Finally Finn (Los Rancheros #4) (2 page)

“Thanks, doll.” When we’re through the gates
and into the land of a thousand lakes, the sun is setting. I park
outside of the garage, not at all sure how the mammoth vehicle ever
fit in such a small space, and after passing the Benz on the way
in, I’m not about to try it. I don’t know how I’m going to fix that
before Batty springs me of this place.

Once the truck is off, the kids are gone,
with doors open and everything. I slowly gather more than a few
pounds of groceries and close the doors before moving into the
house.

Setting the bags down on the cluttered
counter, I ask, “Do you usually watch TV or read in your room now
or what?”

Hannah climbs onto a barstool at the same
counter and puts her backpack down roughly. “We have homework.”

“What? In kindergarten?” That earns me a
glare.

“We’re in first grade.” I raise my eyebrows
and hold my hands out. I’ve insulted an upperclassman.

“Sorry.” I look around the space and can’t
fathom what I’m supposed to do first. Cook? Clean? Should I take my
shoes off first? Thank Christ I’m not pregnant. I shudder at the
thought and make the cross over my chest.

I decide not to jinx it and keep my heels on.
My feet are on fire, but no way in hell. There’s something sticky
that looks like jelly in the corner next to the fridge so I decide
that the most efficient thing will be to start dinner and clean
while it cooks. I can do that.

Turns out, I cannot do that because first
grader’s aren’t that great at reading. The girls have a million
questions about every single problem on their worksheets. The pot
of corn over overflows and sets off the smoke detectors. The girls
scream with hands over their ears as I wave at the stupid thing
with an oven mitt until it shuts up.

I’m worried about over cooking the chicken
and take it out to find it’s still raw. I guess you have to push
the bake button, set the temperature, and then press the damn
button again.

Wine? I don’t have time for wine, because
when the kids see that food is out, they get excited. Then when it
goes back into the oven, they lose their shit.

Tears, wailing, and heads literally rolling
on shoulders come next. I wait, gripping the counter with wide eyes
to see if they actually rotate all the way around on their necks. I
would not be surprised.

I open the freezer in a vain attempt at
finding ice cream or popsicles, something, anything. There, like a
treasure that it is, is a frozen, non-GMO, organic, gluten-free
pepperoni pizza. I sigh and hold it to my chest. I may cry.

“Why are you hugging a pizza?” Medusa asks. I
turn slowly, having gotten my fifth wind.

“Dinner.” I hold it up and glare at her,
daring her to say anything.

Wisely, she doesn’t. “Can I have some
milk?”

Now that I know how to work the oven, it’s
time to disinfect. I get the girls a glass of milk as they finally
pack up their homework. I put the carafe back in the coffee maker,
then pull it back out to look inside. Dirty. I open the dishwasher.
Clean.

“Minions! Come unload the dishwasher,
please.”

“What?” Bridgette asks, the look on her face
making my ray of hope blink out.

“You two are old enough to unload the
dishwasher. If you can’t reach something, I’ll help.”

Hannah crosses her arms. Fucking great. “We
don’t unload the dishwasher.”

“You don’t have chores at all?” When I was
their age, I was cleaning our whole damn trailer by myself while my
dad sat in the recliner. I think about Batty working all day long
and an old man in charge of the house. Yeah, no wonder.

“I don’t know where things go. This kitchen
has to be cleaned before we eat.”

“It’s not dirty.”

“Oh yes. It is.” I laugh incredulously and
point to the jelly. “What is that?”

Bridgette shrugs her skinny shoulders. “I was
hungry last night.”

“Okay. Well, if you drop jelly you grab a
paper towel and clean it up.” I tear one off, wet it in the sink
and hand it to her. She stares at it before bending in her tutu to
smear the stickiness over the rest of the tile.

“Okay, never mind. I’ll do this. You help you
sister with the dishes.”

It’s slow progress but they do it. By the
time they’re done, the pizza is ready, it takes them so long. I
clear off the dining room table and make them wait while I wipe it
down.

“We usually eat in the living room.”

“Too bad. You’re sitting at the table.” I
haven’t even seen that room yet.

They eat in blissful silence while I do
dishes, mop and wipe counters. Finally it’s time.

“Do you know if your dad has a wine opener?”
They shrug with mouths open, chewing like cows. I shudder and turn
my back. “Never mind.”

I’m about to go into the garage for a
screwdriver to get the damn bottle open before I find it in the
junk drawer behind another clutter of shit. I absolutely know what
I’m doing when the kids go to school tomorrow. I close my eyes on
the first taste of bliss and think about school. Holy school is
what it is.

When I open my eyes, the table is empty,
plates still on the table. “What the hell? Minions!” Nothing.

I follow the sound of the TV into a dark room
with a suede sectional and large entertainment center, where the
minions have been replaced by angels with grey eyes, vacant eyes.
They’re in a TV coma. I decide to let it pass in favor of peace and
take the plates to the sink myself.

I follow the hallway, looking in doors,
finding Pepto-Bismol walls and girly shit in one, another with a
twin size bed that smells like Old Spice, and at the end must be
the master. As soon as I open the door, I know it’s where Batty
sleeps. It smells like my room when he leaves, only stronger.

It’s a far cry different than the rest of the
house. The bed isn’t made, but the floor is clean with vacuum marks
across the carpet. The dresser is devoid of shit and even dusted, I
discover after running a finger across the surface.

It’s a breath of fresh air after the rest of
the house.

I open the small door that can only be a
closet, and discover what I’m looking for. Starting in the hallway,
I vacuum my way into the small spare bedroom and into the doorway
of the girls’ room, but have to stop two feet in because of the
toys over every inch of space. I see the toy boxes sitting empty at
the ends of their beds. I wade in, throwing toys unceremoniously,
seeing how many points I can make into the fuchsia colored
baskets.

“What are you doing?” Hannah asks shrilly.
Guess how I know which twin she is?

“I’m cleaning your room. This is going to be
your second chore.”

“Second chore?” she asks like she doesn’t
know what the words mean.

“Don’t worry.” I throw a Barbie into the box.
“I’ll make a list. Hey, I can put it on the refrigerator.”
Brilliant. People do that, right? Not Brennick people, I guess.

“You can’t do that! You can’t move my stuff.
I want to talk to my uncle right now.” She even stomps her foot. I
sit Indian style in crayon shavings, in my leather jacket and four
inch heels. Color me not impressed.

“No. It’s bath time. You’ve got pizza sauce
all over your face. Do you take showers or baths?”

“I took a shower last night, and you have to
let me call when I want to.”

I sigh and stand up. Putting my hands on my
hips, I meet her narrow eyes with my own. “I’m the adult. I’m in
charge. I say no. Now go take a bath, you’re dirty.”

“You can’t make me.” She pouts. I take a step
toward her and she backs up.

“Don’t mess with me, little girl. You will
take a shower, or a bath right now. I’ll help you if that’s what
you need me to do. But if you don’t get in that bathroom, I’ll put
you in fully clothed. Do not push me right now.” It takes her about
two seconds to run from the room with tears in her eyes. I sigh and
turn the vacuum on.

The girls take about an hour a piece in the
bathroom and I’m convinced they’re staying in there with ice-cold
water just to spite me.

Bridgette lets me brush her waist long hair
in front of the TV and is thrilled when I braid it down her back.
Hannah isn’t so cooperative. She yanks and breaks her hair off
trying to do it herself, before I take the brush from her. She
sulks but she gets a braid like her sister.

Bedtime consists of teeth getting brushed,
then me showing them how to wipe the gross toothpaste off of the
sink that they tried to leave. I read them a book about a brat kid
who gets in trouble at school. Might have to talk to Batty about
that one. I don’t think it’s doing Hannah any favors.

When the doors are locked, the wine bottle
goes with me to the claw foot tub I spied in Batty’s room. The
water heater has had an hour to replenish so I get half of a tub
full of water and sink in with a heartfelt sigh. That’s the time my
phone rings.

I glare but know I have to answer it this
time.

“Lo?” I say lazily, taking a sip.

“Are the kids in the closet?” Batty asks.

“Under the bed.”

“And where are you?”

“In your tub.”

“With the wine?”

“I’ll send you the bill for my medicine.” He
laughs.

“I wanted to say goodnight to the kids. I
guess they’re asleep by now, though.” He sighs.

“Long day for you, too?” I ask, despite
myself.

“You have no idea.”

“How is your dad?”

“He just got out of surgery. They had to do a
quadruple bypass when he had a heart attack.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I do feel bad for
him then.

“Yeah it’s going to be a long recovery.” He
sighs.

“What hospital are you at?”

“Somewhere in New Mexico. He was white water
rafting when it happened. He’s lucky he didn’t die out there,” he
growls. Someone is not happy with his parent.

“Is the company going to be okay with you
there?” I ask instead of the question I really want to ask. How in
the hell is he going to leave his dad in New Mexico? Or even get
him back here? I’m afraid of the answer.

“I can work from here, and the other board
members can act in my stead until I get back.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“He’s driving here.”

“Driving?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like planes. When he gets
here he won’t come to the hospital. They freak him out. He wants to
be close just the same.” His brother sounds like a whole lot of no
help.

“Alright. Well, keep me posted.” What else
can I say?

“You’re sure you’re okay with staying with
them? I know it’s asking a lot.”

I nod, and grab the bottle to fill my wine
glass to fortify me, and visualize the cake in the kitchen. “We’re
fine here. I’ve got this.”

It isn’t until I hang up with Batty and grab
a towel that I realize I have no clothes and the only shoes I can
wear are my heels. Damn it. That only leaves one thing. I get to
snoop.

Going through the drawers in Batty’s dresser,
I find things in perfect order, every pair of socks rolled and
shirt folded. He has way more casual clothes than I ever would have
guessed, but look where the hell he’s living.

I settle into a razorback undershirt and
boxers that I have to fold over to fit my hips. I thought that when
I got in between Batty’s covers that I would be flooded with dirty
images and deliciousness, but I fall asleep as soon as I stop
moving.

“Aunt Saaaaaadie? Aunt Saaaaaaaaadie?”

Something is bugging me. I swat it away. Too
early.

“Aunt Sadie?” It’s getting louder. I open my
eyes, verify that the sun isn’t up yet and close them again.

“I’m hungry, Aunt Sadie.” I roll to my back,
something pulls on my hair and my eyes drift closed.

“AHHHHH!” A banshee yells. My eyes shoot open
but I’m frozen in terror. Medusa sees my eyes open and calmly
closes her mouth. “We have to get ready for school. We’re going to
be late.” Her eyes narrow. “Then you’ll have to either let us stay
home with you all day or sign us into the school.”

My heart pounds in my throat and I stare
wide-eyed at the place that just held what I’m now positive is the
antichrist. Am I exaggerating? I don’t think so.

One thing I know for damn sure is they aren’t
missing school. I throw the blankets aside and stumble into the
bathroom. When I try to close the door there’s a body blocking it.
“Bridgette? Get out, I have to go.”

She shrugs with big grey eyes and frizzy
hair. “I’m really hungry.”

“Okay. Meet me in the kitchen,” I say, trying
not to be exasperated so early in the morning. She leaves and I get
ready as best I can with no makeup and yesterday’s everything,
except for a see through wife beater. My hair goes on top of my
head and my black bra solidifies the look. I sigh.

In the kitchen, the twins are trying to pour
bowls of cereal, getting it all over the counter and floor, then
walking on it. Cringing, I ask, “What time does school start?”

“8:02.” Looking at the clock I see it’s
7:30.

“Shit!” I yell. “Get dressed. We have to
go!”

“You have to get our clothes out for us, Aunt
Sadie.” I run, but there’s no clothes in their dressers or
closets.

“Where’s your clothes?” They both point to a
closed door. I open it but it will only partially open. When I
stick my head in I see why. Clean clothes are all over the room, in
baskets, and on top of the dryer. I grit my teeth and wade in.
Going through months’ worth of clothes, I put together two outfits
and toss it to them as I look in the living room for the brush.

Hannah can’t find her other shoe, and
Bridgette doesn’t know how to put socks on, but we make it out the
door. I have enough thought to write down the codes so I’m not
locked out of the house for the day and speed down the road.

“I really am hungry, Aunt Sadie,” Bridgette
says in a small voice. Fuck. Forgot to feed them. I turn into a
McDonald’s next to the school and order them French toast
sticks.