by T A Ford
Just A Little Bit Of Crazy
T.A. Ford
Published by The Divas Pen LLC, 2020.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
2
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
3
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
4
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
For all my girls who color outside of the lines and choose to live their lives the authentic way!
Chapter One
The First Day
“You think you know it all, that’s your problem. You think you’re so smart, but when you have to prove it you freeze. You just keep going around in circles. Focus Dina. Focus. These numbers equal circles, too. Make it load. If you don’t you’re going to look stupid.” Dina took another bite out of her orange cranberry muffin. A few crumbs stuck to the gloss coating her lips, and she licked them off. She cringed over the sticky aftertaste. Out of reflex she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. If there were crumbs on her mouth, then that meant they had to be everywhere. She was right. Tiny morsels were on the front breasts. More of them had dropped on the laptop. They were tiny, but she saw them. Dina was careful to brush them off her chest and sweep the additional crumbs from the tabletop onto her palm. She then dumped them neatly on her plastic dinner plate.
“Look at you. If you use the fork you won’t make a mess,” Dina said from under her breath.
The plastic fork and knife were situated next to the dinner plate on a neatly folded napkin. She picked it up and cut the muffin into sections, so she could eat the rest of it properly. It was then she felt as if she was being watched. When she looked up her eyes connected with another man’s. A set of eyes the color of tiger’s, amber and gold, ringed by dark lashes, focused directly at her. Men weren’t supposed to have pretty eyes. At least that was not a quality she would ever appreciate. She stopped chewing.
Was he staring at her on purpose? The crease between her brow deepened. She’d chosen a booth seat in Panera Bread, the one nearest the window. It was her first and only choice. She could see people come and go. If ever it was occupied, she’d leave Panera and cancel her plans for the day. She expected to be alone, and typically, at this time of morning, she was. Where did tiger eyes come from?
The mystery man nodded respectfully in her direction and then lowered his gaze to his laptop. It was then she looked around her to see if anyone else discovered her habit as he had. She talked to herself.
“Don’t worry about it. He’s probably a weirdo,” she mumbled. “A cute weirdo.”
Dina couldn’t help but notice his playboy handsomeness. Dark hair, long sideburns that connected a very finely shaved beard to his mustache. He had dark thick eyebrows too. He wasn’t her type, but she figured she wasn’t his either. She tried her best to center her attention on her PowerPoint once again. Her frustration made concentration even harder. And on it went, until an idea jumped from her inner thoughts and escaped her lips.
“Coffee. You need coffee,” said Dina.
Pretty Brown Eyes looked up at her again without moving his head, when she spoke. Dina sighed. She closed her laptop and unplugged it. She grabbed her purse, leaving her empty laptop bag behind. If he was a thief, he’d be disappointed with what he found inside. She went to where the cashier waited behind the counter in front of a wall of bagels. It was after ten in the morning. Most people were at work. The two women in front of her looked as if they had come from Orange Theory, the gym in the same plaza. They debated what would be the healthiest choice; neither of them were right. The cashier looked as unimpressed as Dina felt. For another five minutes Dina stood behind them and waited.
“Just pick one already,” Dina mumbled.
The petite brunette with the bright yellow yoga pants turned and glared at her. “Excuse me? Did you say something?”
Dina blinked out of her fugue state.
“Did you say something?” the woman challenged her.
“If I did, I wasn’t talking to you,” Dina replied with forced politeness.
The woman gave her an eye roll and continued to debate whether a bran muffin or a bowl of oatmeal had more nutritional value with her friend. Dina continued to mumble under her breath that she should just look at the calorie count. The lady behind the cash register heard her. She gave Dina a snide chuckle in agreement.
“Hi, ma’am, can I help you?” said a short young woman with a smiling face. She beckoned Dina over to the second register.
Dina smiled. “I need a coffee. Hot, no cream or anything. Just a hot coffee.”
“Sure. Light roast, hazelnut, dark roast, decaf or...”
“Just a hot coffee please,” Dina said.
“Ah, okay, hot coffee. That will be $2.53.”
“Oh, yes, help please,” Dina fidgeted with her laptop. She couldn’t hold it and access her wallet, so she passed it over the cash register to the cashier. The woman looked surprised but accepted it. The two yoga twits next to her frowned as if she had asked the woman to hold a live snake. Dina hated rude stares. Panera Bread was supposed to be empty. Why were the Barbies there? She didn’t care to understand it further. She dug down in her wallet to the stack of bills, pulled one out and handed it over. The woman handed her laptop back. Dina watched and waited. When the woman gave her the change and closed the register to leave, Dina frowned. She received exactly $2.46 in change.
The cashier returned with her coffee. “Here you go.”
“You gave me the wrong change,” Dina said.
“Excuse me?”
“I gave you a ten-dollar bill and you gave me $2.46 in change. The coffee is $2.39, and with 6% sales tax that would be no more than 14 cents, making it $2.53, so that means you owe me $7.47.”
“Ma’am, you gave me $5.00.”
“I did not!” Dina snapped.
“Ah, yes, you did,” the cashier replied with a hand to her hip.
“I don’t carry five-dollar bills!” Dina insisted.
“Excuse me, is something wrong?” The man with tiger eyes had joined the conversation. Dina was aghast. The last thing she had meant to do was bring attention to herself. She glanced to the woman and then to the man. Now everyone was staring at her, including the Barbies. Even the girl cutting bagels turned around to stare. Eyes! There were at least twelve eyes focused on her at once. The manager walked over as Dina felt herself shrink smaller and smaller.
“Hello, how can I help?” the manager asked.
“I... I... I...” Dina stammered.
“She says I cheated her. She gave me a five-dollar bill and now she is claiming she gave me ten dollars.”
“It’s not a claim. It’s true. I don’t carry five-dollar bills,” Dina reasoned. “They make no sense. You can never break even. It’s an odd number. Why make a bill an odd number to be changed? The one-dollar bill is enough, there is no need for a five-dollar bill. The two-dollar bill I understand. It can be split. But five is a nonsensical number.”
“She’s crazy,” the cashier mumbled. The man looked at Dina, concerned. Now they were all looking at her as if she had eig
ht heads. Numbers began to swirl in Dina’s mind. Too many numbers at once. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Why didn’t she just take the damn money and go away? She should just go away.
“Open the register,” said the stranger behind her.
“What?” the manager asked.
“Would it hurt to see if she is correct?” her savior asked.
“This is crazy! She’s crazy! I don’t cheat customers—”
“Hannah, be quiet,” the manager said. The manager used a card attached his hip and opened the register. The cashiers looked in at the money and then up at Dina. The manager was the first to speak. “We’re sorry, ma’am. You’re correct. There are no five-dollar bills in the register. Please accept the coffee on me.”
Dina felt a flush of relief. She handed over the change given to her and accepted her ten-dollar bill. She balanced her laptop on her arm as she shoved the bill in her pocket instead of her wallet. She just wanted to go.
“Let me help you,” the man offered. The cashier was taken aside by the manager and her coworkers along with the Barbies continued to stare at Dina in disbelief.
“No!” Dina said a bit too abruptly. She took her coffee and went back to her booth seat in a hurry. She scooted inside and refused to look up. “I’m alright. I’m alright,” she mumbled. She opened the coffee and drank a scalding swallow. She didn’t care. It stimulated her mind and made her shudder with awareness. The handsome stranger returned and took a seat with his bottle of water. He stared at her again.
“What the hell does he keep looking at?” she asked aloud. She wished she hadn’t, but she had. He heard her. She tried to again focus on her PowerPoint and the numbers in her head. She had an hour before she’d have to email it to her boss. And the damn graphics weren’t working.
“Hi.”
Dina looked up. Mr. Tiger Eyes was standing before her.
“Can I join you?” he asked.
“No,” she recoiled.
He eased into the booth seat across from her. “You must be under a tight deadline. I hear you talking to yourself.”
“I’m working and you’re being rude. Please leave me alone.”
“I am rude. It’s an occupational hazard. My name is Cue. With a ‘C’, not a ‘Q’.”
“Are you serious? That’s your name?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a musician?” she asked.
“No,” he chuckled. “What’s your name?”
She stared at him, then shook her head. She’d been approached by men before. It happened every time she didn’t want it to. In the past, when she got all dressed up and went out with her friends, men never glanced her way over the other two. She didn’t go out often. She only had two friends, who were her sorority sisters, and they rarely invited her anywhere.
“I’m done,” she said and closed the laptop lid.
Cue sat back, with a look of disappointment. Did he really think she’d talk with? Stranger? He was crazy. He leaned in with a smile that disarmed her. She thought his eyes were intriguing but it was his smile that made his face and presence calming. “Hey, I’m sorry, please forgive—” he began.
“It’s rude to harass a woman in public or private,” she said, and shoved her laptop into her bag.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” he replied. “I was only trying to make conversation. See I’m a—”
“I don’t care!” She got her things together fast. She was out of the booth before he could say another word. She marched out the door and hurried to her car. When she got in it she was finally able to catch her breath. Cue stood at the window of Panera Bread with her coffee.
“You can have it!” she said. She backed out and sped away as fast as the speed bumps in the parking lot would allow her too. She didn’t calm herself until she was on the expressway. “Stupid. You’re so stupid, Dina. He just made conversation and you are acting like he’s a serial killer. Plus, you didn’t finish the damn PowerPoint.” Dina shouted. She drove a Acura MDX and always obeyed speed laws. That was when she wasn’t as stressed over work and strangers with tiger eyes. She punched the button for her call list and found the one for her boss.
“Dina? Where is it?”
“I’m sorry Rafael. I ran into an issue. The graphics don’t load—”
“I knew I should have given this to Dennis.”
“No, no. I just need a bit more time. I’m going home to connect to my server and I will—”
“Never mind it. Be in the office by eight tomorrow. No working from home. Understand?”
“Rafael, I can do this. I am very capable.”
The line clicked.
“Darn it!” Dina hit her steering wheel. The car behind her blew hard and long on the horn. “Oh, shut up!”
Dina sped out from under the green light just as it turned yellow. She kept the same speed all the way to her townhome. She parked and waited a moment. She tried to roll back her emotions of embarrassment and inferiority. It didn’t work. The clock said she had fifteen minutes before her deadline. What could she do in fifteen minutes that she couldn’t achieve in the last three hours? What? She grabbed her laptop bag and purse. She hurried her steps from her car to her door. She now had fourteen minutes. Her garage always remained closed at her townhome. She never dared to park inside of it. The world was outside, her car should remain so also. Dina shut the door and did the locks. She undid the locks and then locked the door again. She did this three times. “Thirteen minutes. You have thirteen minutes,” she said as she entered the living room. It was not easy to do so, if you didn’t know the place. The towers of books created a neat yet claustrophobic maze from one open space to another. She went to the sofa without knocking over a stack and plopped down. It was time to work.
Her home was modest. Her brother had rentals all over the city, and he’d let her have this one. She liked it. She hoped to stay. Dina had a system to help her deal with anxiety. Yellow post-it notes. To the naked eye this system would be disorder and clutter that bordered on compulsive behavior. But if you looked closer, you’d see her need for organization. There were thousands of post-it notes around her. She stuck them on everything. The television had three. One to remind her of her favorite channels. Another to remind her when the cable bill was due. And a third to remind her to turn it off when she left the house. This was the same for all electronics. The refrigerator had post-it notes to tell her what to shop for, and those were changed week to week. It also had notes that marked expiration dates for milk and juice the fridge. Something that she had to keep plenty of. The coffeemaker, toaster, blender, microwave all has post-it notes for their respective functions and cleaning schedules. There were plenty on the walls and chairs for other incidentals. She loved to read. She had over a thousand books crammed in her downstairs living area and maybe double that number upstairs. They were everywhere. And she had yellow post-it notes on each one that accounted for how many times she read the book and her favorite chapters. Only her bedroom was kept free and clear of her clutter. Rodney, her brother, hated the sight of what he considered disarray. He had hired her cleaning ladies. Dina had several emotional breakdowns over the invasion of privacy. Rodney gave up.
Seven minutes left on the clock and Dina smiled when the graphics loaded on her PowerPoint and the company slogan began to play over the deck. “Tah dah! You did it. Yes you did. You’re not so stupid Dina. Rodney, I did it! Rodneeeeeeey!” she sang. Her brother wasn’t there. She often called out his name when excited or distressed. He was her hero, and she wanted to make him proud. She immediately uploaded the deck to the cloud server and picked up the phone. When Rafael refused to answer she called her peer, Dennis. She only had three minutes left to the deadline.
“Dina, I’m busy! Can’t talk,” Dennis said, under his own critical countdown. She could hear him tapping on his computer keyboard.
“I did it. I got it to work Dennis. It’s on the cloud. Can you download it and get it to link to Rafael’s account for me? Plea
se? My SharePoint won’t connect through the VPN. Tell him to review it for any revisions if needed. I’m online tonight and could do whatever he needs.”
“You sure? It’s done?” Dennis asked.
“Check for yourself,” she grinned.
Dennis put her on hold. Dina bounced on the sofa as she waited. She would get up and dance, but there were towers of books to either side of her.
“Yep, it’s here. Good job. I’ll get it to him.”
“Thank you, Dennis,” she said and hung up. She was quite proud of herself.
“W’SUP BRO?” RODNEY said.
Cue looked up from his laptop. He smiled. He got up from his seat and hugged his friend. “That was quick.”
“Yea, I wasn’t far.” Rodney took off his coat and scarf. The men had attended Harvard together. The moment Cue decided to move from Massachusetts to Atlanta, he knew who he’d call. Cue was the nickname Rodney tagged on him in college, in recognition of his unmatched pool skills. Those were some of the darkest and best days of his life. His real name—Clinton Walsh—wasn’t as smooth.
“So? Was she here?” Rodney’s head turned as his gaze swept Panera Bread.
“About an hour ago. She sat right there, just like you said she would.”
Rodney glanced to the empty booth seat. “Did you see what I’m talking about?”
“It was interesting. She was talking to herself, like you said.”
“See! I fucking told you man.”
“Wait...that’s not a sign of mental illness. It’s normal to talk to yourself.”
“Fuck normal bro. She’s my baby sister. I love her, I’ve always protected her. But she’s out of her mind on her good days and fucking nuts on her bad days. She’s getting worse man. You should see the way she lives. I got her a job and she’s settled, but our boy Rafael who hired her says she’s talking out loud at work, so he put her on a work from home schedule. Now she won’t even let me in the door of the townhouse I gave her.”
“Slow down,” Cue said. “I’m a psychiatrist, not a magician. I can’t diagnose her from across the room. It doesn’t work that way.”
