’t have the energy to go into all that. She said, “And two weeks of medical leave.”

“That looks wicked. How are you feeling?”