My mom doesn’t believe in throwing things away. I pull down several boxes of powdered potatoes. Expired? Yes. She found them in a dumpster eight years ago, and they’ve been in the pantry ever since.
“Thank you, Mom,” I whisper, kissing the industrial-sized boxes.
The seniors are piling into Cher as I lug my cartons outside.
Granny Mavis tries to hand me the keys.
“I am too drunk to keep the car in a straight line.”
“Mavis can’t see all that well, and Crocus’s wrist is makes a weird crackling noise,” Rainbow tells me. “So I’m going to work the gearshift, and Mavis is going to steer.”
Gardenia and Sunflower are singing filthy army songs in the back of the van and drawing war paint on their naked bodies.
Yup.
I take a long swig of mead.
This is just a nightmare. I’m going to wake up and be snuggled up back in McCarthy’s penthouse…
Wait, no! I mean I’m going to be… Well, I don’t know. Apparently, I’m homeless in my dreams too.
“Shit, the guards are awake!”
“You lost your license, Mavis!” Zephyr is frantic as he runs out of the house. “Jenna, your mom burned all the cash, and I can’t bail you out if you get arrested.”
“I never want to see another naked man again in my life.” I burp.
“I do.” Granny Mavis is emphatic. “Especially McCarthy.”
Crocus guns the engine.
“Drive, drive!” Granny Mavis orders. “We’re storming Normandy, bitches!”
My mom, also unclothed, runs after Cher as the seniors whoop.
“We can’t get off the island, Granny.”
“That’s why you need a plan, girlie.” She wrenches the wheel, and Cher takes a hard right.
“I’ve been giving the ferry operator’s grandfather a little taste of the homegrown coochie on Tuesdays.” Sunflower beams.
“Always have an escape plan and money in a bank account the man doesn’t know about.” Granny Mavis taps her helmet.
We all scream when she takes her hand off the wheel because Cher starts to veer into a ditch.
“You all need to grow some doggone balls,” Mavis hollers as Cher careens up to the dock. “Where is that damn ferry, Sunflower?”
Rainbow lies on the horn.
An elderly man with a beard and a legit corncob pipe hobbles up. I half expect him to have a peg leg. “My grandson won’t let me take the big ferry out. After all I’ve done for him. He says the City of Seattle Department of Transportation won’t allow it. Can you believe it?”
I’m starting to sober up enough that this actually seems like the best possible scenario.
“If you want that Viagra to actually be put to good use, Al,” Sunflower says threateningly, “then you better get us across the bay.”
“Now, now, Sunflower, I’m getting there.” He takes her hand and kisses it lovingly. “Got my daddy’s crabbing boat all oiled up.”
We peer into the darkness.
