Page 35
Story: My Darling Husband
But at least she’s comfortable. I made sure of it when I put her there. I reclined the damn seat as far as it would go. I attached the tape to her socks and not the bare skin of her ankles so it wouldn’t pull the fine blond hairs. I even let the siblings sit next to each other instead of on opposite ends of the couch in case the little one got squirrely.
“You gonna put your mama out of her misery?” I say, and Beatrix’s gaze whips to mine. “Sounds like she’s having some sort of panic attack.” I shrug like I couldn’t care either way.
Beatrix gives me her best eye roll, then looks toward the door. “I’m okay,” she shouts, and her tone is begrudging at best. “He didn’t hurt me.”
I settle my gun on a shelf at the far wall and pick up the remote, giving her my best stern-dad look. And Lord knows I’ve had plenty of practice. Gigi was a handful, too, but at least with her, I knew where the bad behavior was coming from.
“Wanna tell me what this is about?” I wag the remote by my ear. “How come you threw the remote across the room?”
“She dropped it,” Baxter says, taking up for his big sister.
I ignore him. “Is this how you treat electronics in this house, like they’re disposable? Like they’re a worthless piece of trash? Are you really that much of a spoiled brat?”
Behind me, the television blares a commercial, an annoying jingle for some kind of sugary cereal. I punch the mute button with a thumb. “Beatrix, I asked you a question. I’m going to need an answer.”
Baxter looks at Beatrix.
Beatrix glares at me. “To which one? That was three questions.”
I almost laugh.Almost. This kid’s too smart for her own good, an added complication I need to figure out how to tame—and fast. Too much planning has gone into this day to let a sassy, spoiled kid ruin everything.
“Hey, mister?” Baxter says, but I don’t look over. I don’t acknowledge him at all. Let this be a lesson to him, too, to not interrupt when other people are talking.
“Do you know how much a remote like this one costs?” I say to Beatrix. “Hundreds and hundreds of dollars. And look here, you cracked the screen. These things don’t just grow on trees, you know.”
She looks away, bored.Bored.
I’d forgotten how impossible nine-year-olds can be. My fingers itch to spank her.
I settle the remote in the bowl on the coffee table and sink onto the edge. “Look, if you and I are going to get through this afternoon in one piece, you’re going to have to do better. Tobebetter. You told me downstairs I could trust you. Now I need you to prove it. And just so we’re clear, throwing remotes around and letting your mama get all riled up isn’t the way to do it. Don’t you hear her over there?”
That breaks through the noise in Beatrix’s immature brain. She stops seething long enough to cock her head, to listen to her mother sobbing across the hall. I see the second she feels regret.
“You did that,” I say, pointing a long finger at her face. “Youmade your mama cry. That’s on you.”
Her angry scowl bleeds away.
Baxter wriggles in his chair. “Mister, I really gotta—”
“Zip it.” I hold up a hand in his direction. “This conversation is between me and your sister. You’re going to have to wait your turn.”
“But it’simportant.”
A cramp. He’s cold. A dancing chipmunk on the windowsill. A cloud that looks like a question mark. Baxter believes that they’reallworth everyone’s attention.
“Kid, you really need to learn the definition ofimportant, you know that? Now pipe down. I’ll deal with you in a minute.” I turn back to his sister, working to soften my tone. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about you and I start over? Let’s just wipe this messy slate clean and begin again, how does that sound? You promise to be good, and I’ll promise not to hurt you or your br—”
I stop. Sniff the air, at the exact same time Baxter empties his lungs.“The poop is coming!”
C A M
4:38 p.m.
I stare at the broad backside of the fussy fortysomething lady blocking the teller’s window and will her to hurry the hell up. Twenty-two minutes and counting until the security guard locks the big glass door behind me and flips the sign to Closed, and this woman is standing here like she has all day.
She leans against the counter, oblivious to the line six people deep behind her, and shouts into the bulletproof glass, “I really need that money today.”
Yeah, welcome to the club, lady.
“You gonna put your mama out of her misery?” I say, and Beatrix’s gaze whips to mine. “Sounds like she’s having some sort of panic attack.” I shrug like I couldn’t care either way.
Beatrix gives me her best eye roll, then looks toward the door. “I’m okay,” she shouts, and her tone is begrudging at best. “He didn’t hurt me.”
I settle my gun on a shelf at the far wall and pick up the remote, giving her my best stern-dad look. And Lord knows I’ve had plenty of practice. Gigi was a handful, too, but at least with her, I knew where the bad behavior was coming from.
“Wanna tell me what this is about?” I wag the remote by my ear. “How come you threw the remote across the room?”
“She dropped it,” Baxter says, taking up for his big sister.
I ignore him. “Is this how you treat electronics in this house, like they’re disposable? Like they’re a worthless piece of trash? Are you really that much of a spoiled brat?”
Behind me, the television blares a commercial, an annoying jingle for some kind of sugary cereal. I punch the mute button with a thumb. “Beatrix, I asked you a question. I’m going to need an answer.”
Baxter looks at Beatrix.
Beatrix glares at me. “To which one? That was three questions.”
I almost laugh.Almost. This kid’s too smart for her own good, an added complication I need to figure out how to tame—and fast. Too much planning has gone into this day to let a sassy, spoiled kid ruin everything.
“Hey, mister?” Baxter says, but I don’t look over. I don’t acknowledge him at all. Let this be a lesson to him, too, to not interrupt when other people are talking.
“Do you know how much a remote like this one costs?” I say to Beatrix. “Hundreds and hundreds of dollars. And look here, you cracked the screen. These things don’t just grow on trees, you know.”
She looks away, bored.Bored.
I’d forgotten how impossible nine-year-olds can be. My fingers itch to spank her.
I settle the remote in the bowl on the coffee table and sink onto the edge. “Look, if you and I are going to get through this afternoon in one piece, you’re going to have to do better. Tobebetter. You told me downstairs I could trust you. Now I need you to prove it. And just so we’re clear, throwing remotes around and letting your mama get all riled up isn’t the way to do it. Don’t you hear her over there?”
That breaks through the noise in Beatrix’s immature brain. She stops seething long enough to cock her head, to listen to her mother sobbing across the hall. I see the second she feels regret.
“You did that,” I say, pointing a long finger at her face. “Youmade your mama cry. That’s on you.”
Her angry scowl bleeds away.
Baxter wriggles in his chair. “Mister, I really gotta—”
“Zip it.” I hold up a hand in his direction. “This conversation is between me and your sister. You’re going to have to wait your turn.”
“But it’simportant.”
A cramp. He’s cold. A dancing chipmunk on the windowsill. A cloud that looks like a question mark. Baxter believes that they’reallworth everyone’s attention.
“Kid, you really need to learn the definition ofimportant, you know that? Now pipe down. I’ll deal with you in a minute.” I turn back to his sister, working to soften my tone. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about you and I start over? Let’s just wipe this messy slate clean and begin again, how does that sound? You promise to be good, and I’ll promise not to hurt you or your br—”
I stop. Sniff the air, at the exact same time Baxter empties his lungs.“The poop is coming!”
C A M
4:38 p.m.
I stare at the broad backside of the fussy fortysomething lady blocking the teller’s window and will her to hurry the hell up. Twenty-two minutes and counting until the security guard locks the big glass door behind me and flips the sign to Closed, and this woman is standing here like she has all day.
She leans against the counter, oblivious to the line six people deep behind her, and shouts into the bulletproof glass, “I really need that money today.”
Yeah, welcome to the club, lady.
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