Page 46 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
The cup scrapes against the floor, moving along with the massive bug.
Helen cringes. “We’re never using that cup again.”
17
I PLUCK OUT MY EARBUDS,put them back in their case, and watch the battery light go from green to amber. The department head in Tampa had to squeeze in our call before teaching a zero-hour, but through my grogginess and her commute, we finalized the units she’ll be purchasing for the fall. She even requested a custom plan forThe Outsidersto celebrate the book surviving a challenge from the district. Stay gold, Hillsborough County.
To top it all off, as of the beep of my alarm an hour ago, my vision is completely back to normal. I cover my left eye, using the now fully operational right eye to check the time on my laptop monitor. Six fifteen a.m. on a Thursday and everything’s coming up Ellie!
Beneath my feet, the floorboards shudder the way they do when folks are coming and going from the front door. I drop my hand, eyeing the door to the rest of the house. I’d picked up the same vibration several times while I’d been on my call. Now that my ears are clear, I’m catching voices, too, and they’re not all masculine.
I rise from my desk chair in pursuit of answers and coffee. But when I open my door, the one that connects to the hallway is alsoclosed. The voices beyond it are louder; it sounds like a dinner party out there.
I open the second door and am greeted by—“Babs?The hell?” I ask, not bothering with niceties, because, seriously:The hell?
Babs stands a few feet away, peering into Diego’s bedroom. She’s dressed for the gym, her wilted hair telling me that this is a post-workout visit, not pre. “Good morning, Ellie!” She gestures into Diego’s room. “Nice to see that he finally has some proper curtains. The sheet arrangement was such an eyesore.” She smiles. “I was about to knock. Will you be joining us soon?”
“Us?Who isus?”
“Follow me,” she singsongs, and I trail her down the hall, mildly annoyed at being given mysterious commands in my own home… even if, technically, the house is hers.
I look into the kitchen as we pass and freeze. Diego’s furiously grating zucchini into a bowl, one of the Built Box kits open on the prep table beside it. He’s wearing my apron.
Before I can ask him what he’s up to, Babs grabs my hand, pulling me farther down the hall. “Diego’s such a sweetheart, putting together snacks for us on short notice.”
We emerge from the hallway, and I again stop short. Eight gym members are gathered in the living room. Half share Babs’s sweaty glow, but others are dressed for work, seated on the couch and the lawn chairs, which have been rescued from their exile to the back porch.
Grant comes in from the dining room with a folding chair under each arm. “Morning, Ellie! Did you get our texts?”
“My phone was on do not disturb. What—” I’m interrupted by a knock at the door.
Helen enters. “Hi, hi!” She accepts a folding chair with a smile and stops to take in the living room, scanning the space until her eyes land on me. “Ellie, my God. You’ve transformed this place!” She elbows Grant as he moves past. “Now I can actually drop Penny off over here with a clear conscience.”
“Thank you?” I say, my confusion reaching a new level. “What has you here?”
“I’m the delegate for eight thirty and nine forty-five,” she says, arranging her chair at the far end of the couch. “I’ll speak for the parents.”
Babs hands me a cup of coffee, which I accept by reflex. I take a sip, belatedly wondering if it might be laced with something, given the bizarre scenario currently unfolding.
“Sit down!” she insists, pointing at the lounger, which has been pulled from its usual spot in the corner. As I do, she plops into the open space on the couch. “You know me and Helen, of course, and Tom,” she adds, as Firehouse’s favorite type two diabetic sits on a folding chair, raising one of my gold-rimmed mugs in greeting. “Russ’s here, too, and you’re familiar with a few of the afternooners…”
This prompts waves and calls of “Morning!” from members I recognize more from profile photos than personal experience, including Jacob, the gym’s number-one violator of the “no dogs on the floor” policy. Bleu Cheese, his dappled Frenchie, croaks out a low bark from his spot in Jacob’s lap. Alistair, on a folding chair beside them, gives the dog a scratch.
Babs points across the room. “Maggie’s a floater—”
“My schedule at the hospital shifts every few weeks,” Maggie says. “So I can do mornings and afternoons. I’m representing the evening gym attendees.”
“Sure,” I say, the abundance of information explaining exactly nothing. “And why does any of this mean that you’re all here, at”—I check my watch—“six twenty-two in the morning?”
“It’s a delegation!” says Babs. “A meeting of the minds.”
“An airing of grievances,” Tom grumbles.
Babs shushes him. “We’re notaggrieved.” She leans back, looking toward the hallway. “Diego, hon, you coming? We’re about to get started.”
“Sí!” he calls, and I hear the slap of his slippers as he trots to the living room. He’s still wearing the apron. “Chocolate zucchini muffins should only take another ten minutes,” he tells me, and takes a seat on the last folding chair. “Tinkering with an extra Built Box.”
Babs returns to me. “The thing is, Ellie, we’ve been watching you.”
