We’ve got a goddamn lush on our hands. Fabulous.
“Mr. Ezra,” the little one squeaks, jumping up from the swing and rushing down the porch steps, snatching the flowers out of my hand. “Best boyfriend ever.”
“Your only boyfriend ever,” Ladonna reminds her.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” I tell her. “In the slightest.” I flick a hand in her direction. “Look at her. She looks like she could be my daughter.”
Ladonna arches an eyebrow. “Like you before you got smarter?”
I gape at her, because how the fuck does this hillbilly icon know Hilary Duff’sMature? “The fuck did you just say to me?”
She blinks at me, then stares down at the child. “I’m really sorry about his potty mouth, sugar.” Ladonna smiles at me as I climb the three stairs leading up to the porch. Her smile is wide as it is terrifying. Maybe less terrifying than it ought to be, considering she’s holding mecaptive, but she’s never done anything downright cruel to me. Sure, she makes me do menial tasks like picking blackberries from the bushes out back or scrounging together enough squash from the garden for family supper—a family event I’ve yet to attend. They invite me, of course, but I don’t know these people, and I have no desire to change that. Well, maybe I could get to know the wives, because they seem kind of sweet. Regardless, my initial point stands. Ladonna isn’t cruel or abusive, she’s just an absolute prick for kidnapping me and keeping me from her son for reasons that are still TBD. I mean, I’m not asking for her to lay out her grand plan or anything, I just need to know when I’ll see them again, and when I’ll get to go home.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she greets me, her voice warm and kind.
“There is nothing good about this morning.”
She just brushes the comment off with an amused nod. “Sure, there is. The sun is still shining in the sky, Pete put a brisket in the smoker for family supper tonight, and Maybelline is helping with my morning chores. Whatisn’tgood about this morning?”
“Maybelline?” I growl, balling my hand into a fist. “Are you holding out on me? Multiple times, Momma Ladonna. Multiple times, I have asked you if you had makeup I could borrow, after you literally kidnapped me and left all mine at the house, along with my boyfriends.”
The little girl blinks at me like I’m stupid. “I’m Maybelline.”
“You’re the spawn of Satan,” I correct, tapping the tip of her nose gently.
She looks up at Ladonna. “Mamaw? Who is Satan?”
Ladonna just shrugs. “Beats the hell out of me.”
The only upside to this backwoods village is the lack of religion. In the weeks I’ve been here, I haven’t heard a single conservative, lowercase-C-christian talking point from any of them. No mentions ofLeviticus or fire and brimstone. No discussion of sin and redemption. I don’t know if they even know if the concept of God exists to them.
The girl, Maybelline, apparently, stares up at me looking like Raggedy Ann with her disheveled hair and patch-covered dress. The little girl’s head is covered in ginger hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a hairbrush in months. It’s a pretty shade, though, and she kind of reminds me of Emma Stone, if Emma Stone was abandoned in the woods as a child and raised by wolves. Hell, maybe she is a wolf. Maybe they all are. I’ve readWolfsong, I know how these creepy introverted families operate. The last thing I want is to be targeted by an age-old witch, hellbent on world domination. If I catch one whiff of trouble, I’m pack-pack-packing my shit and trying my luck with the wooded land to the north, on the other side of the clearing. Fuck that.
“Like I told you yesterday,” she says, though not unkindly. “I don’t have a way to make that happen. I’m sure they’ll be here in a day or two.”
“Yes, well, you’ve said that the last thirteen days, and you’ve been wrong each time.” I stomp my foot. “I want to speak with him. Now.”
Ladonna’s eyes drop down to the boots. “Are those my go-go boots? I haven’t seen them since the eighties. Where did you find them?”
“At the back of your closet.” I sneer at her. “I hope you won’t miss them. They’re mine now. Too bad, so sad, cry about it, Cheryl Ladd.”
“My name is Ladonna.”
“Mother of fuck,” I groan, to which Satan’s Minion’s eyes bulge, and an evil smile spreads across her face.
“Mother of fuck,” she sing-songs. “Mother of Fuck, Mother of fuck, Ezra’s mouth makes him look like a duck.”
“It most certainly does not,” I scoff, waving her away with the flick of my wrist. “But that was a good rhyme. You could give Bubba a run for his—” I don’t know what the hell justhappened, but it feels like my throat is closing in on itself. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, and tears slowly trickle down my cheeks. Is this what the process of death feels like?
Bubba.
Oh, God. I’m not dying, I’m just a needy twink. How fucking pathetic am I?
“Is he okay, Mamaw?”
Ladonna drops the peas she’s shucking into the bowl, pods and all, then hands the bowl to the minion. She stands from the swing and takes a few slow steps in my direction. We’re both the same height, so we’re eye to eye when she wipes my cheek.
“I don’t know when they’ll finally get here, but I know they’ll be here soon,” Ladonna says before looking back at Maybelline. “Honey, go inside and give those to your momma. Tell her to start peeling potatoes, and I’ll be in shortly.”
