Page 35 of Cookout Carnage
Squeakers has a long baguette in her mouth. Where the hell did she get it? That’s like farmer’s market fancy bread. Did she’s hoard it? Does Jon eat baguettes? They walk right by without so much as a squeal at my boobs. Maybe they’re not as spectacular as I think. But then Gandalf sticks her snout just above my legs and wedges her beautiful dirty face in there. I wiggle free, then she holds it open for Squeakers and her French bread to enter and follows after her. I’m lying in the mud staring at the boards as they snap back into place as if there’s nothing wrong with them. I’ll have to tell Jonathan that’s how she gets out. But for now, maybe I will go find my bra and him.
I’m barely in the house when I see a broken coffee mug, and I panic. “Jonathan! Jon. Are you here?” I run upstairs. All of his drawers are open and empty, and his closet is empty too. So fucking weird.
My purse is dumped out and my phone is missing. It’s not a Lifetime movie anymore. It’s a Dateline episode. Was I drugged and left for dead at a cult and then escaped? Did that happen? I quickly clean as much of the mud as I can and toss on my bra and thong. My dress is a mess, but there aren’t any clothes to change into. I could go to my sister’s, but where the hell is Jonathan? I take my purse and head downstairs. I stare at the coffee mug and notice a piece of paper floating on the coffee.
Holy fucking terrorist. She’s forcing him to marry her? He wouldn’t do that? I have to get to the church. And where the hell is my phone? I do a quick search of the house, but I can’t find it anywhere. No more time to waste. I need to get to him.
I lift the hood and hot wire Scooter’s dad’s tractor. I take off for the church just as the girls emerge from their secret hole and start trotting down the driveway.
I round the fence. Fuck me. I wish I had Dinah’s golf cart, but I’m too far to run there. It stalls. I double-clutch, and the tractor shoots forward.
I’m on my way. I skip the roads and start cutting across lawns and fields. At this rate, I should be able to get there in ten. Thank God Scooter’s dad tricked this out. I’m topping up at forty-six miles per hour. But Jonathan must be the only farmer in Kentucky without horses. I could definitely ride to his rescue faster than this.
15
JONATHAN
Ican’t find fucking Tanya. There are a million little rooms in this church. I haven’t been here in years. I know I’m supposed to be in the deacon’s chambers, and she’s in the elder’s offices.
TRISTAN: I’m present for this fiasco. I’m stalling. Find her yet? Everyone is confused but thinks my accent is downright charming. I just keep walking up the aisle and greeting people as if I’m a fucking cruise director.
JONATHAN: I owe you, man. I’m getting out of here as soon as possible. Then whatever you need after this, I can do.
TABI: OOO! Yeah. I thought you’d keep this between the two of you. Thrilled we get to ride along for this.
SABRINA: What’s happening?
BEN: Do tell. Laurie and I are chomping at the bit to know when all this is over, and you can be with your delightful Jules.
RORY: We don’t know she’s delightful.
JONATHAN: She is.
TRISTAN: Then you best get to running away from the altar. Things getting are rather purple in here.
JONATHAN: Plum and grape. Those are her wedding colors.
TRISTAN: They’re the colors of brothel curtains.
JONATHAN: I know. She had fake white roses spray-painted plum.
SABRINA: Pictures or didn’t happen.
TRISTAN: {Picture of altar} {Picture of bunting} {Picture of the silk roses with a silicone dewdrops.}
BEN: OH my.
RORY: Is she a goth?
TABI: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.
JONATHAN: Thanks. Here’s something, my pig is gay.
TRISTAN: FOCUS, Jonathan. I have no more small-town chattel. We will discuss your pig’s sexual orientation later.
JONATHAN: Right. Right. Sorry. There’s one more room on this floor. This has to be it. Jules has to be here somewhere. Find my parents and tell them to keep an eye out for her. I just have to find Tanya.
I slink into the last door on the hallway and there’s a room screen blocking it half of it off. It’s a simple library that smells of simple books with difficult concepts. There’s a makeshift bar set up, and I don’t mind if I do have a quick shot. I pour some bourbon and shoot it down, and the burn reminds me that I have to get moving because no one is in this fucking room except spirits. The door opens, and I quickly duck into the adjacent bathroom and hear giggles and a fly unzipping.
