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And I’m willing to bet they’ll give up long before that happens. I know the simple solution is to admit where we’ve been and what we’ve been doing—what we’re starting to feel for each other—but by the way Carly’s answered every single one of their questions, it doesn’t seem like she’s ready to take the leap. And the very last thing I want to do is take the decision to share away from her. A woman’s autonomy should be her own, both in regard to her physical body and the secrets she chooses to keep.
“You were in your room?” my dad accuses. “Until now? You never sleep past seven.”
Sgt. James opens his mouth to get this whole freak show in hand, but the sound of screeching tires pulls him up short.
The source of the noise is obscured by the neighbors’ shrubs at first, but it’s not long before a golf cart comes into plain view, skidding to a halt on the other side of the cop-car maze, the front end tapping into the bumper of one of the cars hard enough that it rocks slightly.
Several of the officers on the periphery take off toward the offender, including the one previously tasked with keeping me frozen in my place in the yard, but they don’t get all that far before Bitchy Betty Matthews is off her cart and headed toward us, a scowl firmly on her face.
“Ma’am!” they shout as she approaches. “Ma’am! Stop right there.”
She’s undeterred, though, pointing a finger at Carly from the center of the lawn, her face pinched into a hard line as she stomps in our direction. I move toward Carly protectively, but she and Stella step forward toward their challenger, leaving me in their vacated spot on the stoop. “You!” Betty yells intensely at Carly. “I’ve been investigating the incident, and I know it had to be you that toilet papered Nan’s lawn last month!”
I close my eyes and try to breathe. I almost can’t believe another ring is being added to this circus, but I can hear it with my own ears and see it with my own eyes. Not only is it happening, but the intensity of the situation is escalating by the minute. I naïvely thought we’d escaped the “Dick on the Lawn” incident we’ve affectionately named Justin Timberlake Night unscathed, but evidently, some bombs just have a longer-than-expected fuse.
Carly doesn’t say anything back, shockingly enough, but Stella does turn to whisper something in her ear. Whatever it is—and I truly don’t think it matters—angers Betty greatly.
“This is all your fault!” she shouts angrily at Stella. “You brought this miscreant into our community and sullied it! I should kick you out on your ass!”
Stella laughs uproariously. “Oh please. You wish you had that kind of authority, Betty Matthews!”
“You’d be surprised at what I can do,” Betty threatens back. “In fact,” she continues to shout. “I’m going to have these officers arrest you and your classless daughter right now!”
“Ma’am,” Sgt. James says, stepping away from Carly and Stella and into the new fray.
“Arrest them!” Betty shrieks, her marbles officially scattering all over the Page front lawn. “Arrest them right now! I demand it, or I’ll have your badge!”
“Ma’am, you just struck and damaged police department property with your golf cart,” Officer Higgins offers. “I don’t really think you want to add threatening an officer of the law to the list of your offenses right now.”
“My offenses?” Betty screeches. “I’m the director of this community, sir! I am the law of this place!”
Carly snorts, fighting in her mom’s arms to get at Betty, but Stella holds her back, gesturing to pump the brakes and let Betty dig her own grave.
“No, ma’am,” Sgt. James disagrees, his attention on Betty. “You’re not.” He holds out a placating hand in an effort to calm her, and she swats it away.
Everyone in the yard goes on high alert, and Carly’s eyes nearly bug out of her head in excitement. She can’t believe this is happening, that much is obvious—but then again, I don’t think any of us can.
“Ma’am, I’ll warn you to watch yourself.”
“And I’ll warn you to take note of who you’re talking to!” Betty asserts stupidly. “My husband donated to your fund generously for the length of our marriage, but I’d be happy to send my money to someone else with some actual priorities if you wish.”
“We’re tax-dollar funded, ma’am,” Officer Higgins says bluntly. “I don’t give a damn where you put your dollars. If you don’t calm down, we’re going to be forced to take action.”
Sgt. James, closer to Betty at this point than any of the rest of us, leans in and takes a whiff before asking, “Have you been drinking? Operation of any vehicle, even a golf cart, while under the influence is considered a criminal offense in the state of Florida.”
