The crying stops for a split second before Burty’s familiar voice responds, “I’m here! I’m here—come in!”
Iris grabs the handle and pushes the door open just as the male voice cries out, “Who’s here? Who’s that?” His pained wails—thick with the same southern drawl as Burty’s—echo off the aged hardwood floor.
“Burty, where are you?” Iris calls as she steps across the threshold and into the house.
I follow close behind her, surveying my new surroundings with wide, nervous eyes. The living room that we’re standing in is small, filled with mismatched furniture that’s too big for the space, but it’s tidy. Other than the two suitcases sitting next to the door, there’s no clutter anywhere. No dirty dishes. No magazines. Not even a child’s toy in sight—
“We’re back here! Through the kitchen!” Burty calls out.
“Who’s here?” he cries out again.
Iris takes the lead, quickly guiding us through the living room and into the narrow galley kitchen on our right—
“Sweet baby Jesus,” she gasps, coming to a grinding halt that forces me to smash into her.
I stumble back a few steps while saying, “What? What’s wrong—”
Oh my god.
My eyes snap wide as I find my footing and take in the scene in front of me.
“He’s crazy! He’s got my little girl locked in the bedroom! He threatened to tie her to a tree and make her sleep outside!”
Burty is screaming from where she’s standing at the far end of the dining room in front of us, pointing to a closed door opposite her. Her cherubic cheeks are a fiery-red color—not their usual delicate pink—her golden curls a tangled mess against her shoulders, like she’s been raking her hands through them all night. But it’s not her that’s stolen our attention.
It’s him.
The heavyset, twentysomething guy she’s pointing at.
The man with swollen, bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down his face. The man with a mullet and a distinct farmer’s tan despite the long-sleeved weather. The man who is completely and utterly naked, with the exception of the gigantic elephant head that’s projecting straight out from his—
I blink hard.
Is that—
Sweet baby Jesus, indeed!
All his man business is covered by an elephant’s head. A crocheted elephant’s head with a long trunk to house his penis, floppy ears attached to each side, and a sort of cuplike sack to hold his . . . sack. All held in place by one flimsy piece of gray yarn that’s tied tight around his ample waist.
“Who the hell are these people?” His plea reclaims my attention, bringing me back to the task at hand.
“We’re just here to help,” Iris says calmly, hands raised to solidify her statement.
“We don’t need yer help!” He turns toward us, his shockingly long trunk now facing us head-on. I gasp. It’s got eyes too. The plastic kind with unattached black pupils, like you buy at the craft store and glue onto Popsicle sticks or felt or . . . crocheted elephant penises, apparently. What the hell is going on here?! “We’re workin’ it out between us.”
“Like hell we are!” Burty growls back at him. “We’re not workin’ out a dern thing! You’re a lyin’, stinkin’ cheater, Wade Grundy!”
“I said I was sorry!” he pleads over an onslaught of tears. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was an accident—”
“It was an accident? So, what, you were just droppin’ off a shipment of willy warmers and your ding-dong fell into her honeypot? Is that what happened? Just one of those awful post office accidents you’re always hearin’ about?”
Iris suddenly grabs my hand and gives it a hard squeeze. I’m not sure if it’s meant to acknowledge Burty’s astuteness to Wade’s infidelity, or that she also heard the phrase willy warmers and is now feeling as squeamish as I am. Either scenario works.
“Tell me, Wade,” she goes on. “Which warmer did you wear for her?”
“No. No, no, no,” he blubbers while violently shaking his head. “I’m not gonna answer that—”
“Tell me—”
“No.”
“Tell me!”
“The giraffe,” he cries out. “It was the giraffe, okay?”
A nauseating visual of a very long giraffe neck anchored by an orange sack suddenly comes to mind, forcing me to drop my head before I gag. Or scream. How can we be talking about penis socks when there is a child who hasn’t eaten all day locked in a bedroom!
“I swear it didn’t mean nothin’,” he goes on.
“Well, it means somethin’ now! You know the giraffe’s my favorite. Damn you, Wade! Now you gone and ruined giraffes for me forever!”
I blink hard. She’s not the only one.
“Come on, baby,” he says, desperation dragging down his words. “I’ll make it right. You know I will. Just let me make it right—”
“You can’t make this right!” she yells. “You cheated on me! There’s no way I’m stayin’ with you, Wade. I’m takin’ my girl and gettin’ the hell away from you!”
She makes a move toward him, but he’s quick to scream out, “No!” and assume a jumping-jack position, blocking the doorway with his hands and feet in all four corners. The big elephant sways like a pendulum with the movement. “You can’t leave, Burt! I won’t let you leave—”
A high-pitched cry suddenly shoots out from behind the door Wade is guarding, prompting the hairs on my neck to rise. I’ve never heard a child cry like that before. My pulse spikes.
“She’s cryin’, Wade! The poor thing is starved! I need to feed her!” She makes another move for the door, but he’s quick to respond with a bolstered-up chest, like he’s ready for a fight.
“No! She only eats if you stay—”
“That’s enough!” Iris cuts in, stepping forward with a shocking amount of confidence. The entire house falls silent, but my heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. “Look, I know you’re upset, but that little girl has nothing to do with your fight. You can’t punish her for your mistakes. You can’t starve her—”
“She ain’t starvin’!” he barks back at Iris, then turns toward Burty with heat in his eyes. “She ate a huge bowl a food last night—you saw ’er yourself!”
“That was last night!” Burty screams. “It’s almost lunchtime!”
“Listen to me!” Iris takes a brave step forward, finger pointed toward his face. “You’re going to open that door and let that child out of there, do you understand me?”
He reels back, clearly surprised by her instruction.
“Come on, Wade,” Burty pleads softly, taking advantage of his bewilderment. He turns toward her, chin quivering with emotion. “Please just let me give her somethin’ to eat. She’s hungry.”
He blinks hard, and his shoulders start to sag like he’s finally going to concede. A hopeful breath fills my lungs. This is it. The moment of truth. Do the right thing, Wade. Do the right thing—
“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “She only eats if you stay—”
Another ear-shattering cry erupts from behind the door, and much like it did in the parking lot a few weeks ago, something inside me snaps. I grab the first thing I see—a roll of paper towels—and raise them. Just like I did with my oranges. Just like with Chavez’s bat.
“Step away from the door,” I growl.
“No!” He quickly counters my threat by stepping forward himself, chest puffed up to accentuate his substantial size. He’s got at least a foot and more than a hundred pounds on me, not to mention an elephant, but weirdly I’m not intimidated.
“Yes,” Iris joins in with an equally demonic-sounding voice. She grabs a plastic flyswatter that’s hanging by a magnet on the refrigerator door and starts smacking it into her open palm. “You are going to step away from that door, and you’re going to do it right now.”
“No, I’m not,” he grunts while swiping back spittle from his nose. “She either gits both of us or neither.”
Iris glan
ces at me, and I give her a hearty nod in return.
“On three?” I say.
“One . . .”
“Two . . . ,” I say.
“Three!” we scream in unison and lurch forward, swinging with all our might.
Wade bats away my first hit with a swipe of his hand, but Iris makes contact on his right arm, forcing him to turn his attention toward her, which leaves his entire left side exposed to me.
“Aaagh!” I go in hard, walloping him in the head, then start attacking his waist and lower back as he returns his attention to me.
“Stop hittin’ me, you crazy bitches!” he screams, windmilling his arms through the air. He lands a blow across my cheek, sending a jolt of pain screaming through my veins. It knocks me back a step but only accelerates my drive to stop him.
I tighten my grip on the paper towels and come in harder, screaming, “You lying cheater! She’s too good for you! She’s too good for you!”
I’m going straight for his face now, prompting him to raise his hands defensively, while Iris heads around back and starts whipping his bare butt.
“Owww!” He drops his hands to try to restrain Iris, but she’s quick and skirts away before he can make contact. Once again, he’s left himself vulnerable to my attack. I go in for the kill, raising the paper towels up high above my head, then smacking the elephant straight across the trunk.
“Ugh!” He drops to his knees, and Iris cries out, “Burty, go! Go get your girl!”
Burty skirts by us and into the room while Iris and I hammer on, pummeling Wade’s back and head while he writhes uncomfortably on the floor.
“Got her!” Burty calls, bolting out of the room. She’s moving too fast for me to get a close look, but I can see that she’s carrying someone small, wrapped in a blanket in her arms. Thank god, the baby’s safe!
“Go to the car!” I scream, raising the towels for another blow. I whack him hard on the head. The paper towel roll is starting to bend, but surprisingly the towels are still intact. It’s a good thing Burty splurges for the two-ply. If not, there’d be a big mess in here by now. “Iris, get the suitcases!” I pause from my attack long enough to grab my keys from my pocket and toss them to her. “Honk when you’re in the car, and I’ll come out!”
She passes off the flyswatter to me, then hustles to gather the bags while calling out, “Keep hittin’ him! Don’t let him get up!”
My left arm’s nowhere near as strong as my right, but I manage to get in a few good whacks on his leg and thigh while continuing to pummel his shoulder and the side of his head with the paper towels.
“Owww! Stop! Please stop!” he cries out from his fetal position on the floor, one hand protecting his elephant, the other his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
In all fairness, his cries sound genuine, and those tears are as real as any I’ve ever seen, but it’s not like I’m hitting him with a brick—it’s a flyswatter and a roll of Bounty, for god’s sake. Any pain he’s experiencing is very temporary. Unlike the pain he inflicted on Burty and sweet little Rosebud. That pain will last a lifetime.
I keep smacking until I hear the horn, then take off running through the house and across the street to my car. The back windows are tinted, so I can’t see Burty and Rosebud, but I can see that Iris is in the front seat and has wisely already got the engine running.
“Everybody here?” I ask over winded breaths as I hop into the driver’s seat and slam the door shut.
“Yeah, we’re all here,” Burty says nervously from the back seat. “But you better move it—he’s comin’!”
I turn to my left and see a very haggard and angry-looking Wade staggering out of the house.
Shit.
“Go, go, go,” Iris demands.
I ram the car into drive and hammer my foot on the gas, peeling out into the street just as Wade steps off the curb crying, “Burty! Burty, please!”
Heart racing, I glance in the side mirror and can’t help but snort when I see him chasing after us, that big gray elephant flip-flopping like a piñata after a hearty blow.
When all this is said and done, I’ve got to ask Burty about that.
“Holy crap! You guys were amazin’,” a breathless Burty says. “Y’all were like ninjas or somethin’.”
“I don’t know about ninjas, but oh my god! That was intense,” I laugh, adrenaline still hammering through my veins. “I can’t believe we took him down with paper towels and a flyswatter.” I turn to Iris, expecting to see her laughing along with me, but she’s not. She’s just staring at me with a blank look in her eyes.
“What?” I ask.
She motions toward the back seat with a quick tip of the head.
My eyes narrow. I glance over my shoulder—
“Oh my god!” I shriek, my eyes snapping wide. Burty’s got something in her arms all right, but it’s not a baby.
“What’s wrong?” Burty asks. “You’re not allergic to dogs, are ya?”
Dog? That’s a dog?
I blink hard, taking in the unsightly creature in front of me. In its better days, it probably passed for a terrier of some sort. But with more skin showing than fur, and those gigantic bulbous eyes taking up nearly its entire face, I’m thinking something in the troll family is probably more accurate.
“Jane?” Burty follows up, waiting for my answer.
“Uh . . . no. I’m not allergic.” I quickly return my attention to the road. “I just wasn’t expecting—”
“Yeah, I know,” Burty mutters. “She’s not the prettiest girl at the prom, but she’s such a little love. Aren’t ya, my little Rosie girl? Huh? You’re Mama’s little muffin, aren’t ya? Yes, you are. You’re my sweet little baby muffin girl.”
“Can you believe this?” Iris mutters quietly, tone hinting of the same amusement I’m starting to feel myself.
Lip twitching, I turn to her and whisper, “It’s a dog. We just beat the shit out of that guy over a fucking dog.”
“A fucking ugly dog,” she adds, biting back her own laugh.
Tears well in my eyes, and I quickly cover my mouth with my left hand while keeping my right on the wheel.
“You mind if I feed her in the car?” Burty, unaware of our budding hysterics, asks. “She’s a little bit messy on account of her not havin’ all her teeth.”
I snort through my veil of fingers, quickly trying to cover it up as a cough. “Sure,” I manage. “Whatever you need to do is fine.”
I roll my lips down tight over my teeth and clamp down, willing myself not to burst out laughing. In my periphery I see that Iris has turned her body completely away from me so she’s facing the window, trying to do the same.
With my eyes focused on the road, I hear Burty fumble around in the back seat, then the distinct sound of a metal tab being peeled off a can. A putrid smell fills the car, prompting me to gag. Yet another innate response I’m forced to stifle.
“Here you go, baby girl,” Burty says in a loving voice. “Here’s some yummy breakfast for you.” My stomach turns as the dog attempts to eat the food. Without any teeth, there’s a whole lot of licking and slushing going on. “There you go, sweetie,” Burty continues. “Mean ole Daddy didn’t give you any food, did he? It’s okay now. Mama’s here. Mama’s here, and it’s gonna be okay . . .”
Still facing away from me, Iris reaches across the console and grabs my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. My heart swells with a burst of unexpected joy. It certainly wasn’t the rescue mission we thought it was, but damn if it still doesn’t feel good.
CHAPTER 16
I drop everyone off at Iris’s cute little house on the Lower West Side (she generously offered to put up Burty and Rosebud until they can find other arrangements), then make my way back up to Mount Ivy. With all the day’s excitement, I completely forgot about the conference call with the hospital fundraisers, but it was just an overview of what would be discussed at this Saturday’s big committee luncheon anyway. If they even noticed I was absent from the call, they w
on’t be upset; those ladies love me. And besides that, who could possibly argue that assisting in a dangerous hostage-rescue mission didn’t trump a silly conference call?
I’ve got about an hour to kill before Avery gets out of school, so I hit the McDonald’s drive-through and then camp out in the school parking lot until the bell rings. With my fries stationed in the center console’s cup holder, I pull open my phone and start a new search—the first one in a long time that doesn’t include the phrase self-help in its criteria.
“Oh my god!” I sputter over a fry as I take in the bevy of willie warmers (also known as cock socks, peter heaters, and woody hoodies) on the screen in front of me. Along with elephants, giraffes, and every other animal on the planet, there are also hot dogs (with condiments!), tuxedos, Minions . . . there’s even a fully decorated Christmas tree. (What lucky lady wouldn’t want to wake up next to that package Christmas morning?) I have no idea how sweet little Burty is involved in this industry, but given the number of Etsy retailers selling them, it seems like a pretty lucrative venture—
My phone rings, the screen indicating it’s Avery’s school calling.
Shit.
My stomach sinks, and all the woody-hoodie amusement instantly drains from my body.
Dread building, I tap the screen.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Osborne?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, it’s Ron English.”
I swallow hard. Ron English. The principal.
“Yes. Hi, Mr. English. How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks, but Avery’s not having such a good day.”
“She’s not?”
“No. Unfortunately, there was an incident with her and another student this afternoon. She’s safe and healthy,” he quickly adds, “but she’s gotten herself into some trouble. Would you or your husband be able to come down to my office to discuss?”
“You need me to come in? This isn’t something we can discuss over the phone?” Or through my car window, like Mrs. Garcia does?
“No, it’s not. What Avery did warrants suspension from school. We’re required to have an in-person meeting with the parents in cases like this.”
See Jane Snap Page 19