My journey home from work took a turn from the usual when I left the office a bit after 3PM and decided to take the first streetcar going toward the southwest of the city. I met one of my usual bus drivers, but going in the opposite direction, since I usually catch his route twenty minutes later going north. I walked into the apartment at 4PM. DR arrived at 4:30, mail in hand, including a pale salmon-colored card from the USPS.
The card said the postman was sorry he missed me but had left a parcel in the office of the apartment complex. DR and I had planned to leave for the club for dinner at 5:45 so we had our New Mexican Piñon Coffee and I went to work on my next novel, Salsa Dancing with Pterodactyls. I had some emails to answer as well.
Once we got to the office, I handed my card over to one of the agents. Another resident also had a salmon card so she took his and returned with two parcels about the same size. Mine was on top and seemed to have been opened – the tape was loose but both ends were sound.
I took a look at the return address: RON PLACE. I didn’t have to read any further, even though I didn’t recognize the name. I KNEW! I gasped and started to rip at the tape. DR took his key to the tape and I pulled. It’s April, I thought, I haven’t ordered anything.
“It’s my book.”
Then the box was open and I dug the first copy out of the paper packing. Everyone in the office, the caterer at the club saw that first copy.
Every book I’ve seen from Avalon has been gorgeous. Mine is no exception.
It’s official. I have a book.