Page 69 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
For fucks sake.
I swing open the door and step onto the dirt road. I don’t even get the door closed, and he takes off. The tires screech as Nash whips the car around, sending stones flying in every direction—including mine. I turn my back until the spit-up ends.
Well, shit. I can see now that I should’ve called my ma to pick me up. I’d phone her now, but my cell is dead. The last thing I feel like doing is strolling by The Fox Lodge on foot, but what choice did the sheriff leave me?
I don’t make it a few paces and I halt, recognizing the steady rumble and sputter of an engine bouncing over the uneven ground behind me.
I don’t have to turn around to know exactly who it belongs to, but I do.
Wilma and Faye’s famous all-terrain club car barrels down the gravel road, painted brown like a bull. Complete with amouth on the hood, eyes on the side, and a pair of bull balls hanging off the back.
And I see them. The matchmakers. Coming fast.
I can’t deal with them, so I dive straight into the ditch.
13: KNEE-DEEP IN BRANCHES
JADE
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LEMON WATER SLOSHES from the glasses on my tray as I navigate the rocky driveway outside the lodge.
I step onto the uneven ground past picnic tables and small gazebos. I slip through the trees and spot my sisters. Wrapped in blankets, they slouch in wicker furniture under the central pergola of the shared living space we call The Hive.
Once guest quarters, the five cabins surrounded by a thick tree line, now serve as homes to my sisters and me. Tucked away from the bustle of the main lodge, but still just a short walk away.
“Good morning.” I step over a pile of toy horses belonging to my nephew. My plan of bribery to get out of a certain bet I lost last night, thanks to a certain spiteful cowboy, is back in motion.
“There’s nothing good about this morning.” Natalie rubs her temples, head leaning back on the burnt orange cushion.
“Can y’all turn your voices down to like a two?” Josie pulls the blanket over her head.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” Hannah sits up, clutching her stomach.
Natalie tosses a sand pail at her, the tiniest vomit bucket I’ve ever seen.
I stay back.
The pail hits Hannah’s knee, and she holds up her hand. “Wait. No. Maybe not.” Then she gags.
Josie gags.
Now my stomach turns a little queasy.
Finally, Hannah lets out a breath. “False alarm.”
She slumps back in the chair.
“I come bearing gifts.” I set the tray on the wicker coffee table in the center of the outdoor furniture.
“It’s a trick.” Josie’s muffled voice pushes through the quilt. “Don’t believe a word she says. She’s a conniving witch who spins you into bad decisions and horror aftermaths.”
I didn’t know Josie could be any more dramatic, but hungover Josie takes first place.
“Lemon water with a pinch of salt, iced herbal tea, dry toast you can add butter, ham, or honey to, and Advil.” I point to each as I name them off, and then I start handing out drinks.
“How are you not hungover?” Hannah takes the glass of iced herbal tea with both hands, as if it’s taking all her effort.
