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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2227090-The-Yard-Sale
Rated: E · Fiction · Contest Entry · #2227090
A woman makes a surprising find.

I stomped on the brake pedal, and felt the jerk of the shoulder harness against my rib cage.

“Back up. Quick.”

“What's the rush?” Not that there was any doubt. I had hoped we could get past the yard sale without her spotting something she didn't need, and probably had two of already, but wanted anyway. Like another glass egg timer, or a souvenir ash tray from someplace we've never been.

“Hurry, before someone else buys it.” There was no need for her to say that, because I was already backing into a parking spot. But she always gets a little crazy at yard sales.

She was out of the car before I could shut off the engine. I sat there for a moment, trying to decide whether to follow her or stay put and listen to some music. I chose the latter. But a few minutes later I saw her picking up a hideous flower pot, and I made a dash for the yard, preparing my argument all the way.

By the time I got there, she was digging around behind some framed paintings that were stacked behind the pot she'd moved. Fearful of what she'd found, I stopped and waited.

“Turn around,” she insisted. She wasn't in the habit of playing tricks, so I followed her demand. “Okay,” she said. “Turn around.”

As I turned, she handed me the guitar I'd sold ten years earlier, a move I'd always regretted. She smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Happy Birthday.” And that's just one more reason why I love that woman.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2227090-The-Yard-Sale