“Near to dying.”
“Out,” Lana says. “Go find something in the kitchen. Let me talk to—never mind. Kitchen was the magic word.”
The bed sags, and I whimper again as the sound of the boys’ footsteps fades beyond my bedroom.
“Saw the pictures,” she says.
Pictures.
Date.
Champagne.
Bea.
Bus.
Fuck.
She made me dinner in her bus.
I remember a willy dog.
And very little else. “Why don’t I remember half of last night?”
“Pinky said you drank three bottles of champagne almost all by yourself. That might’ve done it.”
I’d groan again, but groaning drives the spikes deeper into my skull.
“Mom was great last night for the caretaker, but she’s having a rough start to her day. I can’t stay long. And the boys are right. There are all kinds of hangover foods at the carnival today. It’s at the lake parking lot.”
“Rides?”
The world spins at the idea of carnival rides, and my stomach threatens to rebel.
“No rides. Face-painting, games, fortune-telling, and I think maybe a house of mirrors. Maybe. There was an incident a few years ago, and I’m not sure all of the mirrors ever got replaced.” She touches my shoulder. “Much as I wish I could go, I’m out. I’lltell the boys to be good and ask your team to keep a close eye on them. You’ll feel better once you puke and shower. Might as well get it over with.”
She’s unfortunately not wrong.
It takes nearly two hours, but I manage to get myself out of bed, showered, and semi-hydrated. And I also force my mood to improve after I realize I’ve missed a call from my parents.
Though I wouldn’t say Imissedit.
Simply did not see it ring through, and would not have picked it up even if I had.
When I finally appear in the sunken living room, where the boys are playing a video game on the large-screen television, they pause the game and immediately hop to their feet.
“Can we go to the carnival now?”
And that’s how I end up dragging my hungover arse back out to the Athena’s Rest lake area.
I’m in a baseball hat and the darkest sunglasses I could find in my collection. All three of my security agents are amused at my hangover. My boys are oblivious though.
There’s much grabbing of my arms and tugging of my body this way and that as we approach the carnival. The noise is causing my headache to return before we’ve hardly reached the edges of the game booths, and the mixed smells of all of the food trucks are triggering more than a smidge of nausea.
But the nausea gets worse as I spy Bea’s burger bus.
Did I make an utter fool of myself?
