Because there's nothing like proving a hoverparent wrong.
Nothing.
Every single one of our parents had been dismissive of our music.
Can't dismiss a big, fat bank account balance.
In the shower, I let the hot water run as long as I could, soaping up, thinking about Darla. We'd been here for two days and it was showing, the stress of our routine being out of whack – and being far, far from home – creating cracks in our threesome.
When we were in Boston, or on the road, we knew who we were.
Coming back to Ohio changed Darla's identity, which left Joe and me in a whirl of confusion.
Add a new baby brother and Darla was a sun out of place.
How do you form an orbit when that happens?
The shower left me feeling better, but full of more questions, as I grabbed for a towel and found... none.
Ugh.
I climbed out of the shower and searched the closet.
Nope.
And that hand towel on the floor was covered in Joe's pubic hair, dark and curlies littering the tile around it.
The asshole had manscaped.
I groaned, because my electric razor was the only one we'd brought. Darla threw it in the suitcase in a rush, and although I was growing a beard, I still needed to trim.
Which meant I had to shave with the scent of Joe's balls in my face. Great. Even when we had DP together, I didn't have to suffer through that.
“Seriously, Joe? SERIOUSLY?” Anger rose up in me, pumping hard as blood shot through my system. I had way too many emotions and not enough outlets, and he was pressing on my last nerve.
This only firmed my resolve to grow out my beard. Forever.
Or until I made Joe buy me a new razor.
Sighing, I walked out into the bedroom, hoping one of them had left a used towel I could snatch, but no such luck. I balled my hands into fists and sighed until I groaned.
I could hear the doorbell, then the sound of a man with a deeper voice than Calvin's, Cathy's voice floating over his, then a baby's cry.
They were here.
My suitcase was in the laundry area, full of freshly-laundered clothes, and I was stuck.
Really stuck, because Darla had stripped the bed completely this morning, insisting we'd defiled the sheets and they needed to be washed.
I grinned at how we'd defiled them, all right.
As luck would have it, Joe left his luggage in here, so I could snag some of his clothes quickly. I went toward it as loud steps, heavier than Joe's, thumped up.
“You said there's a good place for changing little Cal?” Cathy asked.
“Yeah. The master bedroom.”
Terror shot through me. I opened my mouth to warn them that I was here, but as I stepped back from the door, my foot got caught on the dresser corner, big toe and second toe parting ways as I smashed it right in, the pain rendering me speechless.
And then I fell, right on Joe's suitcase, the handle hitting my throat.
A giant howl, loud like a wolf, tried to come out of me, but all I could do was hiss.
Hopping on one foot, I made my way to the edge of the stripped bed, my junk bouncing like a cat toy on a piece of string.
“In here?” Cathy called from the other side of the door, the doorknob jiggling.
NO! my brain screamed.
But I couldn't speak, so I did the next best thing.
I dove into the closet.
The door snicked shut just in time, sliding with hollow core door smoothness. Breathing hard, I tried not to see stars, hoping my poor Adam's apple could recover from the hit.
“Huh. Bed's stripped. Probably okay,” I heard Cathy say as shuffling sounds made it clear she was changing the baby. “If Cal gets any baby poop on the bed, it'll be easy to wipe off the mattress cover.”
“Can't believe this is what happened to Old Doc Oglethorpe's place,” Mike said, burly voice filled with contempt. “Guy was the town doc all those years and now it's just a rental.”
“Everything's becoming a rental, Mike. That's how it is now.”
A massive muscle spasm hit my ankle and arch, making my leg twist as I tried to breathe through the burn, my hips pivoting to reduce the pain.
Crunch.
“What the hell was that?” Mike said loudly as a wet, thick sensation covered my hand.
The chicken had laid an egg in here.
“Something feels off, Cathy.”
“It's fine, Mike. You're just hungover from thirty hours on the road. You always get a little paranoid when you been up that long.”
Gasping to breathe, the pain making sparks fly in the periphery of my now-open eyes, I shook my hair, smearing the egg on the thin carpeting in the closet. Through a thin sliver, I could see them, and realized Mike was sharp enough to catch me.
I had to find something to cover myself with.
Fumbling in the dark, I reached up. Closets have clothes, right?
Nope. Nada.
Darla had something in here, I remembered. A dress? A coat? I pawed along and then -
Crunch.
Of all the days for Mavis to be prolific.
“Cathy?” Now Calvin's voice was added to the pile out there. “You okay?”
“There's an intruder.”
“What?”
“An intruder, Cal.”
“Mike, you been on the road for a long time. I think this is that road weariness your doctor talked about.”
Crunch.
A third egg?
I saw them all turn and look at the closet.
“Hello? Someone in the closet?”
What was I supposed to do? Admit to it and emerge naked, covered in egg?
I did what anyone else in my situation would do.
I closed my eyes and pretended this wasn't happening.
“I have a weapon!” Mike shouted, heavy footsteps sounding like cannons.
“Jesus Christ, Mike, that ain't gonna help you fight against nothing. DARLA!” Cathy shouted, just as the baby cried again.
NO. Oh, God, not Darla. Anyone but Darla.
Something sharp pecked at my hand, making me flinch.
Then freak out.
Because something alive was in here with me.
Thump thump thump, her footsteps were clear, cutting through the rush of blood to my ears as I went into pure panic mode.
I found an object in my desperation, and shoved it over my crotch just as Mike threw open the door, holding a plastic Baby Jesus Christmas ornament as he, Cathy, Calvin and Darla found me on the closet floor, naked, covered in egg goo, with one of Darla's high heels for the baby's christening over my cock, a chicken walking over my leg.
Every one of them just stared at me.
Even the baby.
Mike lowered the “weapon.”
The chicken wandered out of the closet, toward the glass slider, carefully stepping through the hole in the screen door.
Calvin opened his mouth three different times, shut it three different times, and on the fourth try, simply said, “Okay.”
Cathy held the baby on one hand, then slowly unfurled her other, palm flat, toward Darla.
Who reached in her back pocket, pulled out a $20 bill, and said:
“You were right, Mama. Damn place sure is haunted.”
Chapter 19
Darla
“I can explain!” Trevor choked out, the sound horrible.
“What's wrong with your throat?” I asked him.