Page 27 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
“No.” I say glumly.
“Okay, let’s take a step back and think logically.”
We sit on either side of the body, the damp from the grass seeps through the dry shorts I threw on after I called her. My assfeels soggy. I should have put on dry panties when I grabbed the shorts. Actually, all things considered I’m going to burn all these clothes when we are finished here.
“What about those appliance straps?”
I look at Amy quizzically. “Huh?”
“You know, like what the mover guys use with refrigerators and stuff,” she explains. “They go over your shoulders and help you lift with your legs or whatever.”
“What about them?”
“Do you have any?”
“No.” I scoff. “And he’s not shaped like a refrigerator even if he weighs as much as one. But I like where your head is at.” I rack my brain for anything I’ve ever used, besides a man, to move heavy things around and come up empty. How pathetic is that?
“Tell me I’m brilliant,” Amy says suddenly.
“You’re brilliant,” I parrot drily.
“Fucking right I am.” She stands and walks the few steps to the Jenkins paved patio and points to a very large potted plant sitting on a raised platform about three inches off the ground. “Look, it’s on casters. Mrs. Jenkins must have more than one of those given her fondness for big plants. We’ll use those to roll the big lug away.”
“That could work!” I say, “What do we do, sit him up on it?”
“No way,” she says. “I say we space a few out in a row and just roll him over so he’s lying on top of them.
After as thorough an examination as we can manage with limited light from our cell phones and trying to make as little noise as possible, we find three relatively large ones and bring them back to where Doug lies. Amy lays them alongside his chest hips, and calves respectively.
“Now, we roll him onto them,” she says with flourish. We both crouch on one side and tentatively reach under body.
“Is it weird I feel like I’m violating him somehow, right now?” I ask, palming a handful of his ass.
“Samesies.” Amy nods.
We half lift half roll his body over and onto the dollies. I’m more than surprised when it actually works.
“Okay,” I tell Amy. “I didn’t mean it before, but I do now. You really are brilliant. Sorry I was sarcastic earlier.”
“That’s okay.” She beams and wipes at the beads of sweat collecting on her forehead. “I’m used to your chronic bitchiness by now, it’s part of your charm.”
I flip her off. Then realize that kind of proves her point so I follow that up with blowing her a kiss. She catches it in the air and throws it the ground and stomps on it.
I fucking love our friendship.
Sweat is dripping in rivulets down the back of my neck before a few minutes are up. I wish I’d stopped to put my hair up earlier. The night may be cool, but despite the addition of wheels, trying to roll two hundred and fifty plus pounds of unwieldy dead weight on three-inch wheels in wet grass is ridiculously hard.
We finally get him moving, with me pushing at one end and Amy pulling at the other - head down, arms straining, feet churning grass. It takes me ten feet to realize I don’t know where we’re going. “Wait,” I say. “Where are we taking him?”
“To your house,” Amy says like it’s obvious.
“What am I going to do with him at my house?” I hiss.
“Well, where else should we put him?” she asks.
“Fine,” I concede. “Except we’re not moving toward my house.” I gesture in the other direction.
She doesn’t stop. “I can’t turn, Elle! If I turn, I drop an arm. And if I drop an arm, I lose my momentum, and if I lose momentum, I lose my sanity. So, unless you want me sobbing on the lawn next to his elbow, just guide me like a human GPS!”
