26. Shenanigans Updates
shenanigans updates
Strider
The feeling of suffocating is overwhelming. It’s heavy and cloying, and I swear I can smell Price O’Neill’s fetid breath above as I’m forced deeper into the mattress.
I thrash and kick, bringing my hands to his wrists to dig my nails in and scrape away his flesh. Gasping does no good and the pain… The pain screams through my neck as I fight for breath. Black and white pinpricks dance in my vision, and the heat on my eyeballs is unbearable.
Fight I scream to my body. Fight now.
I remove a hand and throw it wildly into the black night only to have one land at nearly the same time.
On a choked scream, I gasp for air.
And wake from a nightmare unlike any I’ve ever had in my life.
My eye throbs and is swelling shut. The mirror confirms what I already fear, I’ve added insult to injury and given myself a black eye in a PTSD-fueled terror.
It’s three-thirty in the morning, and my brain just convinced my body to attack itself. Hell, usually it’s my immune system telling it to attack my blood. I stop dead in my tracks as I amble to the kitchen. If my platelets are low… No. I’d know. Or I wouldn’t—because I’d be dead.
Maybe those were the looks the employees gave me during the brawl.
In the grand scheme of life, the timing of yesterday’s fight was karmic. I scoff aloud and immediately reach for my throat. The scraping sound of my vocal chords is worse now than earlier.
I grab an ice pack from the freezer and a towel to wrap it in and flop onto the sofa, switching on the light on the end table. I fired one man today after filing formal charges against him for assault and attempted murder. Five men resigned.
After hanging up with Mirren last night, I emailed the whole company, explained the goings-on and the financial implications.
My expectation is most won’t read it until Monday morning.
But, in the likely chance the tea gets passed prior to then, I wanted to be on record as quickly as I was able.
I’d planned to do it before the end of business, but the meeting didn’t end the way I expected.
Nor did my day.
My flight is in four and a half hours, and I have a decision to make.
Fly with a black eye and a scarf covering my neck like a teenager with a hickey to hang with my family where talking will be painful and eating more so.
Or stay home, bail on the sofa to watch football, eat leftovers, and enjoy a four-day weekend.
Other than the fact Mom and Dad will be worried. And Lorien will be disappointed. I’ll be… What will I be? What do I want?
Honestly? My bed, with Mirren in my arms to chase away the nightmares.
I wish it were that simple.
The thought occurs to me that we could meet somewhere in the middle on Friday or Saturday after her huge family obligations and after my rest and recuperation.
It’s worth a shot.
Any chance you could get away this weekend to Nashville?
The reply comes three hours later.
Mirren
What about Denver?
Answer the question please.
I could. Now will you answer mine?
How do you feel about a staycation?
With you? Hmmm. Just kidding. I’m in. I have to be back Sunday though… {Sad face}
Me too. Work is a four-letter word. {Rolling eyes emoji}
I’m cancelling Denver and I’ll show/tell you why on Saturday.
Happy Thanksgiving. Please give me shenanigans updates as you can.
Take some Advil. It’ll help with the pain, and arnica will help with the bruising. And happy Thanksgiving, Honey.
Mirren
Maybe the honey in there is too much, but it feels right. And it’s exactly what I need prior to today’s festivities.
I check my email—a force of habit at this point—even if it’s a holiday. There’s nothing there except admin crap that can wait.
I grab a shower, do my morning routine including make-up, and put on actual real clothes.
There will be pictures today. Not only the traditional Rockwellian family in front of the fireplace shot, but the Davie accidentally spills the gravy shot or the Zipper loses it when Johnny wins at Monopoly again shot.
There’s something iconic each year and it doesn’t do to be looking rough in the background. It’s not like they’re not all candids anyway, but it’s easy enough to have your eyes closed or to be mid-bite or whatever. Might as well look as cute as I can.
Grabbing all my fixings and contributions, plus a huge bag of every supply I could need, I head to my SUV and on to Mom and Dad’s, grabbing donuts on the way.
It takes me two trips to unload everything and, to my surprise, I’m not the first one there.
Charlie’s in the sitting room that has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Mobile Bay, drinking a cup of coffee, sandwiched between Rufus and his black counterpart, Millie.
Millie is Charlie’s lab, a year younger than Rufus, and brilliant.
Rufus ambles over, ears flopping as he does, and waits for scratches. “Morning, Doof. Have you been a good boy?” He tilts his head like it’s a stupid question. Of course he’s the bestest boy.
“Mills?”
The dog’s ears go up, but she doesn’t leave her position. I lift my eyes to my brother and squint them.
“Okay.” It’s a command, and she’s released, charging my way, skidding to a stop under my hand.
“Hello, gorgeous. You’re taking care of Skipper for me?”
He scoffs and returns his gaze to the bay.
Reflective much?
I can’t worry about that and grab another load from my car before pouring myself a mug of coffee and finding a chair near my brother.
“What’s up your ass?”
Skipper chokes on his coffee. “Always so ladylike.”
“I was raised by you fools. You can’t expect a princess when you’re trained by the Knights of the Jones Table.”
“That’s not exactly true. We did what we knew. Not our fault you caught on and outdid us.”
“Knights of the Jones Table? That has a nice ring to it. I’m stealing it.” Dad walks in, dressed as he would be on one of his book jackets, and opens the fridge.
“I’d expect no less,” I say to no one in particular. Rufus is at my dad’s side like they’re partners in a three-legged race and proximity is tantamount to winning.
Millie is back at Charlie’s side, curled up without a worry in the world.
“Oh, and I didn’t tell you this…” Dad starts on a whisper. “But your mother’s on a tear. You’ve been warned.”
“Hide the donuts.” I stand to do just that when she enters from the back hall to their room.
“Morning, Scooter. Morning, Skip. Who’s ready for breakfast?”
Well, shit.
“I am.” Charlie stands and flashes me the look. “How can I help?”
“Why don’t you start the biscuits?”
His body deflates, and the petulant child who wants to stamp and whine is concealed in a moment. “I’d love to, Mom. We might need background noise, though.”
“Oh, you’re right.” She flips the television on, and the sounds of the parade commentary fills our ears. It’ll be a while yet before the floats roll.
I keep my seat, grab my phone, and change Strider to HoneyBun in my phone. It’ll come out soon enough. But in the meantime, there’s no need to tempt fate.
Though, tempt it I shall.
Where’s Kevin?