Page 102 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

“Only a little, and some of it isn't by choice.”

Then, casually, he asked, “So why are you still using the outhouse?”

I blinked at him. “Because it’s the only toilet, Ira. You think I’m doing it for the romance of it?”

“But there’s a bathroom inside.”

My mouth actually fell open. “What?”

“Nice one, too,” he said absent-mindedly, taking another sip. “Looks like it was ripped out of a catalog. All of that marble andcandles and plants you’re not supposed to touch. It's the only room in the whole place that doesn’t feel like it might collapse if you sneeze near it.”

I was staring at him now, squinting like I’d just been told the moon was made of brisket. “Where's this luxury of which you speak?”

“Attached to the main bedroom. First door on the left at the top of the stairs.”

I just stared at him as I processed this treachery. “That absolute bastard,” I hissed. “That’s Webb’s parents’ room, so I never even went in there because I thought it was sacred. You don’t pee in the holy shrine of someone else’s parents!”

Ira raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t going to sleep in their bed,” I growled. “Just pee in their toilet. He could’ve told me!”

There was a moment of silence, then Ira let out a full-body wheeze and damn near slid out of his chair.

“It’s not funny!” I snapped, heat rushing to my face. “I’ve been showering in the yard like I’m prepping for Survivor: Bayou Edition. You know how many frogs I’ve startled while trying to squat behind a bush?”

Ira was cackling now, wheezing so hard his eyes were streaming.

“And the worst part?” I added, flinging a cheesy puff at the porch rail. “I still can’t use it. I can’t get up those stupid stairs with this cast on my leg. I’m stuck Brokeback Shitting in the Woods!”

Ira started coughing so violently he had to put his coffee down. He clutched his chest, gasping, and I suddenly panicked.

“Oh God, is it your heart? Are you dying?” Panic surged through my voice as I hovered, unsure whether to help or just scream. “I can drag you into the truck, but I’ll probably dislocate something—yours or mine. Oh my God, I did a CPR course when I was fourteen!” I frantically looked around, feeling helpless. “If I could get a signal, I’d pull up a YouTube video to double-check. Please don’t die on me, Ira, I’m not emotionally stable enough for this.”

I gestured wildly at the mess of horticulture in front of us. “I mean, it’s just a toilet. That’s not worth dying over, right?”

Ira raised a shaky hand, still laughing as he wheezed, “No... I’m fine... just...oh my God, you said ‘Brokeback Shitting in the Woods’…”

I sat back with my arms crossed and cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Around us, the raccoons gathered again—completely unbothered by the chaos as they munched on toast with casual delight, like they were watching a comedy special unfold just for them.

Eventually, Ira caught his breath and wiped his eyes. “That man really got you,” he chuckled, grinning like a devil. “You were played, girl.”

I glared at the stairs in righteous fury. “He is so lucky I can’t climb those stairs right now,” I muttered. “Because if I could, I’d use that bathroom, then rip the damn sink out and throw it at him the next time I see him.”

Ira chuckled. “You still might need that CPR refresher, but I’ll cheer you on.”

Golden light stretchedacross the clearing as the sun dipped lower in the sky, inching toward the horizon. Full and content, the raccoons had wandered off to wherever raccoons go when mischief turns to drowsiness.

With the day’s heat finally easing, a gentler warmth settled in—no longer stifling but something close to comfortable.

I leaned my head back against the chair and winced as my skull pulsed like it was hosting a very low-budget drum circle. The rest of my body wasn’t much better—just a rotating cast of minor aches and complaints, like a group of grumpy roommates arguing over whose turn it was to do the dishes. I shifted to glance at Ira, who was watching the sky like it owed him answers.

“When do you think he’ll catch up with me?”

He turned his head, blinking himself out of his thoughts. “Who?”

“Clayton Barris. When do you think he’ll find me?”

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