Amanda bit her thumbnail, tapping a nervous beat on the counter as the sweaty man conducted his tests. She could see from the pawnbroker’s license on the wall that his name was John Curry and he was twenty-nine years old. Genetics had unfortunately screwed him in two directions, giving him the acne of a teenager and the hairline of a middle-aged man. To make matters worse, he carried both the shape and smell of an overstuffed trash bag. Amanda was too unglued to think charitably, and could only assume that one of the torments that awaited her in the infernal beyond involved handcuffs, a bed, and John Curry.
He’d already examined her wedding ring through a grading loupe, inspecting every curve and facet for impurities. Now he put it inside a device that resembled an Easy-Bake oven. As the machine whirred, the pawnbroker fixed his appraising eyes on Amanda. He studied her in a way that made her empty stomach churn.
She turned around to check on Zack. He’d accompanied her to the store to help negotiate a good sale price. Now he strangely hung back near the entrance, browsing the hocked watches.
Amanda threw him a tense, baffled shrug. What are you doing?
He replied with a nod and an assuring palm. It’s okay. You’re fine.
Though Amanda had been through hell and a four-hour hike, and was forced to wear David’s T-shirt to cover the bloodstains on her own, she was still a fetching sight. Zack saw the pawnbroker’s eyes pop with interest the moment she stepped through the door. He figured Amanda would have a better shot handling the business on her own.
The pawnbroker scratched his pitted cheek as he pondered the machine’s analysis. “I’ll give you five hundred.”
Amanda balked at him. “Five hundred? The ring cost eight thousand dollars.”
“I doubt that.”
Zack wasn’t able to remind her that she was working from another world’s economy. All the same, the offer was disappointing. Come on, man. You know she puts the “dish” in disheveled. Cut her a deal.
“How about six hundred?” Amanda asked.
“No way. I’d be taking a loss.”
“How? This is eighteen-karat gold with five diamonds.”
“Right. And it’s also been juved.”
Zack was surprised to learn that his work left traces, and that reversal affected the resale value.
“Five fifty,” Amanda offered.
The pawnbroker removed the ring from the scanner, holding it out to Amanda as if he were proposing the most cynical marriage ever.
“You only have two choices here: five hundred or keep walking.”
She slapped her palm on the counter. “Look, I wouldn’t be selling this if I didn’t need the money! I guarantee the extra fifty dollars will mean a lot more to me than it will to you.”
The pawnbroker stared in turmoil at the cash safe under his desk. The moment Amanda struck the counter, the tempic shell rippled like jostled milk. It took five seconds for the walls to settle back to normal.
“Look at me, John. My name’s Amanda Given. I’m not a gambler or a drug addict. I’m not . . .” Once again she suffered a tactile flashback, and could feel the broken ribs in the chests of those policemen. “I’m not a criminal. I’m just someone who’s hit bad times. A bunch of us need this money for food. Now, you’re going to make a profit on this ring regardless. I’m asking you out of the goodness of your heart to raise your offer. Please.”
Between the freakish incident with his safe and Amanda’s unbearable intensity, the pawnbroker’s sexual interest became replaced by a burning desire to get her out of his store.
“Five ten. That’s my absolute last deal. Take it or go. Just decide fast.”
Frustrated, Amanda glanced at Zack. All he could offer was a hopeless shrug.
She turned back to the pawnbroker. “Fine, John. Fine.”
He counted out a thin blue wad of bills. Amanda snatched it from his hands.
“Fine deal. Fine profit. Fine person you are.”
While the pawnbroker glared, Amanda took a final look at the ring that had traveled with her across the multiverse. Her thoughts teemed with images of Derek, a flip-book chronicle of decline that began with his marriage proposal and ended with his last spiteful words.
She joined Zack at the exit and passed him her money with trembling hands. “It’s not enough.”
He led her outside. “It’s enough for now.”
“No. It’s not enough money. I should . . .”
She fumbled for her golden cross necklace, tucked away under two T-shirts. “I should see . . . I should see how much . . .”
“No.”
“It’s just a symbol.”
“Amanda . . .”
“I don’t need a symbol to be a good Christian.”
The walls of her composure crumbled away. She fled down a narrow alley between the pawnshop and a bakery. There among the boxes of old discarded bread, she crouched to the ground and wept into her hands.
Zack followed her down the alley and took a seat on the milk crate next to her.
“I should have listened to Mia,” Amanda confessed. “I should have never gotten out of the van.”
Zack knew this wasn’t the best time to agree with her. “They’re being fixed. Whether it’s through temporis or good old-fashioned medicine, those cops—”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”
“No. Can’t say it does.”