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Beneath the Healing Rain

By Valerie Banfield

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(EXCERPT: JoDee Remington squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed the whimper that arose in her throat. It couldn’t be. This was sheer nonsense. She just needed to refresh her computer browser. No biggie.
She raised her shoulders, filled her lungs with a massive intake of hope, and opened her right eye just enough to decipher the numbers on the screen. When the device announced the identical findings displayed moments earlier, JoDee’s heart thudded. If she were lucky, maybe the alarmed muscle would fail to resume beating. If she were lucky. Which she wasn’t.
When her pulse resumed a steady, rapid rhythm, she willed the floor to open up and swallow her into the depths of the earth. Where she belonged. But it didn’t.
If he weren’t a pacifist, Todd would kill her. The last time JoDee wreaked havoc on their marriage, Todd held to his wedding vows and the two of them muddled through the mayhem. Consequences lingered; everything was different. After his initial explosion, Todd made no effort to hide his resentment. He took every opportunity to send a jab her way, just because he could.
But now? Would he be steadfast again? After all, this time she broke a solemn promise, and the situation glaring at her today was just as ugly as the previous incident.
What if Todd decided to stay married, but moved out? A fleeting sense of relief descended as the answer materialized. If they could barely support one household, how could they expect to pay for two? JoDee’s heart did a somersault when another possible consequence came to mind. What if he threw her out?
Her fingers trembled as she opened three new internet tabs and signed in to three different financial institutions. She wiped her hand across her mouth as she digested the reports. Of the three accounts, the one she shared with Todd bore notably less than the normal slim-to-nothing balance. She’d only meant to borrow the paltry funds for a day or two, vowing to replenish the account long before Todd prepared his end-of-the-month analysis of their spending activities.
A queasy stomach combined forces with a wave of lightheadedness, propelling JoDee to the refrigerator. She snagged a can of no-brand soda, which Todd considered a luxury, and flipped the metal tab. The “pfft” was reminiscent of JoDee’s good intentions.
She took her seat again and examined the monies in her secret trading account. The values of the stocks bounced up and down throughout the day. That’s what happened when one engaged in day trading. In JoDee’s case, the fluctuating figures looked like the erratic winnings one might post when playing a roulette wheel, which was, unfortunately, an accurate assessment of her amateur methods for buying and selling penny stock.
Penny. The emphasis was on the word penny. Not dollars. Certainly not hundreds. And definitely not thousands—until today. Todd might not kill her, but he’d hate her. Could she blame him? She had to fix this.
After JoDee’s anxious brown eyes darted to the super-secret, extreme-emergency account, she blew out enough air to lift her bangs from her forehead, an amazing feat given the beads of sweat that accompanied her no-longer-a-penny disaster.

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