Page 70 of Story of My Life
On-screen, my mother waved from the bank of the creek that cut through their property. Next to her, Laura sat in her chair, shading her eyes from the sun. They were under one of the sycamore trees that arched over the water.
“Today is Wednesday, August 17,” my dad’s voice announced on the video. “Emilie Rump canceled ultimate bingo for an emergency town meeting on the welfare of Goose tonight, and the breakfast special at the Fish Hook was blueberry pancakes.”
The camera panned upward, following the trunk of the tree. Until it hit a branch hanging out over the water where a big-ass bald eagle perched.
The crowd gasped, and Gage sent me a victorious smile.
Hazel tore her gaze away from the TV to look at me.
Emilie scoffed. “That could easily be AI generated.”
“Don’t shit on me, Goose,” Laura warned, glaring up at the bird.
Goose took that as an invitation to swoop majestically to the ground, landing ten feet in front of her. He tucked one wing awkwardly into his side and limp-hopped closer. Laura rolled her eyes and opened the bag of treats in her lap.
“See? He’s obviously still injured. She should pay the price for maiming a bald eagle,” Emilie shouted.
“That’s his other wing, and we all know he does this all the time. Why do you think we all have eagle treats in our glove compartments?” Scooter Vakapuna called out from the back of the room.
“Or maybe it’s someone else’s bald eagle,” she said. “Dominion’s always been jealous that we have Goose. Maybe they got their own eagle?”
The rumblings from the crowd were no longer directed at Hazel, and Emilie knew it.
“In light of this new evidence, I think we can all agree that Hazel Hart did not run over, chop up with helicopter blades, or otherwise harm Goose,” Darius announced.
There were enough nods from the audience that it looked like a consensus had been reached.
Emilie took her seat and began one of her legendary pouts. I had a feeling her husband, Amos, was going to be sleeping in the garage tonight.
I gave my parents and sister a nod. Laura covertly flashed me the middle finger in return. Without turning her head to look at Laura, Mom reached out and smacked my sister on the shoulder.
I flashed my sister the smug “you’re in trouble” look, and she stuck her tongue out at me.
Hazel leaned into my space, and I fought the twin urges to move closer and farther away. “So no potatoes then?” she asked hopefully.
“Not this time. But I’d be careful for the next day or two until someone else does something stupid.”
“Thank God,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Getting run out of town was not part of my plan.”
Before I could ask her what her plan was, Garland popped up in front of us and snapped another picture with the blinding flash.
Blinking away the light show, I pointed in his direction. “If you don’t sit the hell down, Garland, I’m going to break your phone with your face.”
“Freedom of the press,” he squeaked, backing out of face-breaking range.
“Okay, folks. Hazel’s rental insurance will cover the damage to the sign—which desperately needed replacing anyway. So that’s a win. Now, let’s move on to our final agenda item,” Darius said, scrolling through his meeting notes—or maybe they were his Dungeon Master notes—on his tablet. “Law enforcement.”
I frowned. Story Lake had once had a small police force, but with the mass exodus after the hospital closed down, our budget had taken a hit. We now contracted with the neighboring town, Dominion, to use its police force. It was less than ideal, considering the entire town was a bunch of assholes with too much money and not enough fucking sense. Half the time they didn’t even respond to calls in Story Lake, and when they did, it was hours after the fact.
Last spring, Ms. Patsy thought someone was breaking into her garage, called 911, and then fired four rounds from her shotgun at the Easter garden flag that had gotten plastered to her window. The Dominion cops had showed up two days later to take her statement.
“Due to recent events that I won’t get into here and now, it’s clear that a police presence is necessary in Story Lake.”
“Are you talking about Jessie flashing her boobs on Main Street Saturday?” someone called out.
“Jessie as in Angelo’s Jessie? How old is she?” Hazel wondered under her breath.
“Eighty-four,” I supplied.
