Page 77

That’s when she jumps up from the couch and takes off running upstairs. Hauling myself off the couch, I realize it’s time to investigate why she disappeared earlier.
Upstairs, River stands in the bathroom at the top of the stairs, hanging her head in shame. Do you see it? Look over River’s shoulder. Believe me, it’s worse than I imagined.
She pooped all right, but I don’t know whether she stood up in the process or couldn’t wipe right. Either way, it looks as if someone painted the floor with shit.
Scarlet walks by, on the phone and ignoring me. I grab her by the elbow and pull her back. “I need you.”
She blocks the phone with her hand. “I’m on the phone with Rod. Can this wait?”
“No.” I take the phone, press End and toss it down the stairs.
Scowling, she huffs out a breath and ties her mess of curls up in a bun. It looks something similar to a Top Ramen beehive. “Was that necessary?”
“Very.” I turn her to face the bathroom and whisper over her shoulder. “What do we do?”
Notice how I’m using her as a shield? It’s by design.
Scarlet pushes back against me. “No. Way. I’m not dealing with that. You have maids for that.” And then she wiggles away from me and runs into Shade’s room at the end of the hall. Ordinarily, I’d follow her and demand she get me out of this mess. Or I’d find that damn maid. But River’s now crying, and I can’t bear to see her in tears.
I look from her to the floor and the horrific images before me, and then back down at River. “Uh. . . I. . . you.” I pause, unable to formulate a plan in my head. “You should take a bath. Again.”
Helping her out of her clothes, that’s when I notice the rest of her looks worse than the bathroom floor. It looks like shit exploded in her pants and then dried.
“Wow. . . okay.” I stand up and take her hand, leading her out of the bathroom. I leave the clothes and shit-covered walls behind the closed door. “This is going to take some time, so let’s use a different bathroom. There’s like twelve in here somewhere.”
I’m not even joking. I had to fill the tub and drain it twice, and then scrub her for an hour.
“Amberly is never going to leave me alone with you again,” I tell her, sometime after washing her hair for the third time. Our eyes meet. “How did you get it in your hair?”
She shrugs and splashes me with water. Probably pee water mixed with kid shit.
Just as I’m getting her out of the tub, Amberly choses then to “check in”, which is code for, she’s still alive, right?
Amberly: How’s it going?
I look to River who’s beside me, trying her hardest to fold a towel. “Amberly wants to know how it’s going. How should I answer?”
River stares at me, her brow scrunched in concentration that she can’t make a perfect square with the towel on the floor. In case you’re wondering, we’re still in the bathroom. Sitting on the floor.
“Good?” she asks, like that’s the grand-prize answer.
I raise an eyebrow and then nod to the door, the direction of the bathroom we might have to remodel later. “Are you confident in your answer?”
Check out her face. She doesn’t know what confident means but despite this, she nods and sits on my lap, thankfully now with clean not smelling-like-shit clothes on.
Twisting to the side, I text Amberly back.
Me: I thought you said she’s housebroken. . . .
Amberly: Housebroken? She’s not a dog. And yes, she’s potty trained. . .
Me: Lies.
Amberly: What?
Me: Nothing.
Amberly: Seriously, Tiller. What are you talking about? She’s potty trained.