Free On Tenterhooks by Greever Williams Page B

little room for debate .
     
    Veronica wished that the entire process had been more emotional, more organic . But she had already mastered a rigid “no-emotion” demeanor from years of experience in the corporate world . Carrying this over into the details of a burial, writing the obituary herself , and selecting the flowers for the funeral without discussion came much easier tha n she had expected . Moreover , it had worked . She had gotten through it all without a breakdown — her own or anyone else’s .
     
    The vibration on her smartphone broke her reverie and brought her back to the present .
     
    She gave the subject lines a cursory glance . Since she didn’t need a new mortgage rate , and she didn’t have any interest in learning how to “ increase the length of her manhood,” most of them went straight to the trash . She scanned the legitimate ones and decided they could wait . As she perused, her computer dinged again with the familiar chime alerting her to a new message. T he Subject line caught her eye:
     
    Veronica -Thought This Would Help You
     
    It was addressed to her and her alone in the “To” field , and the “From” field was filled with a generic [email protected] that told her it was an automated message . She read on.
     
    Say Goodbye One Last Time
     
    Do you miss a loved one?  Did someone you care about die without any warning?  We know that pain — we’ve experienced it ourselves . . .  
     
    She stopped reading . L ike an opportunity to increase her credit score or decrease her waist size, this was SPAM . Although the ironic timing of its arrival wasn’t lost on her, she deleted the message and shut down her computer.
     
    “And on that lovely not e, friends , we go home.”
     
    She took her briefcase of f the credenza, turned off her lamps and left the office, shutting the door behind her.

Chapter 1 4
     
    It never failed . As soon as Sharon sat down at her desk to eat lunch, the office door opened . She sighed and put the massive broiled beef burger back in its box, wiping the ketchup off her face . She carefully brushed the crumbs off her ample lap before standing up to waddl e around her desk and out to the reception area.
     
    “May I help you?” she asked the man standing at the office counter.
     
    “Yes, I am seeking the child,” he responded, smiling.
     
    Judging from his dress and the Bible clutched in his hand, she assumed he was a pastor of some sort. She had no t seen him at the school before, and Sharon was the type to make it her business to know everyone and everything that went on at the school . Being the receptionist in the front office helped her in this mission .
     
    “Sir, this is a high school. There are lots of children here,” Sharon replied , using her best patronizing-while - being-polite tone . “You’ll have to be more specific. And do you have some sort of appointment or identification ?”
     
    “I have the only authorization that is truly needed , my child: that of my Lord,” he said, with a toothy smile.
     
    Sharon judged him to be around her age and , Man of God or not, calling her child was enough to move her beyond polite inquisitor to authoritative enforcer.
     
    “Yes, well, I am sorry,” she said . “I am all about how the Lord is wonderful and all that , but without a parent’s written permission, you cannot simply walk into this school and expect to see one of our students.”
     
    “ I desir e to see Abby Nikko.”
     
    “O h,” said Sharon, tone softening , “y es, well that makes sense I suppose . But you still need to have her parents’ permission.”
     
    She pulled up the student records database and looked for a message from Abby’s parents. “I’m sorry, but I can’t find anything authorizing a visitor . Would you like me to call them and verify it over the phone? We don’t usually do that , but with all that’s happen ed to that poor family , we can make an exception .”
    Preacher’s free