The Red Bracelet resting by the door.

For the fourth time this week, I watched the sheriff place another notice on the board of City Hall. Sighing, he lifted his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. As he lumped away, his heavy feet clumping against the hardwood, I stretched to read the notice from my creaky desk chair. The note was the same as the previous three, detailing a break-in that took place on Brakey Rd. The police were asking for any suspects, and to report all suspicious behavior. 

You would think after the fourth robbery of the week the people of Trayville would stop leaving their homes unattended. Yet, almost every other night there was a new holiday party for the upcoming holidays. The newspaper, Topmost Weekly, had asked for the activities to disband for the month of December. Which had hardly helped anything, except for becoming another topic of squawking for the old ladies of the Senior Hall. 

I took one more glance at the paper before picking up my purse and coat and making my way out of the building. Passing the few members left who all gave me a wave or a smiling farewell, which I begrudgingly returned. Tonight was a big night, and I wanted to have enough time to get ready. Counting the steps to the door, praying for no unwanted disturbances. Just about as I was home free, with the door mere inches away. Taylor yelled from the hallway.

“Hey, Rene! Rene!” Taylor called, her shrill voice breaking the peace of the lobby. I sighed, shifting myself to the most defensive posture without seeming off-putting. I turned, just before she skidded to a halt less than a foot away. 

“Hey, Taylor. Is something wrong?” I asked, plastering my smile to hide the disappointment. 

“Oh yeah, did you see the new notice on the board?” she replied, almost jumping on the balls of her feet. Refraining from rolling my eyes, of course, I had seen it. My desk is less than two feet from the notice board. Yet, I simply nodded in fear of allowing all the annoyance to escape at once. “Well then, you just have to know that it was Ms. Tiffany's house!” 

I flinched at her screaming, but again just nodding, dreaming that Taylor could just take a hint. Yet, I listened to her rambles for at least there at the appropriate volume of a recess yard and not of a construction site. She had always been a mystery reader, and these recent robberies weren’t helping her obsession. Before I could justify my thoughts of strangling her, I heard the sheriff call out to Taylor. 

“Taylor, don’t bother Rene! She was just about to leave to get ready!” he boomed, thumping toward us. I had never been more grateful for his frightening tone, but it hardly fazed Taylor. 

“But dad!” she whined, “I had to tell her about my break-in theories.” 

“Well how about you let her go, then run me through your little theories,” he bargained, and with newfound enthusiasm, Taylor jumped into a chant of conspiracies. I watched them stalk away, staying for just a moment to make sure they were really gone. 

Breaking for the door, I was barely prepared for the rush as I entered the North Carolina 

winter. The wind whipped at my bare ankles, leaving a shudder to chatter through my bones. I tucked my coat around me a little tighter, watching my breath rush through the air. 

***

The small town of Trayville was mainly populated by summer cabins for mountain hikers, and old women with nothing better to do except complaint. Very few of us lay in between, with the divide of college-goers or families with history in the town. For example, the sheriff’s family had been here since they were painting the very first Welcome to Trayville sign. 

Yet, I was neither, and even sparse category. My family had been born and raised in Florida, just off the coast, with palm trees and windy beaches. After college, and an entire childhood of sandy clothes, I was just about ready to leave. I found my apartment at a reasonable price and had packed away everything, moving to the mountains. 

I worked in the City Hall as a receptionist, which seemed to be a complete waste of my literature degree. Yet, I didn't have much choice with no publishers willing to accept my work. I was left with writing till late nights, or early mornings, editing my work, and redoing my old ones. It seemed endless, and it wasn’t even giving me any income. 

I was about to move from the town, just about a year ago, hoping for more opportunities. Before I met Oscar, the librarian from New York, with his black hair and dark complexion. He had stopped me at the library, questioning my need for assistance. For a moment, the world had stopped spinning, and my heart was still. I had shaken my head, searching for a classic novel with no need for help. 

Yet, to this day I curse my jump of honesty. I could've lied, allowing him to assist me through the deep aisles of the library. Feeling him fall in beat with my feet, a conversation could have been sparked. If I had had the guts I could've asked for his number. But, I had watched him stalk to the next aisle as I stared at the back of his t-shirt. 

Every week I made my way to the library, just to scowl the place for his attention. He would ask me every time for help, and every time we would repeat our first meeting. I would curse myself, running home to beat myself over the possibilities. I had begun to think we would never work, I could never have the chance. 

Until my neighbor let me know that Oscar was headed to the biggest Christmas party of the year. The same one that the whole town was being invited to. The same night it was supposed to be my greatest heist of the year.  

*** 

My apartment was quaint, with a view of the brick building residing next door. I stepped through the doorway, just closing it in time for Leo, my kitten, to fail his great escape and run into my ankles. I chuckled at him, leaning down to scratch between his ears. As my coat fell in front of his face he jumped to clutch it in his claws. 

He followed me down the hallway, attempting to catch my hanging coat on the way. I barely paid attention, checking off my mental checklist in my head. The plan was to arrive at the party at a quarter past seven and would pry around the room, making sure that enough guests saw me pass for an alibi. Then I would sneak to the first house, hopefully, whichever one I could find the keys for in the City Hall. After my great heist, with many houses now missing a family heirloom or two, I would return to the party. (Which all would be tucked safely into my purse.) Right into a catching conversation with Oscar. 

This night was to be perfect, and with my wonderful planning, nothing could go wrong. The only thing left to do was to get ready and prepare for one of the most exhausting evenings of my life. 

I slipped out of the bathroom, dressed in a satin robe and curlers in my hair. I turned on the small radio that rested in the living room. Letting the air be enhanced by the jolliest of Christmas tunes. Sighing, I drifted to the couch, letting my nerves relax. This was the most stressful day of my life, and yet here I was, taking a break with Frank Sinatra drifting through the air. 

*** 

I had always had a nick for pickpocketing, from little coins to full wallets. It had helped in college when food was becoming a weekly effort. Once I moved, not a lot had changed. I stole money from tip jars or wallets from bystanders. It had become a habit, a sort of routine I could turn to. The guilt had ebbed away years ago, which didn’t help my motivation and my growing addiction. 

The first moment I had faltered in years, was the chance I snatched Oscars’ keys. I had done it, quite early in my employment. I had justified it to be an act of the moment, one I couldn’t seem to pull off around him. At home they rested in my drawer, with the rest of snagged items. It seemed ironic to me to put items that used to be highlighted in people’s homes, to be reduced to the equivalence of a junk drawer. 

To my surprise, no one had been suspicious, at least not at first. Now though, the City Hall offices were locked. Which would be a problem if I hadn’t made a copy months ago. Though, almost every time I entered work, I was afraid my secret would be discovered.

 Yet, almost a year later, and the police was more curious in the ‘suspicious’ man that snuck around rich homes. Apparently, when I wore pants and a long sleeve hoodies with my hair in a low bun. I looked like a suspicious man, but in more everyday attire I did not. 

Therefore, I didn’t stop and it soon became my evening chore. It didn’t bother me if I missed parties or gatherings, for I had been told Oscar never was there anyway. Which his sole existence was the only reason I stayed in this lousy town. 

This party was going to be different, he would be there, and I would have already done my score before I even talked to him. The evening would be perfect, and once he was in my grasp, all of my petty theft wouldn’t matter, for the grandest treasure of his love would be all mine. 

*** 

The party was nothing but dazzling. chandeliers hung through the hall, leaving the room with a dreamy illuminance. The grand ballroom was situated in an art museum just off the main building. A few designs hung around the room, giving an example of what could be found in the other exhibits. 

 As I glanced around the room, I traced the occupants mingling through. Their chatter was beginning to gain volume, echoing from the tiled ceilings. The walls were lined with the different works from the art museum, and people admired them. In the center was a covered table where a monstrous assortment of finger food was resting. Waiters mingled through the crowds, offering their own delectable sweets. 

I tried to slink around the main crowds, grabbing a sparkling apple cider from one of the waiters. Twirling the glass in my hand, making sure I kept my head down and my steps light. My plan was running smoothly, with no bumps or staggers Then Taylor, with Ms. Tiffany in hand, came skittering toward me. 

“Rene, I’m so good you could make it!” Taylor exclaimed, with Ms. Tiffany staggering alongside her. 

“Well Taylor, this is one of the last few before Christmas,” I responded, letting annoyance drip from my voice. Yet, it didn’t dare discourage Taylor, but Ms. Tiffany did flinch. 

“Of course, I know that. I just wanted to bring Ms. Tiffany over, her house was the most recent break-in,” she responded, and I almost laughed at Taylor’s bluntness. “So Ms. Tiffany tell Rene about the glass,” 

She had gone on to describe the glass that had been resting on her kitchen counter when it was snatched by the robber. I had gasped in sympathy, wincing when she described the shattered windows. In reality, the glass was near the door, and the windows were more for dramatic effect. Of course, though, I would never tell her that. 

Soon there were other people joining in, whispering about their different stolen objects. A few had drifted apart, and then there was a jostle right behind me. 

“Ms. Tiffany, I was just looking for you,” a voice whispered behind me. I sighed with annoyance, I was never going to get out of here. Yet, I turned toward the voice and my head stopped. Oscar was standing there, a crimson suit jacket with a puffed undershirt. He smelled vaguely of cologne, and it only made my palms sweat. He didn’t even notice me, and yet I noticed everything about him. 

In the few moments I was daydreaming, he had sneaked in front of me, sparking a conversation with the others. They were talking about the newest book store that had opened, and whether it would be Oscars competition. I was barely paying attention until the small crowd was breaking apart, and only Oscar, Taylor, and I were left. 

My breath was caught, and I was trying to make sure to not lean too close to him. Then Taylor left when the conversion had come to a pause, and he looked at me. His blue eyes were looking around the room as if waiting for the perfect distraction. 

“So what do you do for work?” he asked, barely sounding interested, more annoyed and reluctant. 

“Well, I work as the reactionist in City Hall, though I hope that soon my writing will be picked up by a publisher. I write in the evenings after work,” I responded, letting my enthusiasm keep through. Yet, Oscar just stood there, nodding politely. 

“Better late than never,” he said, shifting to look towards the door, “I’m sorry, but my girlfriend just got here,” 

He walked away, left me. Walking to a girl in a red satin dress, I didn’t recognize her. She must be from out town. They locked arms and made their way through the hall. People gawked, women boiled in jealousy, men glowered with hatred. 

I was a mix of both, and I let the anger burn.

***

I don’t remember leaving, but it’s been repeated back to me, mostly in confused conversation. I had run, pushing people away, scaring the older folks. Then I left the building, and no one had heard of me for days. 

I do remember breaking into Oscar's house, destroying his windows. Taking a bat to most of them, others were taken by my fists. I had taken the girl's bracelet, at least I hoped he only had one girl. I snatched it, running through the crisp December night. 

When I had gone home, I ran to my bedroom and started packing. Getting bags, digging through drawers and my dressers. In my blind anger, I retched everything out. I didn’t have a plan, it was just to leave. Spend the holidays in the most remote hotel I could find. 

Then I reached my treasure drawer, and all-time stopped. 

All the trinkets laid there, covered in a slight layer of dust. They shone in the twilight hours, some even were chipped from my escapes. The jewelry hasn’t been polished, and the antiques were starting to rust. 

 Ms. Tiffanys wine glass caught my attention, and I picked it up to feel the cool material. I twirled the glass, watching it gleam in the moonlight.  The gold-rimmed wine glass was ironically empty. As if it was just a novelty for the owner to ogle at, or swirl in front of guests. Placing it on the creaking wooden table, I stalked to the living room. Breathing for the first time in hours. My radio was still on, just from before the party, with the wonderful sound of Mariah Carey swinging through the air. 

I took the bracelet from my bag, leaving it on the counter. The red stone gleamed under the moonlight glow, the crystal band giving off a hint of sparkle. Feeling the bracelet gently, feeling the gems rub under my fingertips. 

“You know, you’re right Oscar, some things are better late than never.”