written by Ashley Salsman
Lima listened to the voicemail twice before finally letting the phone slip out of her hand. It clattered loudly across the floor but she didn’t even hear it.
She couldn’t breathe.
The tightness in her chest was suffocating and she grabbed onto the nearest chair to steady herself. She couldn’t draw a full breath into her lungs, no matter how deeply she tried to inhale. Her palms were sweating and she clutched that chair back as though it was the only thing keeping her from flying into orbit.
How did they know?
How COULD they know?
She was so careful…..at least, she thought she was. Apparently not.
She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly she saw stars. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she wasn’t sure how everyone else in the house couldn’t hear it. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and wondered if she might pass out.
The detectives words echoed in her ears.
Her mind was racing but she knew now was NOT the time to panic. Lima took several slow, deep breaths – in through her nose, out through her mouth.
“Smell your flower, blow out your candle,” she murmured.
“Calm down, Lima,” she said out loud. “You don’t know what they know. Cracking under pressure is not an option. Don’t go telling on yourself because you can’t keep your shit together. Did the ‘Telltale Heart’ teach you nothing??!”
She realized her fingers were cramping and slowly released the death grip she had on the chair. Lima’s heart rate was so high, her Fitbit buzzed on her wrist, flashing a message about “logging this workout.” Lima scowled at it and felt foolish for losing control like this. One voicemail and she’s sweating bullets, half-ass ready to sing like a canary. The irony! She laughed out loud at this and walked over to the mirror. She was still a bit unsteady on her feet, like a newborn giraffe or someone trying to get their sea-legs.
She stared at her reflection, looking so deeply into her own honey-colored eyes, everything else in the room melted away. She didn’t know how long she stood there, steeling herself for what she knew was to come. Lima’s mind was still swimming as she splashed water on her face and gathered her long hair into a haphazard ponytail.
Lima retrieved her phone from the floor and checked the screen for cracks. None this time.
She could smell Mama’s cooking wafting up the stairs. Definitely bacon. Something sweet, maybe pancakes. Or it could be French toast. She didn’t have the stomach for anything right now but would choke something down anyway, if for no other reason than to avoid Mama fussing at her.
“Limaaaaa…….LIMA! Come down for breakfast!” Dad hollered up the stairs.
One of these days she’s going to ask who in the hell decided to name her Lima. But not today.
She knew what she had to do now. It was never a question of “if” it would ever come to this, only a question of “when”.
Her hand trembling, she reached for the door handle. She hesitated, and then headed downstairs.
Newnan Time with Harold 