Free The Winners Circle by Christopher Klim

wasn’t sure what she wanted. Hard rain sheeted his foggy windshield. He parked the Ford beside a fire hydrant, threw on his flashers, and rushed indoors. He hoped for inspiration.
    The woman in the chocolate boutique wore a mauve sweater dress with a thick black belt. Her brown hair was separated in a ragged part, and brown locks draped over one eye. It was supposed to be sexy but looked like something out of an old black and white horror flick. “Can I help you?”
    Jerry stopped and unzipped his duster. A scrap of paper from Tisch’s office stuck to his wet boot. He saw the attorney’s raised letterhead. It stoked his will to fight. “Do you have Godiva?”
    “ Of course.” She swept her hand over the gold-trimmed display case between them. “We have truffles and fudge on the back shelf.”
    “ Good.” He roamed the golden boxes with ribbons and bows. The smell of the place touched off a memory. It harkened a scent on Chelsea’s breath. He used to tuck chocolate kisses in her uniform pocket before she left for work.
    “ Purchasing early for the holidays?”
    “ It’s for my wife.” He clung to the word ‘wife’ like the final rung of a ladder. The void was widening between Chelsea and him. He needed to close it fast.
    “ Is there a particular type that she prefers?”
    “ All of it.” He remembered the times that he wanted to buy the best for Chelsea but didn’t have the money to waste. The summer ended before he’d gotten the chance to make up for the past.
    “ I love it too.”
    “ No, I want all of it.”
    “ Every box?”
    “ Yes. And put aside a three-pound box. I want to take it with me.” He had a special plan for that one.
    “ What do I do with the rest?”
    “ Can you ship them? I’ll give you an address.”
    “ Are you kidding?” She stared, gauging the seriousness of his request, the utter weight of it.
    “ That’s what I said.”
    “ I think we can do it.”
    “ Can you?”
    Her spine whipped straight like an old-fashioned car antenna—commission maximus! “You’re damned right I can ship it.”
     
     
     
    Jerry’s plan began to gel as he drove to Princeton. He parked outside a string of pricey condominiums near Palmer Square. He saw Chelsea’s Aunt Laura walk past the white chiffon curtains of her living room window. She was going to be a hard sell, but he had little choice. His parents were both gone. He had no sisters or brothers to make his case. Forget about asking Chelsea’s parents; they didn’t return any of his phone calls. He needed a good witness to break up the court proceedings. The cost didn’t matter. He needed to buy time.
    As Jerry rang the bell, Laura Adams opened the door. She was short but managed to look down on him, observing him like a bruised melon in the market. She didn’t like many things. She loathed men, especially her ex-husbands both dead and alive. She reserved her kindest words for wine, opera, and chocolate.
    Jerry presented a three-pound box of powdered truffles—the one he’d kept apart from the cocoa tonnage heading toward Chelsea’s new address. “How are you, Aunt Laura?”
    “ Not for long, I hear.” Her hair was streaked an unreasonable reddish color. It was an afternoon for bad haircuts.
    “ I gather you’ve heard about that. It wasn’t my choice.”
    She fingered the doorknob. “A man who wants to stay married. I’ll be damned. What did you do to her?”
    He prepared to view a door slamming in his face. He edged his boot tip forward to block. “Can I come in?”
    She looked him over again, stopping at his boots. “Take those off.”
    Jerry undid the laces and took off his work boots. Laura was a neat freak. If he’d thought better, he’d have changed into nicer clothes, opened one of those boxes that Chelsea piled in the corner of their bedroom, taking Laura by surprise in a silk shirt and slacks—the GQ man no one ever suspected, even him.
    “ Are your socks clean?” she asked.
    “ Yes.”
    “ No