the door so hard that Gramps’s singing
bass fish fell off the wall and crashed to the floor. The lights went off
again.
“What the hell is your problem?” Kate clapped the lights
back on. She was the one who’d sat in the Mayberry jail all afternoon while
Deputy Dipshit dug the dirt and sock lint out from under his toenails.
“My problem,” Claire kicked off her flip-flops, “is your
freakin’ mouth.”
Kate’s neck and cheeks warmed. She’d already caught plenty
of fire and brimstone from her mom about her fictitious accident report. She
didn’t need Claire jumping on that bandwagon, too.
“Well, take a number and get in line, because today you’re
one of many. And while you’re waiting, you can kiss my ass.” Kate flopped onto
her pillow and rolled over, turning her back to Claire. She clapped twice. Darkness
surrounded her again.
A pillow hit her in the back.
“Knock it off, Claire. I still owe you for this morning.”
One of the rectangular foam cushions from the bench seats
smacked her on the hip.
“Don’t make me get off this couch and kick your butt.”
A balled up dish towel whopped her in the back of the head.
“Damn it, Claire!” Kate grabbed the towel and whipped it
back at her sister. “Go sleep with Mac.”
“I’d love to, but you screwed that up by flapping your lips.”
Kate flipped onto her back, frowning up at the shadows
flickering across the ceiling. “How exactly did trying to lie my way out of
getting a ticket after slamming my car into Butch’s truck interfere with your
stupid love life?”
“This isn’t about your accident. I’m talking about you
blabbing to Chester and Manny that Mac said he loves me.”
“And when did I have time to do that?” She looked over at
Claire, who sat on the table, her eyes reflecting the light seeping in through
the closed mini-blinds. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was sitting on a piss-stained
mattress behind bars most of the afternoon. What do you think? I used my one
quarter to call Manny and gab about Mac and you?”
“Well, when you put it that way, no.” The fire had fizzled
from Claire’s tone. Now she just sounded tired. The table creaked. “Damn
Gramps. How am I going to fix this mess?”
“Welcome to my world.” Kate rubbed her temples. “Hang up
your saddle and roll a smoke with me, why don’t ya?”
“God, I’d sell a kidney right now for a cigarette.” The
table creaked again in the darkness. “So what’s the story with your car being
listed as stolen?”
“Apparently, my ex, Gary—you remember him, the one who tried
to shoplift a tennis racket and told the clerk that he wasn’t stealing, he was
just happy to see her?”
“Yeah, I remember Gary.” Claire chuckled. “He five-fingered
my snow globe of the Mitchell Corn Palace and super-glued it to the dashboard
of his 1975 Pinto to up its resale value.”
“Well, he got stopped for speeding while driving my car
about nine months ago, but apparently he couldn’t find the registration in the
glove box. Even though he was let off with just a ticket, the cop listed my car
as stolen. Gary was supposed to take my registration in and have the flag
removed, but he never did, and he never told me about any of this either.”
Claire scoffed. “It took six hours to figure that out?”
“Yep. Between miscommunication, no communication, and then
an overload of convoluted communication, the sheriff wouldn’t let me go until
everything came out spot-free. It seems they had some problems with stolen
vehicles in the last few months, and now they like to use a magnifying glass
when a pair of bifocals would work fine.”
Kate let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “First, I smash my
car, then I get hauled off to jail for six hours, and as a final reward, my
insurance agent gives me my walking papers after hearing about the accident.”
Butch had insisted she go through her insurance company, damn it.
“Shit. They are going to pay for the damages,
bass fish fell off the wall and crashed to the floor. The lights went off
again.
“What the hell is your problem?” Kate clapped the lights
back on. She was the one who’d sat in the Mayberry jail all afternoon while
Deputy Dipshit dug the dirt and sock lint out from under his toenails.
“My problem,” Claire kicked off her flip-flops, “is your
freakin’ mouth.”
Kate’s neck and cheeks warmed. She’d already caught plenty
of fire and brimstone from her mom about her fictitious accident report. She
didn’t need Claire jumping on that bandwagon, too.
“Well, take a number and get in line, because today you’re
one of many. And while you’re waiting, you can kiss my ass.” Kate flopped onto
her pillow and rolled over, turning her back to Claire. She clapped twice. Darkness
surrounded her again.
A pillow hit her in the back.
“Knock it off, Claire. I still owe you for this morning.”
One of the rectangular foam cushions from the bench seats
smacked her on the hip.
“Don’t make me get off this couch and kick your butt.”
A balled up dish towel whopped her in the back of the head.
“Damn it, Claire!” Kate grabbed the towel and whipped it
back at her sister. “Go sleep with Mac.”
“I’d love to, but you screwed that up by flapping your lips.”
Kate flipped onto her back, frowning up at the shadows
flickering across the ceiling. “How exactly did trying to lie my way out of
getting a ticket after slamming my car into Butch’s truck interfere with your
stupid love life?”
“This isn’t about your accident. I’m talking about you
blabbing to Chester and Manny that Mac said he loves me.”
“And when did I have time to do that?” She looked over at
Claire, who sat on the table, her eyes reflecting the light seeping in through
the closed mini-blinds. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was sitting on a piss-stained
mattress behind bars most of the afternoon. What do you think? I used my one
quarter to call Manny and gab about Mac and you?”
“Well, when you put it that way, no.” The fire had fizzled
from Claire’s tone. Now she just sounded tired. The table creaked. “Damn
Gramps. How am I going to fix this mess?”
“Welcome to my world.” Kate rubbed her temples. “Hang up
your saddle and roll a smoke with me, why don’t ya?”
“God, I’d sell a kidney right now for a cigarette.” The
table creaked again in the darkness. “So what’s the story with your car being
listed as stolen?”
“Apparently, my ex, Gary—you remember him, the one who tried
to shoplift a tennis racket and told the clerk that he wasn’t stealing, he was
just happy to see her?”
“Yeah, I remember Gary.” Claire chuckled. “He five-fingered
my snow globe of the Mitchell Corn Palace and super-glued it to the dashboard
of his 1975 Pinto to up its resale value.”
“Well, he got stopped for speeding while driving my car
about nine months ago, but apparently he couldn’t find the registration in the
glove box. Even though he was let off with just a ticket, the cop listed my car
as stolen. Gary was supposed to take my registration in and have the flag
removed, but he never did, and he never told me about any of this either.”
Claire scoffed. “It took six hours to figure that out?”
“Yep. Between miscommunication, no communication, and then
an overload of convoluted communication, the sheriff wouldn’t let me go until
everything came out spot-free. It seems they had some problems with stolen
vehicles in the last few months, and now they like to use a magnifying glass
when a pair of bifocals would work fine.”
Kate let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “First, I smash my
car, then I get hauled off to jail for six hours, and as a final reward, my
insurance agent gives me my walking papers after hearing about the accident.”
Butch had insisted she go through her insurance company, damn it.
“Shit. They are going to pay for the damages,
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