Waving over his shoulder, he nods and then vomits again. It takes a few moments for the smell to hit me. Oh God, that’s bad. That is…so awful. I feel a surge of liquid moving up toward my mouth and try to swallow it to no avail. It comes out anyway, landing directly in the box.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, then puke again, this time, all over the floor. Tears stream down my face as I regain control over my stomach. I shut off my hair dryers and drop them on the table, not daring to peek into the box.
“I can’t believe you threw up because of some butterflies,” I say, bending at the waist and resting my hands on the table.
“I can’t believe you threw up because of some vomit,” he answers, lifting his slightly green face toward me.
“Vomit is disgusting. Butterflies are one of nature’s greatest achievements.”
“Yes, well, nature’s greatest achievement is now covered in your sick.”
“You’re going to have to clean them up,” I say, pushing the box toward him.
“I’m not…no.” He shakes his head with considerable vigor for someone who’s sick to his stomach. “There’s no way I cantouchthem.”
“And there’s no way I can clean up vomit without vomiting.” I hold my hand over my mouth and close my eyes.
When I open them, I peer into the box at the mess. “Shit! Fuckity shit fuck.” My heart pounds and tears spring to my eyes.
Leo straightens himself, walks purposefully over to the cupboard, takes out a tablespoon, brings the bin over, and starts to scoop vomit out of the bin.
I turn away, holding my hand sideways under my nose. “God, that’s bad.”
Miraculously, a few of the butterflies make it out of the box, flitting around and depositing puke in my hair before making their way toward the fading light of the window. Then more from the lower layers of the box.
“I think your warm puke woke them,” Leo says, flinching.
“Yes, well done me,” I answer. “Now, how do we get them back in the box?”
The door swings open, and Rosy walks in, dodging butterflies as her face twists from shock into rage. “What in the hell is going on?”
“They escaped, and they’re everywhere!”
The door opens again, and in comes Mario and Todd. “What’s all the yelling about?” Mario asks before spotting the obvious. “Oh, Shit. The Bianchi’ butterflies.”
I give Rosy a weak look. “Maybe we can hold the vow renewal in here?”
***
Five minutes later, I’m sitting with a smelly Styrofoam box containing exactly 12 butterflies on my lap while Leo drives like a bat out of hell down to the beach. Neither of us are saying anything, and it’s all I can do to fight back the tears that threaten to come out. We reach the spot on the beach where the Bianchis and their guests are, and I don’t even wait for Leo to stop before climbing out of the golf cart and running full speed toward them with the box.
Mrs. Bianchi, who is dressed in a white, full-length, extremely low-cut silk gown looks furious while her husband stands next to her mopping his face with a napkin. “See, I knew she would get here. Everything is going to be all right. We let the butterflies go. We start again. Everything fine.”
Sweat drips down the back of my shirt by the time I finally reach the centre of the crowd. I set the box down with an expression of a magician’s assistant and say, “To new beginnings!” Lifting the lid, I take three quick steps back, grinning as one lonely butterfly bursts out of the box, making it as high as my boobs before dropping onto the sand. Leaning over the box, I see the other eleven lying dead in the box.
Smiling up at the Bianchis, I say, “Could I interest you in some complimentary tickets to the island’s aquarium?”
***
The yelling can be heard through the lobby. Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi are in Harrison Banks’ office, who has been interrupted at home to deal with the fallout of my screwup. I stand at my desk, pretending to fill in some forms even though my vision is blurred with tears. My head pounds as hard as my heart does while I await the tongue-lashing that is coming my way. Not from Harrison—he’s a wonderful and compassionate boss—but from Mrs. Bianchi as soon as she finishes screeching at him.
A mug of hot tea is placed in front of me, and I look up to see Leo standing next to me, his face full of sympathy. “There’s nothing that can’t be made better by a cup of tea,” he says, then tilts his head a little. “I heard that in a movie once, and I thought it sounded comforting.”
I nod, feeling completely undeserving of his kindness. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Hey, Leo,” a woman’s voice comes from the steps. We both turn to see his parole officer, Jolene.
“Jolene, lovely to see you as usual.” He says with a little nod. “I thought our next appointment was on Tuesday.”
