Chapter 4 #2
Washing up only took two minutes because I’d been genius enough to dirty only a single pan, one plate, a mug, and a couple of utensils.
As I hung the dishtowel over its rod I smiled and considered the look on Roland’s face if he saw me forego a plate altogether and just eat straight from the pan.
Poor man would probably have a stroke. Or spend another few grand on therapy.
After digging Terry out from beneath the covers, I made the bed and placed the tortoise in the very center of my pillow and patted his head.
My grammie had crocheted him for me the first time I’d been instructed to pull a plant from the ground.
I’d pulled and pulled with all my might until the ground set it free.
Despite landing on my butt in the middle of the row, I’d felt nothing but wonder as I’d stared at the brown potatoes growing within the plant’s roots.
Even more fascinating was the baby tortoise that crawled out from the tangled mass.
I’d wanted to take him inside, but Grammie O told me that he’d miss his momma but I could visit him whenever I wanted.
And I had, every summer until that day I was taken away.
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to let that destroy the fond memory of my grammie ensuring I had my own Terry to cuddle with any time I needed a friend.
“No more hiding. The sun is shining, the bees are buzzing and we’re gonna be just fine now.
” I considered Terry agreed when his cute head didn’t retract back into its shell.
I really needed to look into getting him a few friends.
Then when I was out and about, the stuffies could get into all sorts of mischief as the toys had done in the Toy Story movies.
Smiling, I shucked off my pajamas, dressed, shoved my wallet into the pocket on the bib of my overalls, and headed out the door.
I was halfway across the porch when something wet hit my toe.
A squeal and a jump backward gave me a clear field of vision of the pile I’d made and promptly forgotten the night before.
Part of me really wanted to just walk around them, and it wasn’t the knowledge that no one would clean up after me, or even the narrowing of eyes the color of obsidian as he issued critique number five hundred eighty-eight that had me sighing.
Nope, nothing as complicated as that. All that was required to have a shudder of revulsion shoot through me was picturing insects packing up their bags to move into the nice dank, slimy condos every crease and crevice of that pile offered.
I didn’t see a laundry basket and there was no way I was going to gather up the entire icky mess in my arms. Sighing, I gingerly picked up a discarded item in each hand, using the pads of my thumbs and pointer fingers to pinch them tightly.
Each trip required me to traipse through the house to transfer the very wet and definitely smelly clothes to the washer located on the back porch.
After my fourth trip, I dropped my sneakers into the machine but decided not to start the load as the washer most likely shared a birthday with the fridge and water heater.
I’d need to be on the lookout for overflow, plugged up drains or excessive sudsiness and whatever other mishaps could happen.
I was rather proud and congratulated myself for making such a reasonable decision.
It had nothing to do with the fact washing was the easy part.
Once the cycle finished, I’d have to wrangle each item through the wringer next to the washer, and then hang them out to dry.
And since I couldn’t see any clothesline in the backyard, laundry moved down the list of chores and a new laundry line and clothespins joined the list.
Do they even make those anymore?
“Of course they do!” I said and then had to wonder if perhaps I was wrong.
The last time I could remember even seeing a clothespin had been watching Grammie O pinning up sheets and telling me there was nothing quite as rewarding as going to bed on sheets that smelled like sunshine.
Well, if they didn’t have those old-fashioned wooden ones, I could always grab a few plastic ones they had in the grocery store.
Everyone always had a few of those around to close bags of chips and cookies to keep them fresh…
“You don’t need—”
“Why thank you ever so much for reminding me, sir,” I said in a tone so sweet it threatened to give me a cavity.
A tone I never used to converse with my internal pessimist as she’d spot my insincerity in a heartbeat.
Nope, this verbal “thank you card” was meant for the man I was sure thought he was responsible for teaching me so many things about what I needed.
But what he’d actually taught me was that if I didn’t get away, I’d simply cease to exist—or wish I had.
As I’d been doing for the past month, I refused to allow myself to dwell in that cesspool and instead expanded my list to include corn chips, bean dip I could scoop straight from the can, more soda, and fig bars as I’d eaten the last of those the night before.
And, of course, that would require I make sure to find some cute plastic clips to keep all those lovely bags securely closed.
I could actually picture Roland’s jaw clenching as his blood pressure rose and…
Cesspool alert!
I nodded a silent thanks to my inner self and I washed my hands and dried them on the seat of my overalls as excitement filled me.
I’d begun transferring my mental shopping list to paper during breakfast and once I’d added the new items, I headed out the door for my first trip to town.
The county road I’d taken to Grammie O’s branched off those leading to Tumbling Falls so I’d yet to see if the town proper was anything like I remembered.
After hopping down the porch steps, I paused for a moment to lift my face to the sun, smile and shout, “Look out Universe, here I come!” Once in my car, I tucked the list into an empty cup holder and started the car.
The day was far too gorgeous to keep outside so I rolled down the windows and let the breeze blow through my hair.
I began to hum as I turned onto the dirt road that led to town.
With any luck, I’d have all my shopping done in an hour and have the first coat of paint on the hives before lunchtime.
Of course, that was before I ran off the road in a plume of dust and a squeal of brakes.