Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  2

  Glances and Other Stolen Things

  Savannah

  Austin, Texas

  Why aren’t you answering your phone? You better get your ass back to Terrebonne, now! I am not doing this by myself!!!!!!

  I read the text again. Six exclamation points seemed excessive, even for my uptight and overly neurotic sister. The thought was immediately followed by a heavy weight pressing down on my chest when I remembered the reason I planned to travel five-hundred miles back to my hometown.

  Pappy was gone.

  Admittedly, the man had been a total asshole to most people, but he was our Pappy. Unless we were fishing, his idea of bonding with his grandchildren had been barking at my sister and me to “stay still” or “lean a little to the left” while we balanced on one foot, holding the tinfoil-wrapped bunny ears at just the right angle for the Saint’s game to come in clearly on his ancient TV.

  We’d be stuck like that for hours, doing our best impression of lawn flamingos while our beloved grandfather sat his happy ass in his recliner and plowed through an eighteen-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. But the second you got him on the water, he was a different person. It’d been our thing. I’d inherited his no bullshit attitude, and I suspected that’s why we got along so well. Pappy never felt the need to fill silences. He was perfectly content sitting on the boat for hours waiting for something to take the bait.

  My sister, not so much. She was every bit the Southern belle without the pedigree, not that she’d let that stop her. She was the quintessential people pleaser, bending over backwards to accommodate everyone but herself to maintain appearances. Especially for her pencil dick of a husband.

  She was as perfect as a porcelain doll, and I was the Barbie that got snagged by the dog. Where she was frilly dresses and white gloves, I was wild hair and thrift store finds. I didn’t envy my sister’s life. She was stuck pretending that her past and family never existed in exchange for a fancy car and boat loads of money. I might be worse off than a gambler on race day, but I did what I wanted, when I wanted. Sometimes it worked in my favor, and sometimes, like now, it got me into a bind I wasn’t sure how to get out of.

  I'd been avoiding her calls since yesterday afternoon, not sure how I was going to make the trek back home, seeing as I didn't own a car and my bank account was currently overdrawn by exactly $47.15. One thing was for sure; I had to find a way. Otherwise, Addie was liable to come get me and drag me home by my hair. There was no way I was going to let the princess of Shreveport see how epically I'd failed at life. Especially when hers was so pristine and shiny with her perfect, rich, douchebag of a husband and her mansion on the hill.

  As if to remind me how different our lives had turned out, something wet and slimy nudged at my cheek. I turned my head on the pillow and came face to face with Kevin Bacon. No, the universe hadn't smiled down on me and made all my teenage dreams come true. I was staring down the snout of Kevin Junior Bacon Cheeseburger, my pet pot-bellied pig. Technically, he was Atticus’ pig, but I was the one who took care of him, and he really liked me better.

  Atticus was another pain in the ass who added to the shit stack that was my life. I couldn't help the distain that crept through me as I looked over at him sprawled out next to me on the bed. When did I go from hopelessly infatuated to daydreaming about how I could murder him without going to jail? He'd gone from a modern poet to a self-righteous windbag who I wanted to smother with a pillow just to get five minutes of peace.

  And Atticus, really? It's like his parents wanted him to grow up to be a pretentious hipster with little motivation to be more than a take-out delivery boy, which only led to my entire apartment smelling like curry.

  I dated a walking, talking stereotype, complete with black plastic-rimmed glasses, year-round knit beanie, skinny jeans, and a carefully chosen collection of replica threadbare vintage band tee-shirts. He only picked the most obscure bands to listen to, straying from anything he considered “mainstream” and constantly yammered about “the corporations” while updating his Instagram account on his iPhone. He was so far away from the men I’d known growing up, which I suppose was part of the appeal in the beginning.

  I’d fallen for his carefully crafted persona, not unlike the trap my sister had fallen into with Shit Stain, as I’d so affectionately dubbed her tyrant of a husband. Yep, both Dubois sisters had been duped, bamboozled, hoodwinked, swindled, and dickmatized, if you will.

  There was no way around it. We both had the shittiest taste in men. But where I’d picked a loser of epic proportions who spent what little money I had and complained about my lack of emotional availability, Addie had been snared in the web of money and status. Her husband was from one of the richest families in Louisiana and he made sure everyone knew it.

  Roland Bordeaux could take the silver spoon he was born with and shove it straight up his ass for all I cared. Hell, it’d probably dislodge the stick he had crammed up there since he could say the words, investment dividends.

  With another side-eyed glance at the waste of space beside me, I made my decision. It was time to face my failures and pay my respects.

  I was going back to Terrebonne.

  Slowly, I started to slide off the bed so I didn’t disturb the bongo playing asshat, not that a mattress on the floor could ever really be considered a bed. Once I managed to slither out from under the thin but impressively heavy arm Atticus had slung across me in the middle of the night, I carefully climbed to my feet. The last thing I needed was another lecture from professor know-it-all.

  Kevin nudged at my calf with his wet snout and wiggled his little piggy booty. I swore that I heard him oink, “get me my breakfast, bitch”. Padding into the kitchen, or rather ten feet away to a corner that held a mini fridge, utility sink, and hotplate, I searched for something to eat. I rented a room above the bar I sometimes worked at. The owner was pretty cool with my flare for being flakey and plugged me into the schedule whenever I needed extra cash, which seemed to be a lot lately. The apartment had been perfect when it was just me. However, four months ago, I’d been stupid enough to agree to let Atticus “crash” with me.

  Of course, a few nights turned into him moving all of his band equipment and his pig in and never leaving. What was once a small but cozy space now was crammed full of shit that wasn’t mine and smelled like patchouli. To make matters worse, after searching every inch of the tiny kitchen, I realized Atticus had flaked on getting Kevin’s food again, and we were completely out.

  Bending down, I gave the pig a little scratch between his ears. “He really doesn’t deserve you. Or me for that matter,” I added under my breath as I continued my search for sustenance.

  Fifteen minutes later, I sat on an oversized blue floor pillow next to Kevin where we both ate Spaghetti-O’s off paper plates and reflected on our lives. Well, I couldn’t really tell if Mr. Bacon actually contemplated his life’s work or just had gas from scarfing down an entire can of cold Spaghetti-O’s. As I watched him rut around on the beat-up linoleum floor, a plan started to come together in my mind.

  According to my calculations, Atticus owed me approximately two grand for back rent, food, and what he’d “borrowed” off me and failed to pay back during the past six months. Atticus also just so happened to own an old beat up van. It looked worse than the before pictures on Pimp My Ride, but it ran. The way I saw it, if I took the van, I was just collecting on what he owed me. I glanced at my phone, and decided Atticus would sleep like the dead until at least noon, so I had a few hours to work with. A snort and an encouraging piggy smile from Kevin solidified my plan. It was the only way I’d to get to Terrebonne in time for the funeral.

  Tip-toeing into the bedroom portion of the apartment, I began packing as quickly and quietly as possible. It took two trips down the stairs and into the back alley to transfer all of my worldly possessions from my apartment to a 1973 Ford cargo van.

  It was a hideous van. The shag carpeting, interior wood paneling, and bean bag chairs wou
ld’ve been enough to make it the ugliest thing I’d ever seen in my life. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. The vehicle’s claim to god awful fame was the paint job. A gigantic mural of a female Viking with tits the size of watermelons was airbrushed on either side. As if that weren’t bad enough, she was also riding a unicorn.

  In space.

  I shit you not.

  I’d refused to ride in it when Atticus showed it to me for the first time, yet somehow I found myself preparing to drive through two states in it. I could’ve asked Atticus to borrow the van, but then he’d want to come with me, and that just wouldn’t do. Nope, I needed a clean break. Well, as clean as I could get in a stolen car.

  Desperate times.

  I made a last pass through the apartment, snatching up the rest of my jewelry-making supplies and a few throw pillows, since I’d unceremoniously dumped the shitty bean bags in the dumpster, and I was out the door. I’d barely stepped into the hallway, when the shrill sounds of a pig squealing alerted me that I’d forgotten one very important thing. Spinning on my heels, I hurried to unlock the door and get to the pig before he woke Atticus up. The squealing got impossibly louder as I fumbled to get my key in the lock.

  “What the hell, Kevin?” I hissed as I finally got the door open. Upon seeing my face he shut the hell up, gave me a snort, and circled my feet. He wasn’t going to let me leave him without throwing a tantrum that’d surely alert Atticus and fuck up my plans.

  Kevin was such a fucking dick, but I loved him. The more I thought about it, the clearer it was to me that I couldn’t leave him with a slacker like Atticus anyways. He’d end up starving to death. Shifting the bags to one arm, I bent down and scooped him up, barely managing to stay on my feet. When I turned for the door, my messenger bag slipped off my shoulder, causing my grip on Kevin to slip. With incredible flexibility thanks to years of yoga and the blessing that was leggings, I landed in a half-way split, caught Kevin, and managed not to drop a single thing.

  My epic save was lost on Kevin because he started squealing like a banshee, and I couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. He was acting like he wasn’t as much a part of this plan as I was.

  Fucking dick.

  “Van?”

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  “Van, what the hell are you doing? You know I need sleep. I have to work tonight,” Atticus grumbled rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  Yeah, for four hours.

  I estimated I had about thirty seconds before Atticus realized what was going on, so instead of standing in the middle of the room like an idiot, I decided to take the offensive approach.

  “I’m leaving you,” I blurted out before he had time to put on his glasses. “You’re a lazy, pretentious, manipulating mooch. I can’t stand your poetry, and I’m pretty sure you think voting independent means you did it all by yourself,” I said in a rush before spinning on my heels.

  “Oh, and I’m taking the fucking pig!” I called over my shoulder before slamming the door and leaving him sputtering.

  It probably wasn’t the best tactic, but I hoped my tirade would stun him long enough to make a clean getaway. I hauled ass down the back staircase and burst through the door to the alley where the van was parked. Kevin let out a disapproving snort when I dumped him on the passenger seat. Scrambling with the keys, I cranked the ignition only to be met with a whine and sputter from the engine.

  “Come on, come on,” I pleaded with the dilapidated hunk of junk.

  “Vanna! What the fuck?” I heard Atticus boom.

  I hated that nickname.

  Glancing out the dingy window, I spotted him barreling down the fire escape. Panic rising, I tried the key again and the engine coughed and roared to life. Slamming it into gear, I stepped on the gas and sped down the alley and into oncoming traffic, barely missing an old pickup truck.

  With everything I owned haphazardly tossed into the back of a stolen vehicle, I merged onto the highway, leaving Atticus and everything else behind. Between my emergency stash and the change jar I'd snagged during my hasty exit, I had approximately of $136 to my name. I just hoped it'd be enough to get me back to the only place I'd ever called home.

  Growing up in the swamp, we didn’t have much, but we had family and our community. For the most part, that was enough. There’d been tough times when the food boxes from the parish church were the only thing to get us through until the next week, but we’d always had each other to lean on. If Miss Mae from down the road needed help repairing her dock after a storm, you’d better believe Daddy and Pappy would’ve hauled the old truck over there to help out. And there hadn’t been a spring when Miss Mae didn’t shuffle her mumu-clad ass down to drop off a case of her famous strawberry jam.

  A pang of nostalgia hit me square in the chest. I missed the sense of belonging more than I wanted to admit. I’d seen my sister jet off to college as soon as she had her diploma in hand, and I’d wanted so badly to follow her. But by the time I’d graduated high school, my sister had gotten hitched to the devil himself and been whisked away from her backwoods family, so she could settle into her castle as the princess of Shreveport. I made a promise to myself that I’d never be blinded by the shine of diamonds and promise of fine china and made my way as far away from home as I could.

  First, I took off to California for a fine arts degree I’d never in a million years be able to use. After that, I acquired a kind of vagabond lifestyle, traveling from place to place with no sense of direction and never planting any roots. It was all well and good. My roots were still where I’d left them.

  Discarded in the swamp.

  “It wouldn’t have lasted anyway,” I said with a sigh. “I mean, you can’t really take a man with smaller calves than you seriously, can you, Kevin?” I asked my companion. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he gave me a happy little snort and went back to the piece of jerky I’d picked up for him the last time we stopped for gas. It was probably wrong to feed him meat, but I figured since it was beef instead of pork that it wasn’t too bad.

  “What do you say, Kevin?” I asked as we crossed the state line into Louisiana. “You ready to see what the bayou has to offer?”

  Again, he responded with a noncommittal snort.

  My heart beat faster, and my nerves frayed at their ends the closer I got to my hometown. I hadn’t been back home in nearly five years, and I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got there. I just hoped it wasn’t a pair of handcuffs and a jumpsuit because stainless steel chafed my skin and orange was so not my color.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as the rusted sign for Terrebonne Parish came into view. There were dents from bird shot and a couple of clean holes dotting the sign that welcomed me home. I smiled a little to myself, remembering that I’d been responsible for one or two of those blemishes in my day. Pappy always called me his little hell raiser, as if I needed any encouragement.

  In every way that my sister was perfect, I was the complete opposite. Addie never missed curfew. I hadn’t bothered to ask if I had one until one night during my senior year in high school when Sheriff Tucker had to bring me home. I started one little fire and suddenly I was public enemy number one. Daddy put on a show for the good sheriff, making sure he’d heard me getting read the riot act. He hollered about how he didn’t care if I was almost grown, and if he ever caught me out after curfew again, he’d bend me over his knee.

  It made me want to laugh, but I’d kept my composure, and even managed to look a little contrite. Once Daddy had waved off the sheriff and closed the door, he’d turned to me with a pointed look.

  “You better watch yourself, Savannah. Pretty soon, that dog and pony show I just put on won’t work anymore. You’ll be old enough that Tucker will just haul your ass down to the station instead of bringing you home.”

  I smiled at my father and stretched up on my tip-toes to kiss his rough cheek. “I know Daddy. I’m sorry for waking you and Mama.”

  “At least you got caught settin’ fires instead of kiss
in’ boys,” he grumbled shuffling down the hallway and back to bed.

  I couldn’t help the laugh that busted out at the memory. Little did he know, I’d done my fair share of kissing boys. I was just smart enough not to get caught. Our parents had been lulled into a false sense of security with my sister. She was so good on her own accord that they never truly had to parent her, and before she left for college, she kept me in line for them. However, by the time the dust settled behind her, I was off doing whatever I wanted, and my poor parents didn’t know what to do with me.

  As long as I stayed safe and happy, they were pretty relaxed about most things. Since I’d earned a reputation for myself as a ball buster and part-time trouble maker instead of the town harlot, Daddy couldn’t really find reason to complain. Besides, I’d heard the stories; my father was no choir boy. Add in Pappy and Babs as my role models, and it was a miracle I hadn’t been locked up by the time I was twelve.

  I reached out and patted Kevin’s head, “Are you as nervous as I am?”

  Kevin gave a snort, stood from his nest on the passenger seat, and began sniffing around.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let Babs eat you.” I mused, not at all concerned that I was carrying on a full-blown conversation with a farm animal.

  He ignored me and continued to rut around in the blankets.

  “They’re family. They will welcome us with open arms. Even when they find out we’ve got nowhere else to go. Ugh, who am I kidding? I can’t let them know what a mess I’ve made of everything, can I Kevin?” A cross between a wheeze and a gag was the only response I got. “Kevin?” I glanced to my right, my heart sinking to my stomach when I saw my baby struggling to breathe.

  “Oh my God! Hold on, baby! Mommy’s got you!” I shrieked and swerved off to the shoulder.

  A loud clunk and popping noise followed, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Bringing the van to a lurching stop, I threw it in park and scooped Kevin onto my lap, his awful choking noises filling the cab.