Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Confessions of a Diabetic Cat - 1. Chapter 1 - Ruby
Tag – The Ring
You’ve inherited an old family ring from a distant cousin. Unfortunately, the ring comes with a lot of responsibilities and powers you didn’t know about before you slid the ring on and became the new owner. What exactly does the ring do?
Chapter 1 – Ruby
Haley could feel one of her headaches coming on, but she wasn’t going to give into it. She rubbed her temples vigorously, attempting to massage the ache away. It seemed to work, at least, for the moment.
She brushed her long, brown hair, luxurious and silky to the touch, and tied it back. Smacking her lips and breathing deeply, she readied herself for the day.
Pulling on a dusty smock, the young woman then sat to pull on her Doc Marten boots, scruffy at the toes and form-fitting at the ankle. The studio beckoned to her, calling to her from afar.
She needed to finish another piece. Perhaps six pieces were enough to present with all the other artists involved, but it felt wrong. The ‘lake at midnight’ execution wasn’t as strong as the others. Haley vacillated on whether it should be part of the collection.
After all, this was an opening for new artists and her first introduction to the public.
Haley stood and stretched, her long lanky frame twisting in place. She was stiff from yesterday’s work.
Outside her window, a pair of birds, sparrows from the look of them, were fighting over space on the tree branch. It was funny watching the two of them squabble.
As she walked away, another pang pulsed in her head.
The headache was coming. Regardless of her plans or her wishes, it followed her like a stalker, lurking closely.
Stopping in the kitchen, Haley took a glass of water and swallowed one of her prescribed pills, the ones she kept in a special place.
The dull throb had stopped. For now. But, she knew it could return. Would probably return. In spite of her best efforts, it would control her all day and probably into the next.
Shrugging off those thoughts, she grabbed her bag and locked her door behind her. Bouncing down the steps, she suddenly felt a lightness, already. Maybe this prescription would work. Perhaps this time the drug company would have found a way to calm her banging brain.
At the bottom of the stairway, she paused and unfurled the keys still in her hand. Slipping the smallest of them into the slot and twisting, Haley pulled open the mailbox. There were a couple of flyers and a letter with a clear plastic window. A bill, no doubt.
Something else caught her eye. In the back there was something square with a yellow wrapper, manilla-colored, and surprising. Surprising because she never got packages unless she ordered something online. She hadn’t, and so this intrigued her.
Reaching in, she grasped the bag with two fingers and pulled the small box out. It was light without much to it.
Haley studied the address first, doubtfully. It was to her. In carefully crafted cursive writing, the package was addressed to Haley Green, 120 Seventh Street, Apt. 4b, Jacksonville, Florida. The lettering was beautiful, almost like a font in its flow and shape.
Then she looked at the return address. It was sent from Homestead, Florida. She puzzled over the name.
It appeared to be from a law firm. The name “Shandler, Tate, and Lewis”, was foreign to her, but the cadence of three names suggested attorneys.
Haley ripped open the packaging and inside was a small cardboard box, tan and unremarkable, but carefully taped shut. Using a fingernail, she started to slit it open when a voice startled her.
“Got something from Amazon?”
“What?” Haley looked over to see a wizened older woman sashay in from the hallway. It was old Mrs. Turgeson.
“You got a package,” the woman continued. “That’s always fun I think.”
“I didn’t order it,” Haley answered. “I mean, I don’t know what it is.”
The white-haired woman, a handkerchief wrapped about her head, smiled at her. “Even better.”
“I guess,” Haley said, and continued to open the box.
“What is it?” her neighbor asked. “I shouldn’t ask,” she added quickly.
“No, I’m wondering as well,” Haley said. The flaps opened and the tight folds of bubble wrap greeted her.
“Maybe it’s a treasure,” the older woman said, waving her mail at Haley. Then she wandered back toward her first-floor apartment.
Haley bit her lip and set the box on the small table next to the mailbox bank. She picked up the wad of bubble wrap and ripped it apart. Layer after layer of plastic packages came undone until she came upon a smaller box, a ring box, with a proper hinge on one side and mounded on top.
The young woman flipped it open. Inside was a lovely white gold ring, adorned with a small but glittering red stone. Around the red stone were sparkling clear stones.
On the side, there was a corner of white paper peeking out from underneath the ring.
Haley pulled on the paper, and it cleanly slid out from under. The note was small, merely a slip of white paper, and it had only three words on it.
“From Cousin June.”
Haley crinkled her nose at that. Who was June?
Then it came to her.
June wasn’t really a cousin to her. June was a neighbor of her mother’s back in Ohio.
Why was she sending her an old ring?
Haley picked it up and looked at it closely. The stone glittered in the sunlight streaming in through the front glass door behind her. It was lovely.
The white gold was just her style.
The tiny diamonds were a delight, making the red stone, presumably a ruby, gleam.
Haley slid it onto her right ring finger, and it fit. Well, maybe it was a little loose, but otherwise, it was nice.
She held out her hand and looked at the jewelry on her calloused, knobby finger.
Haley liked it.
Grabbing her phone, she hit her mother’s number.
- 19
- 5
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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