Page 14 of Kings Don't Break

We finish the evening with pound cake and coffee for dessert. Mama regales the captain and lieutenant with the time she accidentally nabbed a bank robber on the street to more howls of their laughter.

“And there I was, minding mine, and he comes running out with bags of cash. So I stuck my foot out, and what d’you know?” she says, shaking her head. “He fell face first into the cement. The cop chasing him caught up and slapped him with cuffs!”

Captain Vargas wipes a tear of mirth from his eye. “I’ll tell you, Stricklin. It sounds like we need to skip your promotion altogether and go straight into hiring Sunny.”

Ken plays along with another humoring smile. “That’s Sunny for you. I knew Korine got her trouble-making personality from somewhere.”

I give no reaction to the subtle slight, appearing the happy and well-behaved housewife I’m supposed to be at these work dinners.

We bid good night, waving off the two senior police officers from our front step like we’ve discussed. Our hands stay in the air ’til they’ve rounded the corner and they’re no longer in view. The second they’re gone, Ken drops his arm from around me.

“Get inside.”

“I’ll get started on clean up.”

I say it as if there’s a choice in the matter. But, somehow, saying it aloud does make me feel better—it offers the illusion of choice, which has become enough.

The door swings shut behind us and makes me flinch. I dart to go into the kitchen. I’ve barely made it to the sink when Ken's voice fills up the quiet house.

“UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE! NOT AGAIN!”

The bottle of dish soap slips out of my hand as I spin around and sprint toward the noise.

My heart’s beating so fast, the urgency so instant, I almost feel dizzy.

No, no, no! Ugh!

It’s just as I imagine. I come to a clumsy stop feet away from the first floor bathroom, where the door hangs open and Mama’s in tears.

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I tried to make it. I tried to hurry?—”

“You clean this shit up!” Ken barks, rounding on me. He takes a furious step in my direction, his arm twisted toward the bathroom. “You fucking said it wouldn’t happen again—you promised she’d control herself!”

My frustration rips my voice up, making it sound hoarse. “What do you expect, Ken? She’s sick! She can’t help it?—”

His temper clenches on his face and burns in his gaze. I bite my tongue at the fire that’s quickly spreading. It’s a warning to shut up and back down.

“I’ll… I’ll clean it up,” I stammer.

“I’m sorry.” Mama’s clutching the bathroom counter, her soiled pants half down her hips.

“It’s okay, Mama. Here.”

“NO!” Ken yells, and we both jump. “It’s not fucking okay—how many times do I have to tell you?”

“Hey, don’t you raise your voice at my baby!” Mama shouts back.

“Mama, please!”

I hurry to put myself between them, walking her deeper into the bathroom to get her cleaned up.

But Mama’s got a temper too; one that’s always been a force to reckon with when shown. As short, sweet, and plump as she is, she’s not a woman you want to make angry.

Which means I need her to calm down. I need Ken to calm down.

“Your husband’s an ass!” Mama screeches.

I’m trying desperately to clean her up, running a towel under the warm water and wiping her down.