pull weeds and fertilize and Stephie grumbles about how hard it is to be a gardener until Emma stands up to ease her aching back and politely reminds her of all that has happened during the past week.
No initial curfews.
Lots of cooking time.
Friends sleeping over three nights in a row with no questions asked.
The poetry night at the illegal club.
Shared secrets times twenty.
No mother to snap at every word you said.
None of the reunion planning Joy had threatened her with before she left.
No blood relatives maiming her following the drunken party.
The almost riot when they were going through the reunion storage shed in Marty’s backyard yesterday and Debra showed up.
Before the evil Aunt Debra arrived, there were several hours of hard work and hilarious discovery as Emma and Stephie made believe they were cave explorers going into unknown territory for the first time.
Stephie went in the dark and stinky shed first, brave youngsoul that she is, while Emma stood behind her with a notebook and pen to record what, if anything, might be of use for this year’s reunion. This after Emma looked through the quick notes she had taken from Marty’s answering machine message and decided she could at least do this one thing while she waited for salvation from Erika. Erika who has never, ever taken this long to figure out a problem or return a call.
In the meantime the shed loomed and what a cave of bleakness it was.
There were bags of paper plates—that needed to be counted.
There were bags of tablecloths—that were moldy and needed to be tossed into the garbage.
There were three bags of garbage that some dumbass should have tossed months ago when the last reunion ended.
There were signs of squirrel and mice damage everywhere.
There were two bags of what must have been lost-and-found clothes left at the reunion that Stephie and Emma decided to try on as a comic relief break.
And this is when Debra stormed into the backyard with a baseball bat in her hand.
“Whoever is in there get out right this minute,” Debra brayed in a voice three decibels below her normal range, as if that would scare anyone.
Emma and Stephie froze. Their eyes were as big as four white Formica dinner plates and they not only looked ridiculous but it took every ounce of their energy not to start laughing. They both knew without speaking that if they started they would never stop.
“Hi, Debra …” Emma almost gagged on her own words to keep from laughing.
“What in the hell are you doing? Who is that? What are you doing here?”
Debra sounded like a machine gun and Stephie quicklyyanked off her hat and said, “It’s me, Stephie, and Auntie Emma, Aunt Debra. Who do you think would be back here?”
And when they stepped out of the tacky metal garden-shed-turned-GFR-storage-shed, they both looked as if they were en route to a Halloween party or escapees from an institution that must have had a gigantic security lapse. Stephie wore a huge pair of men’s bib overalls, a pair of rubber boots, and a knit stocking cap that she had pulled down so far it was caught on her nose piercing. Emma had wrapped herself inside of an old 1960s Mexican-roadside blanket and had tied a tropical-inspired and extremely large dress around her waist as if it were a belt. To complete her lost-and-found outfit, Emma was balancing a bushel basket on her head and carrying a hose that was probably the only thing that was supposed to be in a gardening shed.
Debra did not drop her bat but glared at Emma and Stephie as if she would take them both out in a heartbeat if they moved an inch in the wrong direction. Stephie, of course, did not know that Debra and Emma had already had words. Stephie did not know that Emma had been thinking for several days of finding her own bat and whacking her sister over the head. Stephie did not know that Debra had appointed herself overseer of everything Gilford, including the reunion storage shed.
Emma now wanted to do anything but
No initial curfews.
Lots of cooking time.
Friends sleeping over three nights in a row with no questions asked.
The poetry night at the illegal club.
Shared secrets times twenty.
No mother to snap at every word you said.
None of the reunion planning Joy had threatened her with before she left.
No blood relatives maiming her following the drunken party.
The almost riot when they were going through the reunion storage shed in Marty’s backyard yesterday and Debra showed up.
Before the evil Aunt Debra arrived, there were several hours of hard work and hilarious discovery as Emma and Stephie made believe they were cave explorers going into unknown territory for the first time.
Stephie went in the dark and stinky shed first, brave youngsoul that she is, while Emma stood behind her with a notebook and pen to record what, if anything, might be of use for this year’s reunion. This after Emma looked through the quick notes she had taken from Marty’s answering machine message and decided she could at least do this one thing while she waited for salvation from Erika. Erika who has never, ever taken this long to figure out a problem or return a call.
In the meantime the shed loomed and what a cave of bleakness it was.
There were bags of paper plates—that needed to be counted.
There were bags of tablecloths—that were moldy and needed to be tossed into the garbage.
There were three bags of garbage that some dumbass should have tossed months ago when the last reunion ended.
There were signs of squirrel and mice damage everywhere.
There were two bags of what must have been lost-and-found clothes left at the reunion that Stephie and Emma decided to try on as a comic relief break.
And this is when Debra stormed into the backyard with a baseball bat in her hand.
“Whoever is in there get out right this minute,” Debra brayed in a voice three decibels below her normal range, as if that would scare anyone.
Emma and Stephie froze. Their eyes were as big as four white Formica dinner plates and they not only looked ridiculous but it took every ounce of their energy not to start laughing. They both knew without speaking that if they started they would never stop.
“Hi, Debra …” Emma almost gagged on her own words to keep from laughing.
“What in the hell are you doing? Who is that? What are you doing here?”
Debra sounded like a machine gun and Stephie quicklyyanked off her hat and said, “It’s me, Stephie, and Auntie Emma, Aunt Debra. Who do you think would be back here?”
And when they stepped out of the tacky metal garden-shed-turned-GFR-storage-shed, they both looked as if they were en route to a Halloween party or escapees from an institution that must have had a gigantic security lapse. Stephie wore a huge pair of men’s bib overalls, a pair of rubber boots, and a knit stocking cap that she had pulled down so far it was caught on her nose piercing. Emma had wrapped herself inside of an old 1960s Mexican-roadside blanket and had tied a tropical-inspired and extremely large dress around her waist as if it were a belt. To complete her lost-and-found outfit, Emma was balancing a bushel basket on her head and carrying a hose that was probably the only thing that was supposed to be in a gardening shed.
Debra did not drop her bat but glared at Emma and Stephie as if she would take them both out in a heartbeat if they moved an inch in the wrong direction. Stephie, of course, did not know that Debra and Emma had already had words. Stephie did not know that Emma had been thinking for several days of finding her own bat and whacking her sister over the head. Stephie did not know that Debra had appointed herself overseer of everything Gilford, including the reunion storage shed.
Emma now wanted to do anything but
Similar Books
