by Faith Harkey
While I was busy refilling the box from one stash, then another, Desiree made her way back to the bed and bounced on it a time or two.
“It’s kinda cozy,” she remarked.
“Cozy, if you got nowhere else to go,” I told her.
“Mmm.” She seemed to agree. “So, how many stashes do you have?”
“Five in here,” I replied. “There’s one outside, too, but I reckon it’s wet and stank.” It was in a compartment just behind the black-water shaft, where I’d known nobody would mess with it. I reckoned I’d been right. Even I didn’t want to go there. “Two more to go.”
I popped the panel off the radio hole and came out with the Orrs’ floss, then my treasure map. Half grinning, I set both of them in the box.
“Hey, Desiree?”
“Yeah?”
“You remember the first time I was at your house and Martin called me Smell Cantrell?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think—”
A terrible creak sounded. It was the sound of a door being opened—not by a breeze, but by an unwelcome hand. Even without looking, I knew who it was. I knew it with every shred of my intuition.
To Desiree, I mouthed, It’s Baron!
I saw her breath freeze in her chest.
There isn’t much free space inside a motor home. You’ve got one row of carpet where you can travel forward, to the driver’s seat, or backward, toward the bed.
I leapt from my spot between the front seats, hoping against hope that I could get to a kitchen drawer to grab something, anything I could defend us with. As my body fairly flew through the air, Baron Ramey’s long-fingered hand shot in through the door and caught me square on the chest.
Baron shouldered into the already cramped space and took a look around. He had but one pain imp on him, a cruel black-red one. Only the very tippy-tail of it twitched between his eyebrows—as if it had burrowed into his brain.
“Well, well,” he drawled, closing a fist around the fabric of my shirt. “The prodigal child returneth.” Pulling me toward him so hard I stumbled, he leered. “How the heck are you, girl?”
I was snarling my reply when I heard a “Yeeeeeee-aaaaaaahhh!” tear through the musty air. Desiree’s plan, as far as I could guess, was to launch herself from the bed and throw her leg into the space between me and Baron, making a good try for his family jewels. Quarters were tight, though, and she caught her side on the sharp edge of the kitchen counter. She yelped with the pain of it and crumpled to the floor.
“Well, well,” he said again. “Two for the price of one!”
“You’re disgusting.” I spat in his face.
The muscles of his jaw turned hard. “I was ready to be buddies. But that there warrants some punishment.” He pulled me so close I could smell his rotten breath. “Here’s what’s going to save you, if you’re smart. Nina was supposed to meet me today. And she didn’t. You are going to tell me where she is. Right now.”
Desiree picked up her head. Voice steady as all get-out, she told Ramey, “You let her go.”
Baron ignored her. “I’ll find your ma, Hush. You know I will. But if you make it too hard for me, I’ll be mad when I find her. I might lose control. You know what that could look like.”
I thought of Nina laying in the hospital, pain imps blazing. It could be worse, I knew. It could be ten times worse.
“Save her”—he shook me once—“and you—a world of hurt. Where is she?”
I knew one thing for certain: If he found Nina, she was done for. Baron could talk about going easy on her, but I knew different. He’d have his revenge for her willfulness, and that was that.
What I really needed was a way to keep Desiree and me safe, and get us both to the police department so I could warn the sheriff about Baron’s plans for Nina.
Desiree started to push herself up to her knees.
“Stay down, little girl,” Baron drawled at her.
I railed at my own foolishness. What was I thinking, bringing Desiree to ’Bagoville? I just had to have my stash! Had to dazzle her with the picking of a stupid, half-broke lock!
Right then, I decided I would not—would not ever—let another person be hurt because of my mistake. Especially not my special, crazy friend.
I cast Desiree a look that I hoped said, Follow my lead. Then I told Baron, “Nina’s new address is outside. In my back stash. Desiree knows where it is.”
“Is that so, Desiree?” I hated the way he held her name in his mouth.
“Yes,” she lied bravely.
“Go get it, then,” snarled Baron.
“I got to help her—” I said.
“Bull.” He choked up on my shirt. “Go get the address, girl. Me and Hush’ll wait here.”
Desiree glanced at me as she scrambled up. There weren’t nothing in her eyes but unwavering trust and love.
Only love is real. That’s what Crispy had said.
And a dying man ought to know.
From Crispy’s lips to your ear, BP! I prayed.
While Baron shifted sideways to let Desiree pass, I quick set my eyes on the imp jar, just a few feet away.
“Don’t you think about running off, girl!” Baron shouted at Desiree as she stepped outside.
All at once, I felt bushels stronger. She’s out! She’s safe! Oh, Desiree! Please run!
No matter how scared my friend was, though, I knew she’d never leave me alone with Baron.
“I’ve got it!” Desiree called, spinning a fable. “It says, fourteen-thirty…something. Or fifty something? Seabass Singer Street? Does that sound right? Hush, I can’t make out your writing.”
“It’s Nina’s writing. I can’t never make it out, neither.” My reply was a fib, but my voice was shaking for real.
“Aw, heck. Bring the paper here.” Baron let go of my shirt and shoved me backward, hard.
The refrigerator handle bruised my back, but I didn’t care. Baron was balanced in the RV doorway, half in, half out, distracted. In a flash, I grabbed the imp jar and unscrewed the lid.
“Where are you, girl?” he called to Desiree.
“I’m over here!”
I could tell she was shouting from back behind the RV. If only I could keep Ramey from reaching her!
Please, please, please—
I stepped to the door, tapped Baron on the shoulder, and when he turned his face toward me—I flung the whole jar’s worth of pain imps right at him.
And then, with a special, extra brain-shove, I added, Stick!
A howl tore through the white-hot air of ’Bagoville. A hundred imps or more latched onto Baron Ramey, every one of them flaring deep red. He fell down the steps, landing on the ground with a grunt.
I launched myself out of the motor home, found Desiree, and pulled her to my cousin’s RV. Banging on the door, I shouted, “Sheena! I know you’re in there! Call the police! Call them now!”
Meantime, Baron rolled all around, swearing, clutching his face as if he’d been pepper-sprayed.
I got hold of Desiree and meant to hide us in a junk car, but we were only halfway there when I heard sirens wail. Creation, was I glad for the bittiness of Podunk Sass! The sheriff must’ve already been in the neighborhood!
* * *
—
It turned out it wasn’t Sheena who’d called the police, but a code-enforcement lady who’d heard Baron’s scream. I wasn’t too happy with Cousin Sheena after that, so the couple of things I still had that I’d borrowed from her, I set out on her front step with a note that said, “Sorry. But not too sorry.”
* * *
—
There was a fair bunch of busy-ness after Sheriff Thrasher arrived. Since it didn’t seem fitting to drive Baron to the jail with me and Desiree sitting in the front seat, the police had to ask the PD in Pitn
ey if they’d lend a hand. Sass had only one police car. As I said, Po-dunk. I did ask if JoBeth might carry Desiree and me to the station on the back of the department’s ATV, but the sheriff wouldn’t allow it.
As the two of us sat on a pile of tires, waiting for our ride, I asked Desiree, “You all right?”
“Yes,” she said. Then, with a nervous smile, “No. I think I peed myself. I was so scared.”
Truth was, I’d been scared, too. But more than that, I’d been mad. And it was the mad, somehow, that got me through. I’d heard folks say a body can’t think clearly when they’re riled, and that may be true for some. But just for me, on that particular morning, my ire had given me the courage to stand up to Baron.
Of course, it wasn’t just the anger.
“Yeah, it was fearsome,” I said. “But somewhere inside me, I knew: Me and Desiree didn’t meet just so we could get thrashed by some cur. There was something Bigger at work. Something on our side. Otherwise, why would those imps have stuck?”
Desiree dipped her head to the side. “It could have been some new part of your magic that you didn’t know about.”
I was about to say something counter to that when she added, “But…maybe it’s six of one, half dozen of the other. Surely your magic comes from something Bigger. I mean, where else could it possibly come from?”
* * *
—
The police car scooped us up and dropped us off at what was fast becoming my new home away from home—the hospital. Yup. Three times in three weeks, though this was my first visit as a patient.
Me and Desiree refused to let them split us up, so we sat atop the same emergency-room table while a doctor peered into our eyes and asked us about a hundred questions. We were telling her no, neither of us did feel dizzy, when I heard a voice scream out, “Call Tom and Travis! Oh! Ow! Hasn’t anyone seen Belle?”
I knew the voice with a certainty. And even before I peeked out through the curtain and saw Nurse Cussler rolling Mabel down the hall in a wheelchair, I knew another thing, too: Mabel was having her baby. Early.
“Gotta go!” I shouted to Desiree, skidding into the hall. “Wait up! Mabel! It’s Belle!”
“Hold up! Hold up!” Mabel yelled at the nurse.
Mabel reached out and nearly hugged me to pieces. “Oh, Belle, thank— Ow! Ow! Ow!” Eyes squeezed shut against the pain, she made a circling motion with her finger. “Rolling. Let’s roll, please.” She had more imps around her middle than I could count at a glance.
Mabel, Nurse Cussler, and me flew at the speed of wheelchair down one hallway and up another. We swerved into a quiet little room, set apart from the others, decorated in soft baby-type hues. There was every manner of alarming beep-machines, plus a table full of wicked-looking metal devices, but there was also a tiny crib and a right comfortable-looking set of chairs, each draped with a blanket.
“Nurse,” I said, gluing myself to Mabel’s side. “Can you tell us if it’s very dire, the baby coming so early?”
She put a plastic clip on Mabel’s fingertip. “It’s not what we hoped for. But Mabel is healthy. And I bet your yoga class was a big help, too.”
It was fine praise that didn’t matter to me one whit. “But you’ll help her all you can, right?”
Nurse Cussler was forming her answer when a man rushed in. From his white coat and fancy shoes, I figured he must be the doctor.
“Came as soon as I got your call, Mabel,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m in labor, Zeke! How do you think I am?”
It was the first—and only—time I ever heard Mabel get snarky. I might have smiled, except I knew it was the pain getting to her.
“ ‘Cut the small talk, Doc.’ Understood,” Zeke said, smiling. “Lainey, what with the baby being early, I think I’d like to use one of the surgical rooms.”
The nurse nodded. “I’ll make sure we’re all set in there.” Turning my way, she asked, “Can you stay with her?”
“Of course!”
With the doctor and nurse gone, I dropped to my knees at the foot of Mabel’s chair. “What can I do?”
She grabbed my hand. “I am so glad you’re here. Um.” Her eyes went out of focus and she cried out. When she came back to me, she said, “Can you make sure they called Tom and Travis? The number’s in my purse. In the thingy, here.” She tried to point toward the pocket on the back of the wheelchair.
“I see it. You just reeeelax. Maybe do some of that yoga breathing.” I grabbed her bag, fished out the number, and dialed it on the house phone.
A sliver of a ring sounded, then: “Hello! Mabs?”
“Tom! This is Belle!” Thankfully, he knew me from our small talk while Mabel had been a-waddling to the phone these last few weeks. “Mabel wanted me to call you—”
“Tell her we’re on our way! We’re on our way!”
“How long do you think—?”
“Hold on—jeez! Atlanta drivers! Sorry, Belle! The traffic’s really bad. Two hours. At least. Tell her—ugh! Belle, I gotta go. Tell her we’ll be there as soon as we can!”
Another voice came on the line. “Hey, Belle. It’s Travis. Give her a peck for me. Tell her I know she can do it.”
“Don’t you talk like that!” I heard Tom in the background. “We are going to get there on time to see that baby being— OH, COME ON!”
“See you soon,” Travis said, and hung up.
Mabel looked up hopefully. “Well?”
“They’re coming. As fast as they safely can.”
“How long?”
I told her.
She shook her head hard and fast—partly a denial, I thought, and partly a new contraction. “They’re gonna miss it.” A new pain imp appeared over her heart.
I couldn’t make the men appear any faster, but there was one thing I could do.
I knelt down again. “You got about fifty little red guys wiggling around your midsection. Can I help you some?”
“Pain imps, you mean?” Her eyes went distant again.
When they cleared up, I said, “Yeah. Pain imps. Want me to pluck a few?”
She didn’t even think it over. “No. Thanks. I need—I want to feel this.”
I tell you, it was the hardest thing I ever did, keeping my hands off those imps while they flared red and redder yet, till they weren’t nothing but a wild and constant crimson.
“Hold my hands,” Mabel pleaded.
I did.
“Can I squeeze?” she asked. “It’ll hurt.”
“You can break my fingers if you have to.” I grinned. “We’re in a hospital. They can fix me right up.”
She smiled weakly. “Thank you, honey.” Then she squeezed. Not so weakly.
“Ye gods, woman! You’re strong!” But I loved that pain in my hands, because I knew it meant Mabel would have strength enough to deliver her baby safe and sound.
The nurse rushed back in, flipped the brake off the wheelchair, and started rolling Mabel away before I could even get to my feet.
“Belle!” Mabel called.
I raced after them. “I can come, right?”
The doctor must have heard me, because he shouted from behind a pair of doors, “No minors in the delivery room!”
“Rule toady!” I shouted back. Hoping the nurse would be more reasonable, I whisper-pleaded, “Let me sneak in once his back’s turned!”
She shook her head. “Can’t. But she’ll be out soon.”
“Real soon!” Mabel moaned.
The chair kept on rolling.
“Mabel! Travis sends a kiss! He says he knows you can do it!”
“Thank you!” As she disappeared behind the swinging doors, she called out, “I love you, Belle!”
I pressed my face to the crack between the doors and hollered, “I love you, too!”
; It was the first time I ever said those words.
* * *
—
Shaw Reilly Holt was born at 12:37 in the afternoon. He was healthy, pink, and—dog my cats!—that little guy could wail!
They set Mabel up in that baby-colored room, with little Shaw in the crib. And this time, there was no getting rid of me. I was glued to Mabel’s side, even while she nursed the baby, even while she drowsed. Right up until the second that Tom and Travis appeared in the doorway, so many balloons floating around their heads that it was hard to make out their faces.
All manner of hugs and kisses followed, and, of course, none of that involved me. Why should it? I wasn’t one of the family, after all. Still, I couldn’t say it didn’t hurt some, standing in the far back of that room, witnessing a sort of gladness I’d surely never know. Though I couldn’t see it—there was no mirror in the room—I was fairly certain I felt a pain imp being born from my heart.
While they were all smitten with Shaw, cooing over him and feeling his tiny hand grasp their fingers, it seemed like a good time to slip out. I wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. Clearly all the bedrooms in Mabel’s house would be taken up, with the baby here and the menfolk home. I wasn’t ready to go to Nina’s, though. If I ever would be. I wondered if I could stay at the hospital. There was a food machine at the end of the hall, and a chair where I could sleep. They might allow it if I went back down to the ER and told them, yeah, I was a little dizzy after that ruckus with Baron Ramey. Well, not dizzy, precisely. Maybe just done in.
I was feeling in my pocket for snack change—and feeling my loco a little, reminding me there was a gift cart in the lobby of the hospital—when I saw a yellow-headed figure sitting by the vending machines.
I called out, “You been waiting here this whole time?”
Desiree twisted around in her seat. “Hush! How are they?”
“They’re good,” I told her. “Baby’s early but fine. Mabel’s tired, but that’s only fitting. She’s happy.”
“I’m so glad. And you? How are you?” she wanted to know.
I felt my grin falter. “Why would I be anything other than peart?”