Ficlets

“Finally?” he says. “What do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“I ordered it months ago, and it was only supposed to take six to eight weeks,” she says, toweling her hands dry.

”’Ordered’?” he says.

“From the catalog.”

“Oh, God,” he says, putting the phone back in the cradle. “Babe, you know what the judge said.”

“Well, it was just there on the bus bench,” she says. “And the price, honey, oh, it was such a bargain!”

“This is gonna put us right back to square one!” he says, putting his hands on his head, like he’s trying to keep his brains from exploding. “All this time, rebuilding our credit, you going to Shoppers Anonymous…” He looks at her, hard. “It’s got to go back.”

He’s out the door before she can stop him. He’s at the mailbox, throwing it open, reaching for the hand and the gun and—

—and there’s a second hand, holding a second gun.

She runs behind him, panting, “It was buy one, get one free.”