Betty dreaded opening the package the mailman was about to deliver. She knew what it was when she watched him come up the street. She should just refuse to accept it, turn around and send it back right then. Return to sender. That would be the smart thing to do. She didn’t want to dredge up the whole thing all over again. Trouble was, it was all in front of her mind already.
Celeste ordered those shoes to take to Paris with her. She planned on wearing them at the Ritz, dining and dancing the nights away. She’d dreamed her whole life for the trip. Now they were being carried up the street by the mailman, and Celeste was dead. Shot to death two weeks ago in this very doorway. She ordered the shoes six weeks ago. Special made, with the Eiffel Tower turned upside down for the heel. Stilettos. Celeste had the legs for them.
Betty had warned her about Jock. Said he wasn’t good enough for her. Said he was trouble in a pinstripe suit, but Celeste didn’t listen. His cologne made her brain fuzzy and his red pocket square clouded her judgement. She was nothing to him, Betty told her. She’d seen men like him before. Pretty men who were too clean with manicured hands and ruby pinky rings. Celeste’s blue eyes sparkled so much when she was with him, she couldn’t see. All she saw was a promise to Paris.
Betty bent double with a sob when the mailman rounded the corner to her walk. Those shoes were coming straight at her. Celeste’s dream was in his hands. Should she keep them or not?
Devonne Brown 
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