“I’m here holding this whole place together,” I yelled. “Who the fuck do you think was supposed to get the oyster company back to work? Who did you expect to find an attorney for Mom and Dad, or babysit Parker?”
“Hey,” Parker cried.
“You know what I mean,” I said to him. “I’m doing what I always do, Dex, and fuck you very much for noticing.”
“No one ever asked you to do any of it,” he said, strolling across the front lawn like we weren’t verbally tearing each other to pieces. “You think you’re so fucking important because you ride to the rescue, you save the day over and over again. But the truth is, it’s the only time you’re happy. You want everyone else to fuck up and fail, just so you can remind us that you’re so much smarter than the rest of us. Because that’s all you have, isn’t it? That’s all you fucking have.”
Before I could respond, a jet of water shot out across the yard and hit Dex square in the chest. I shifted to find Parker aiming the hose at him.
“You know what Mom would say if she was here?” Parker yelled as Dex tried and failed to dodge the spray. “She’d say it was time to wash your mouth out with soap, you asshole.”
Now soaking wet, Dex yelled, “If you don’t turn that off right now, I’m going to make you wish you were never born.”
“Go ahead and try,” Parker said, angling the water to hit the back of Dex’s head.
I shoved my hands through my hair and groaned as Dex went sliding on his ass. “Park, he’s going to hurt himself or—”
Just then, something whizzed right over my shoulder and crashed on the driveway behind me. I turned and found the jaunty, decapitated face of a garden gnome smiling back at me.
“What the literal fuck, Decker?”
“You want to play with me,” he said, belly-crawling toward the bushes and several more gnomes, “you better be prepared to playmyway.”
I pointed at Parker. “Keep the water on him.”
Agent Price’s sedan came to a stop on the other side of the street. He rolled down the driver’s side window, regarding us with mild curiosity. As if all families solved their problems on the front lawn, with yelling, hoses, and gnomes.
“Planning on it,” Parker replied.
Another gnome sailed toward us and this one connected square on my thigh. Unfortunately, even drunk and stoned, Dex still had a killer arm.
Ducking under the laser focus of Parker’s water cannon, I grabbed a few gnomes and sent them flying. If we’d ever cared about not causing harm, that time was over and our singular goal became mortally wounding each other. Given the multitude of gnomes in this yard, it wasn’t difficult.
Dex started to wind up, but he lost his footing on the slippery grass and fell into a split that ended with his trousers tearing right up the ass. That only made him mad, and his aim turned brutal. I took several pointy hats to the chest and face, one very unpleasant bulbous body to the crotch, and so many more to my legs and arms.
Parker even got in on the action, pelting Dex with the small—but still very hard—gnomes Mom liked to hide in her flowerpots. He deflected most of the statues that came his way with the hose, but he had a thin, gnarly scrape across his jaw and there were chunks of gnome in his hair. Somehow, he was just as wet as Dex.
For his part, Dex had a bloody nose and was on his way to a black eye, though I’d argue he did that to himself, and his shirt was ripped and bloodied in a few spots.
When he bent at the waist, palms on his knees and his back heaving as he fought for breath, I motioned to Parker to turn off the water. “For now,” I added.
Dex dropped to his knees and fisted his hands in the wet grass. “The kid’s got an arm,” he said with a rueful laugh. “No one mentioned that.”
“Probably because you never call or return texts,” Parker said.
Another laugh moved through Dex but it looked more like a shudder. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said, still staring at the grass. “Wish someone had told me it wouldn’t.”
I kicked the remains of several gnomes out of my way as I crossed the yard, Parker following close behind. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He crumpled to the ground, his arms and legs splayed as he stared up at the evening sky. “My shoulder’s fucked. Knees too. They say I have the hips of an eighty-year-old.” He ripped out handfuls of grass and tossed it in the air only for it to fall in his face. “There’s nothin’ good left of me.”
Parker dropped to the ground, his long legs stretching out for miles in front of him. “That’s obviously bullshit.”
Dex shook his head. “I’ve had second, third, fourth opinions. Surgeries. Cortisone shots. Ice baths. Infrared saunas. Acupuncture, massage, reiki. Physical therapy, hypnotherapy, cryotherapy. Everything. All of it. There’s no hope for me.”
“Dude, you are just so dense,” Parker muttered. “There is more to you than the game.”
Pushing up on an elbow, Dex said, “Like what? Because everything hurts all the time and I’ll never play another pro game. I’ve pissed off everyone in the sports media establishment so much that I’d have to grovel my ass off to even be allowed to appear as a guest commentator for a spring training game. And if I got through all that, I’d fuck it up because my dyslexia hates teleprompters. And, as Beck reminded everyone, I haven’t heard from my wife inyearsand I am the last person in the whole world she’d want crashing into her beautiful life right now. So, please, boy genius, enlighten me. Tell me what else I have going for me because I don’t fuckin’ know anymore.”
