Award Winning Author, Donna Anastasi, shares an excerpt from her new book, Spin the Plate
Jo boarded the Green Line subway train
D at Newton Highlands, heading into Boston’s Back Bay. With the
lunchtime rush, seats were scarce. She spied the last two available
and beat a man in a pressed suit by one step, taking them both. He
stood, facing her. He grabbed the rail above him, sighed
emphatically, and gazed over her head out the window. He let out
another heavy sigh, and with a deepening frown, fixed a too-long
stare in Jo’s direction, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He
was clearly tired of standing and even more clearly annoyed at having
lost his seat to her.
What a prick, she thought.
Without giving him a second thought, Jo
shifted her attention to the rattling of metal wheels on metal track
and the swaying of the train’s car. A live conductor’s voice and
thick Boston accent announcing each upcoming stop had been replaced
years before by a primetime anchorman-sounding recording. The
recording sounded to Jo like a foreigner who used the proper
pronunciation rather than the local dialect. She always thought of
the station names the way she’d grown up hearing them. In her head
she still imagined the stations being called out with the first
syllable shouted and held for three beats and the “Rs” at the end
of words replaced by “Ah.” NEWton Centah, RESevwah, CHESTnut
Hill…
“Next stop…LONGwood,” boomed over
the sound system. Just five more stops to Arlington Station. The
train ground to a halt, but no one got off. Half a dozen newcomers
entered, the doors closed, and the passengers found their spots as
the train lurched forward. With no seats vacated, the man in the suit
remained standing and shifted his weight from his right to his left
leg.
“Dyke,” he muttered just loud
enough for Jo to hear.
In an instant she was up on her feet,
transforming herself from some fat lady into a female version of an
NFL linebacker: very big, extremely strong, and surprisingly fast.
She weighed 257 pounds and stood 5’ 11” in her Chippewa hikers.
She wore a flannel shirt—burnt orange with black checks—and denim
overalls. In an inner pocket, nestled in the slight dip at her right
hip bone and easily accessible from the bib of her overalls, she
carried a Beretta 9mm Classic with ten live rounds. The gun was
always with her; she reached in and touched it.
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