Page 66 of Stuck With You
“Maybe his moving is for the best.” I hear the tentativeness in her statement and can’t say that I haven’t thought the same thing.
“Yeah.”
“Sarah, this might be your chance to really move on. You need to be free from him and his manipulation. All he does is use Ollie and Frankie as pawns in his game. You’re a really good mom. You’ll do whatever is best.”
My throat tingles a little. “Thanks, Rox.”
The doorbell rings. “I gotta go. I’ll be down for Thanksgiving but can only stay the night. Squeeze those kiddos for me.”
We hang up, and I call Ollie for lunch. Grover is the first in the kitchen, ready to mop up whatever hits the floor. Frankie drops to her knees, her arms and legs moving as fast as they can. I scoop her up and kiss her cheek, knowing I’d do absolutely anything for them.
“Lunch and then naptime, Love Bug.” I strap her into her booster seat.
“Can we go outside?” Ollie asks, biting a nugget in half and dunking it in ketchup.
Grover’s ears perk at the O-word.
“After I get Frankie down, ok?” I watch her squish the banana between her fingers as she chews a small piece of chicken.
Ollie dances, sitting on his knees, and a giant glob of ketchup lands on his chest. “Ah, nuts.”
I swipe the glob with a washcloth and toss it in the sink. “Here. I have to start the laundry.” I hold one sleeve, and he pulls his arm out, tugging it over his head as he shoves an overflowing spoon of applesauce in his mouth.
I get the basketful of dirty clothes from my room and place it on my hip to carry it to the basement.
When I open the door, I immediatelysmell—
“Shit!”
“Mama, you can’t say dat!” Ollie hollers.
I switch the light on and stare at the glistening water spread over the concrete floor below, resting against the bottom step. Oh. My . . .
I drop the basket and descend the stairs, stopping on the second-to-last step. I glance around the unfinished space. Thankfully, I cleaned out all of the junk when I moved in. A few small boxes float on the six inches of water, but the bottom of the washer and dryer are submerged.
No, no, no no, no!
I run up the stairs, hoping Google can tell me what in the hell I’m supposed to do. I find numbers for local plumbers and dial the first one. We have a brief conversation involving lots of questions and a warning not to step into the water. It ends with astronomical emergency rates and an iffy promise to call me when he’s finished with his current job.
I want to scream.
“Mama, I’m done.”
I turn, and Ollie sits shirtless with ketchup smeared over the corners of his mouth.
I stare at him.What do I do?
“Go get a shirt on, buddy.” I kick the basket of clothes out of the way and close the basement door to be sure Grover doesn’t go down.
“Hurry, Ollie.” I push him toward his room.
Frankie drinks the last of her applesauce, and I grab a washcloth to wipe up the mess.
“Mama, can we go outside now?” Ollie’s shirt is on backward, but it’ll do.
“Get your shoes and coat on.” I pull Frankie from her booster, leaving the food on the table.
I slip on my shoes, realizing I have no socks, but whatever.
