Page 10 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
He didnotjust say that.
Doug opens his mouth like he’s going to speak again.
“Don’t.” My voice comes out quiet but razor-sharp.
Doug lifts his hands like I’m overreacting. “Relax, Ellie. I’m just saying—she’s gonna grow up into something, huh? Good looks run in the family. It’s a compliment.”
“They don’t need compliments from you,” I snap, stressing Jaq’s pronouns.
Doug squints, confused. “They? Nah, I meant that one.” He jerks his thumb toward Jaq, like repeating the gesture makes it okay.
Jaq steps forward, jaw tight, and presses the garden shears into my palm. “You need these, Mom.” My kid’s voice is steady, I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but their eyes flick like flint. The metal settles into my grip like it belongs there.
Doug chuckles, low and greasy. “Look at that. Family bonding. Almost makes me jealous. She’s got some fire in her though, I’ll give you that. I like it.”
That does it. I lift the shears, blade glinting in the sun. “Leave. Now.”
He leans in, breath sour enough to wilt the basil. “Or what? Gonna stab me with your little scissors? I’d love to see you try.”
I assume my best “throw down” pose because now I’m ready to kill him for just breathing. Not that I stand a chance going pound for pound, he outweighs me by at least 100 of them. But I’m scrappy. I could make him sorry for fucking sure.
Behind me, Jill sets aside her sketchbook and edges closer, eyes wide, voice small. “Mom?”
Doug licks his lips at her.
That’s it—the moment my brain goes red.
“Get. The fuck. Off my property.” I thrust the shears toward his chest, point steady. “Get in your truck. Drive away. Now.”
For a second, I think he’ll push it further—call my bluff. I could punch him right now and at the very least give him a black eye. It’s tempting.
Then, with a shrug, he turns and swaggers toward his lemon-yellow heap of a small-penis overcompensation, as though he hasn’t just dropped nuclear-level sleaze all over my yard.
The twins watch him peel out down the street, tires screeching.
“That guy seriously gives me the creeps,” Jill mutters.
“So many creeps,” Jaq agrees.
“Both of you and me makes three.” My voice comes out brittle, almost too bright. “Let’s go inside. Maybe there are cupcakes left.”
The kids sprint for the house, sneakers slapping pavement, the screen door rattling behind them.
I stay rooted, garden shears still warm in my grip, Doug’s cologne-stench still lingering like a stain.
And I realize, as I picture him bleeding on my lawn—finally quiet—that the image should probably scare me.
It doesn’t.
six
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MAMA DRAMA GROUP TEXT - The ladies in the neighborhood: Sandy, Molly, Jen, Elle, Amy
SANDY: Did you all see the news about the head in Sandalwood?!
MOLLY: What head?
