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Then again, with the witch who lived here, one might think her broom closet would already be full of actual brooms that she rode across full moons on dark, creepy nights. That or it was overflowing with all the dead kittens and puppies she must slaughter on her way home from work each day.
I pulled open a door that was about a foot wide, only to find a small nook inside, filled with canned goods. I started to close it again, only to pause when I spotted a can of organic, name-brand chicken noodle soup.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I uttered in amazement, pulling the can off the shelf and gazing at the label in open-mouth amazement.
I’d left home tonight, hoping to get my hands on a can of chicken noodle soup for Miguel, and now that one was sitting in my palm, it suddenly felt like providence. Or fate. Maybe even destiny. Or most likely all three, since they meant the same damn thing, which was that someone out there somewhere actually wanted me to have this soup.
Who was I to question the powers that be?
Clutching the chicken noodle soup to my chest, I shut the door and carried it with me, almost afraid lightning would strike me if I set it down, while another part of me feared lightning would strike me for taking it, and I continued my search for cleaning supplies.
When I found the small storage room that housed what I needed, I didn’t find any dead puppies or kittens, and there were only two brooms inside, but I did find a box of trash can liners as well as an unopened box of facial tissues.
Pulling a plastic liner from the box, I snapped it open and dumped the chicken noodle soup can along with my purse inside. Then I told that little part of my conscience that demanded to know what the hell I was doing, “I’m cleaning the woman’s carpet, aren’t I? She owes me something in return!”
Well, she did.
After stuffing in the Kleenex box inside, I gathered some cleaning supplies and returned to the stain in the carpet. Sitting beside it, I wadded a paper towel and started to blot. It was still wet, thank God, so I was able to soak up more wine than I thought I would from the dry cloth alone.
Then I aimed the nozzle of some stain remover at it, and went to work, spraying and dabbing until, little by little, the discoloration faded completely.
Whew.
“Damn, I’m good,” I said with a small grin of satisfaction as I sat back on my heels to admire my work.
When I returned the cleaning supplies and retrieved my bag of goodies, I paused before leaving the kitchen.
You know, I thought to myself. I’d found that soup and the box of tissues without even trying. I sudd
enly wondered how hard it would be to find the rest of the things I’d wanted to get for Miguel.
And since I was already in the kitchen, finding some saltines and clear soda just might be as easy as opening the next—yes!
I opened another door and found another pantry inside that contained both of my wishes. The bottle of pop and packages of crackers were still sealed and new, too.
I swear, this shit had just been left here on purpose and was meant for me.
“Now, for some aspirin,” I murmured, biting my lip and wondering if I should dare wander deeper into the condo, looking for the last item on my wish list. I had everything else I needed. Four out of five was pretty damn lucky.
Except the pain reliever was probably the most important thing I’d wanted to get. Miguel had looked so miserable and small when I’d left. I promised him I’d come back with something to make him feel better. I couldn’t break my promise.
“Oh, what the hell,” I said. I’d already come this far.
In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
Carrying my goods in the sack over my shoulder and feeling a bit like a reverse Santa Claus, I hurried down the hall, wondering how much time I had before the witch came home. I knew I was already risking too much, but I only had one item left to find.
I flipped on the light to the first bedroom I came to. It looked like it had to be the master suite, so I hurried through it toward another open doorway that led to the bathroom. Once inside the lavatory, I threw open the mirrored cabinet doors above the vanity and darted my gaze around the bottles of shit inside, until Eureka! Pain relievers.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I told the room for providing.
I snatched the first bottle I saw and closed the cabinet, ready to get the hell out of Dodge. But when I shut the mirrored cabinet, something gold twinkled in the glass reflection just over my shoulder.
And instead of turning toward the exit, I turned toward the bling.
Damn bling. It was seriously going to be the death of me someday, I swear.
But it was so sparkly and pretty. Who could stay away from sparkly, pretty things?
