Page 12 of Cookout Carnage
She’s shaking her shoulders almost like a shimmy. As if she’s trying out some ancient dance hoping to hypnotize me. I sling my jacket over my shoulder and nod.
“Do you hear your brand of insane? We’re not getting married. And you’re terrible at blackmail. You need to hold something over the person to blackmail them. You’re even a shitty criminal.”
“I AM NOT,” she screams, and her father jogs out of the back door, but I wave him off. I get an air clap and a thumbs-up.
“Just nerves, sir.”
He salutes us and hustles back inside.
JONATHAN: Mom – headed out. If you guys are having fun stay. But know that I called the wedding off. I love you, and this is the right thing to do. Don’t tell anyone but Dad until Tanya can tell her parents.
MA: You ok, bumble bee? Do you want us to stay with you tonight?
JONATHAN: More than ok. And you and Dad enjoy the luxury of the B&B.
MA: Thank fucking God. She’s awful. We’ll see you in the morning. I love you, Jman.
My eyes pop out of my head as my mother uses the word fuck and says a nasty word about someone. I’m on the stone path back to my truck when she shrieks again.
“I don’t accept it.”
“Ok. Still not getting married. I’m sorry if it’s heartbreaking.”
“What if there’s a kid?” She lights up a bit at the thought of the money she could potentially get for a child. Perhaps she could get a whole buck and half raise. I turn around.
“Jesus, you have no end. And we’d have to actually sleep together in order for that to happen. And I’m not doing the right thing if Scooter has a slip-up. The kid would come out with a mullet.”
She walks over to me and flicks a button on my shirt. I pull out a scowl Rory would be proud of. My accompanying growl rattles the windows of her parents’ garage. I hear horses and deer scurrying away from the noise I just made.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” She’s a tiny thing. I pick her up and physically move her from my path. I should have gone to Providence two years ago and hauled Jules back here. Or at least tried. The tiny mafia princess is still ranting, and she’s dangerously close to a tiki torch.
“Careful, or that hair of yours is going up in smoke.”
“You owe me. We’re still getting married. I’m getting that money.”
As I round the house, I toss over my shoulder, “You can’t force me to get married.”
“I can do anything I set my mind to. That’s what Daddy says.” He really should have been a gym teacher or a little league coach.
I glimpse Squeakers trotting up the street side by side with her bestie, Gandalf, the white pig. No matter what we do, the two always find each other. I’ll grab the truck and take Gandalf back to her fifteen-year-old owner.
Fuck it. Someone should be happy tonight. I’ll take them both back to Squeakers’ pen, and they can have a sleepover. I’ll toss them some extra apples, and they can stay up all night doing each other’s hair.
2
July, 4
8:21 am – Fairview, KY
JULIET
Iyell over the silverware din in the diner, “That’s it, people, get your shit squares. Betting closes in ten minutes.” I wave my arms around, careful to not spill a drop of coffee from the huddle. My hips keep bumping the tables and spilling drinks. I’ve got to get my groove back. I’m out of practice.
The oldest man alive grumbles from the crooked booth on the left. “You can’t do that. Only the owner can do that. Where’s your sister?”
Gwen puts her arms around me. “She is the owner. Remember, Mr. Shirly, it’s always been a sister’s café.” Everyone stares at me, then a gangly man hollers from the back. I squint across the café to identify him. He stands and clears his throat, and I smile, recognizing that gesture.
Scooter Regent loves to stand on ceremony. “The Road Apple betting must end in ten minutes, so we can all move on to Computer Trap Shootin’. I got a crap-ton of money riding on all this today.” Only in my town would someone seek their fortune blowing up old computers and printers and betting on where a horse takes a shit on a parade route.
