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“Rats!” I tease, just as soon as I notice Lucy’s confusion won’t be going away on its own. I can’t tell if my daughter is going to laugh or run. “We’ll just have to settle with almonds.”
“Ohhh, you’re kidding!” Lucy lets out a nervous chuckle.
“No, I’m not.” Roonie shakes her head. “Bossman says if we start carrying those, we’ll have to carry all the other kinds, too.”
“And this store is not equipped for that probably,” I offer, sliding my card as the grinning goblin bags our groceries.
“That’s right, ma’am.” She winks at Lucy, whose slight blush vanishes almost as soon as she sees it. The few customers around us smirk as well, and suddenly, my ever-curious little one has an audience she doesn’t know what to do with.
“Sounds like it’s time to expand!” a withered voice calls from the back of the line.
Lucy smiles at the grinning adults in line, then registers my own grin. “Oh! You guys are both kidding,” she says, grabbing the cart with one hand while wagging a finger at Roonie with the other. “You really got me!”
“And you’re right about those rumors by the way,” Roonie adds. I nod my head in agreement and gesture for the girl to listen. None of us old folks disagree.
Of course, the story behind Laviathsport is a crock of goblin nuts. No one ever saw a Leviathan, but the long-standing rumors of the founder’s initial sighting haven’t changed, nor have the tourist traps and deep-sea dives dedicated to H.F. Rolyn and his gimmick.
I, for one, think he always knew the shape he saw off the coast was the remains of a shipwreck. So yep, total marketing bullshit meant to draw in visitors. It’s just that civilized Briarwoodies phrase this differently in casual conversation.
“How’s that no filter treating you?” I call over my shoulder as we exit the store.
“I’m just repeating what I heard at Argoss’s birthday from Uncle Greksies,” she replies, but the rest of her words sound like pebbles in a wind tunnel. I’m too busy reading the note on the windshield of Argoss’s BMW to make them out.
He’s worse than he lets on. Avoid checking his Topside papers and regret it.I keep reading despite Lucy tugging my shirt.Top drawer. Right side. Use this if you don’t believe me.
“And let’s not forget I’ve seen a leviathan in Leviathsport. His name was George Loosley and he picked me up for the photo with his tentacles. I remember because –”
“Bo and Graham wouldn’t stop calling you Lucy Loosley,” I finish, slipping the note and tiny vial of mystery liquid taped to it in the bottom half into my cardigan. I explain that George Loosley planned his trip, which the city paid for in an effort to support their lie, as we load the car.
“Which is honestly fine by me,” I continue. “At least people are getting what they paid for. But the fake story started before my fellow humans knew they were real. So the town name is misleading. There were never any leviathans in Leviathsport until Leviathsport invited them.
I’m more than happy to talk about monster history as we buckle up. It beats answering anything about the note she definitely saw me slip away.
“Oh, okay. I think I get it. What was that in your pocket?” she asks.
“Just a joke,” I answer, smiling, rather than cringing and giving away my mix up.
I meant to sayadvertisement. Just an advertisement. I lick my lips and hope she doesn’t notice how white my knuckles are right now, clutching the steering wheel like I am. What I want is for the note in my pocket to be a joke.
“People leave jokes on cars?” she asks.
My lips purse as I stare at the road ahead. Great. How am I supposed to answer that? “Uh-huh.”
“Since when?” she asks. “How do I not know about this?”
“Well…” I take a drink of the lukewarm bubble water loitering in my cup holder to buy some time. I gulp it down despite my tongue’s initial response. Damn, these things are trash when they’re flat and room temp. “You didn’t really go on a lot of errands.”
It’s the truth. Just not all of it. But what else am I supposed to do?
“That’s true,” she observes, buckling herself in.
If I sit Lucy in front of the television, I can look around for clues. I don’t know who left the note, but they must know the average millionaire has a lot of top drawers, each with their own right side. What am I supposed to do? Ransack the house?
“What kind of joke? Let’s hear it,” Lucy asks.
“It’s an adult joke,” I lie again.
“Well.” She shrugs. “Adult jokes can be fun sometimes.”
