“Rocks would be just dandy,” Jennifer said. “Would anyone mind if I took a crack at putting the tree back together?”
Everyone chuckled except Jennifer, Alana Catherine and Shitty Ritchie. Their serious expressions sobered the rest of us right up, and the laughter died on impact.
“Not real fuckin’ sure that can be done,” Candy Vargo admitted. “I busted it up pretty good.”
Jennifer considered Candy’s words for a full minute before she spoke. “Here’s my take, Candy Vargo. Just because something is broken, don’t mean it can’t be put back together—you know, like a leg, or an arm, or even a heart. And occasionally, when something breaks, like a tree or a person, itmeans it’s ready to be put back together a little differently. You know what I’m saying?”
Our wine-loving buddy had just rendered everyone speechless. She took our silence as assent. Jennifer walked across the field to where the majestic tree once stood. She didn’t pull out a wand. She didn’t wiggle her nose. Nope, she did something that no one expected. Our nutty gal had figured out her signature move, and it was a doozy.
Grabbing her right breast with her left hand and her left with her right, she bounced her enhanced bosom like she was shaking up some salad dressing. It was the weirdest thing I’d ever seen. Well, maybe not the weirdest since I’d definitely seen some weird in my time, but it was up there. When she started glowing like a rainbow on crack, I thought it just might work.
Spoiler… it did.
“What the actual fuck?” Candy Vargo choked out as the chunks and slivers of wood and bark rose from the ground and began to fuse together with loud snaps, crackles and pops.
The charred leaves formed small funnels and danced like tiny fairies in the colors of Jennifer’s rainbow. The trunk came together first, then the branches, twigs and bark followed at lightning pace. Once they were set and solid, the leaves flew back up to their rightful homes and settled in. The entire process took about two minutes. It was mind-blowing. The tree looked pristine, exactly as it had been five minutes ago before Candy had taken it down.
Jennifer walked to the tree, gave it a hug, then ambled back over to us.
“That was nuckin’ futs!” Gram announced, doing flips in the air with Mr. Jackson. “Loved it!”
“It was fun!” Jennifer sang as she glanced back at the tree. “It felt like that tree was me,” she confided to the group. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been knocked down by all the crazycurveballs in my life. But…” she said with a mischievous grin. “I decided a long time ago that every knockdown is an opportunity to rebuild. With each left hook life threw at me, I countered with a hug for myself, and I came out stronger, wiser and better lookin’ than ever thanks to Botox, a good plastic surgeon, and a healthy bank account! So, that’s what I did for the tree. I gave it a magical hug.”
“Slap my butt and call me a biscuit!” Gram said, in awe of Jennifer. “Those right there are some words to live by… dead or alive!”
“I’ll bite, Biscuit,” Shitty Ritchie said, slapping Gram on the bum.
“Oh, hell no,” Alana Catherine said, picking Shitty Ritchie by the waistband of his pants and turning him around to face her. “You do not slap anyone on the butt without permission. Ever. Especially not my great-grandmother. You got it?”
“Ever?” Shitty Ritchie questioned.
“Ever,” she ground out. “You’re going to learn some lessons on manners and how to be socially acceptable. And if you don’t, I’ll put your rude little ass in timeout. You’ll be standing in the corner with your nose touching the wall for decades unless you start displaying some polite behavior. You feel me?”
I grinned. My daughter was a chip off the old block.
Shitty Ritchie, of course, was baffled. “Literally or figuratively?”
“What?” Alana Catherine snapped.
“Did you just ask me to feel you up?” he inquired warily. “Because I would be delighted to.”
My daughter didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. So, she tossed the idiot in the air and drop-kicked him. Jennifer caught him just before he hit the ground.
“Dude,” Jennifer said, laughing. “Gonna have to teach you about slang and colloquialism. This here boy is too literal.”
“Crap,” Alana Catherine said as she walked over to Jennifer. “You’re correct. I’m sorry, Shitty Ritchie. From now on, I’ll be more careful when I speak.”
Shitty Ritchie had absolutely no clue what the hell was happening, but just went with it.
“Y’all should hug it out,” Gram suggested.
And they did—Shitty Ritchie, Jennifer and Alana Catherine. Gram floated over them and patted their heads lovingly. Her hand didn’t go through them. At all. Alana Catherine reached up and took Gram’s hand in hers. Jennifer and Shitty Ritchie joined the hand-clasp embrace. Gram was in seventh heaven.
I gasped.
“One questioned answered,” I said aloud. “The Trinity can touch the dead. They don’t go through them. I’d guess that all three are Death Counselors.”
Alana Catherine looked at me strangely. “Should I test the theory?”
