Page 12 of Deceitful Oath

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty Redwood Lane,” I mutter to myself, counting the houses with my finger. “Where the hell is forty-one?”

I drop the package on the grass and stretch my back, trying to wrap my mind around this. Crouching down, I double-check the address on the box.

Right. 41 Redwood Street.

Wait.

I glance up at the street sign hoping that I misread it.Redwood Lane.I swear that sign is mocking me.

I smack my forehead, groaning out loud. I’ve been wandering up and down this block for five minutes looking for a house that doesn’t exist.

Which city council member has so little imagination that we need to have both a Redwood Lane and a Redwood Street?

Grabbing the package, I march back to my car, grumbling under my breath. Miraculously, my little hunk of junk car startson the first try and I plug the new address into my work phone. I triple-check the address this time and smack my head against the steering wheel.

Estimated time of arrival: 25 minutes.

It’s all the way on the other side of town. I glance back at the packages piled in my backseat wondering if I’m going to make it to Rocky’s by noon. No time to go home and change—again.

Today feels like there’s an angry gray storm cloud following me, messing up my mood. I can’t seem to chase it away. As I head north along the river, I practice my breathing techniques and mindfulness.

I’m grateful for this job. I’m grateful for my growing little savings jar. I’m happy to be alive.

I cross the bridge out of the city and into the suburbs, and my mood lifts a little. Turning onto Redwood Street, I realize it’s part of my favorite neighborhood.

The houses here are set back on manicured little lawns full of wildflower gardens and fruit trees. The homes are painted in different pastel hues and adorable little shops and cafes line the street. People stroll down sidewalks, pushing their babies or walking their dogs.

One day, I’m going to own a house here. One day.

I pull up to the address and sprint across their lawn, tossing the package on the porch. I stop to admire the quaint little neighborhood and can’t help but smile. It’s so quaint and quirky.

Just as quickly, my smile fades away as goosebumps break out over my skin. The hair on my arms stands up, sending shivers through my body.

There it is again, that feeling. I spin around, glancing up and down the street, but no one seems to be paying me any attention. Why does it feel so eerie then? Like someone’s watching me?

I jog back to my car, locking the doors as soon as I get in. I check the backseat and realize I’m being paranoid—but thatfeeling lingers. With one final glance around, I pull my car out of the driveway and head back to the city.

Luck is on my side for the first time in days and I manage to deliver the last three packages with half an hour to spare. Since I don’t have enough time to go home and change for my shift at Rocky’s, I figure I’ll just show up early.

Maybe I can convince Rocky to make me a burger for lunch. The coffee I had earlier was heaven on earth, but I need something more substantial in my system.

I take the side streets to the shop, opening my windows and letting the warm air hit me. Early April in the city is my favorite time. The mornings are chilly, the afternoons sunny, and cherry blossom trees bloom on every block.

I’m so lost in the beauty of the city that I barely process the red and blue lights flashing behind me. The siren wails, making me jump, and I realize the squad car is riding my ass. I quickly pull over and turn off my car.

Did I run a stop sign? Was I driving fast?God, I really wasn’t paying attention.

I watch the cop climb out of his car in my side-view mirror and pray it’s just a routine safety stop or something.

“Morning, ma’am.”

“Hi, officer,” my voice squeaks. I clear my throat and try again. “Am I in trouble?”

“License and registration, please.”

I pop open my glovebox, my hands shaking, and give him the papers. A ticket is the last thing I need right now. I silently send a prayer up to the universe to give me a break for once.

He squints at my documents, taking his leisurely time while I tuck my sweaty palms under my thighs. Without a word, he passes them back to me and heads back to his vehicle. I let go of the breath I was holding—maybe this is a good sign?