by Cora Kenborn
Addie’s back straightened, and her face drained of color as she stared at me without blinking. “No, no, no, NO!” she shouted, getting to her feet. Her head swiveled back and forth with such force that one of her barrettes flung from her hair and clattered on the dresser behind her. “Are you fucking insane? Heather? The same Heather who got you arrested in college for stealing road signs? The same Heather who convinced you that getting a tattoo of each other’s names would be the ultimate testament to your friendship then backed out after you’d gotten yours? The same Heather who hoodwinked you into being a fucking drug mule?”
I raised my hands to stop her from continuing to list Heather’s stellar track record for coercing me into stupid shit, all the while thanking Christ I hadn’t confessed the worst of her transgressions. There’d been many, including the time Heather had roped me into driving the getaway bus when she’d robbed a convenience store. Incidentally, that little crime had funded our initial Vegas escapade, which led to my current predicament.
“Now wait just a second. First of all, I was only detained. They never booked me. And by the way, it was the High Street road sign. Who wouldn’t want to steal that shit? Secondly, I got that tattoo covered up, and I freaking love it, so it’s a moot point. Also, for the record, Heather didn’t know what was in those piñatas we carried over the border any more than I did. That brilliant plan was all Craig.”
Addie’s hands flew up in frustration, nearly missing a lamp shade. “None of that makes it any better. The girl is trouble, and she drags you into it every time. We’re not enlisting the help of a felon.”
“Actually, Heather’s never been booked, so technically, she’s not a felon.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to reel them back in.
You just poked the fucking mama bear, and now you’re about to hear her roar.
Addie’s eyes bugged out so far that her eyelashes nearly touched her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “That doesn’t make her any less of a criminal? Savannah!”
I didn’t have anything to lose at this point, so I might as well go all in.
“Exactly. She’s smart enough not to get caught, which is why I already texted her.”
A primitive growl ripped from her throat. “You what?”
Before I could answer, the bathroom door swung open, and Babs strutted out in a gold sequined track jacket and matching pants. “Anyone bring match? Lobster at buffet not good idea.” Taking survey at our matching battle stances, she quirked an eyebrow. “Why all the yelling? Addie why you have bitch face?”
For the first time in sixteen hours, I was grateful we’d brought Babs along.
“She’s a fucking lunatic,” Addie announced, pointing at me like there was a possibility of anyone else in the room she could’ve been referring to.
Babs shrugged and reached for her fluorescent pink fanny pack, securing it just below her sagging breasts. “This is news?”
“Uh, Babs?” I asked, gesturing to her newest accessory. “I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to wear a fanny pack.”
“Bah! Short arms. Make it easier to reach money for slots.”
Addie groaned, collapsing into the rickety pink chair in the corner of the room. “Babs, I told you, no slots. We’re here for one thing, and it’s not to hand over your entire Social Security check to the casino.”
“You talk, but I no listen. Stop being boss bitch. Have fun. We in city of lights!”
I opened my mouth to correct her but thought better of it.
Babs sat on the edge of the bed, tugging on her orthopedic shoes as she continued to school my sister. “After baby, you wear poop mask every day. Enjoy life before baby ruin everything.”
“Babs!” Addie gasped.
Babs just waved off her shock. “Yeah, yeah. Babies cute—gift from God, whatever you supposed to say. But they ruin all fun until they can bring vodka.”
Ignoring our grandmother’s less than encouraging pep talk, Addie tried a different tactic—betrayal. “Babs, she’s trying to get Heather to help convince Patrick to come to Vegas.”
“Addie!” I yelled. There was an unspoken rule among siblings that you never tattled. Ever. But here was my sister, in all her almost seven months pregnant glory, ratting me out to our grandmother.
Instead of turning her ire to me, Babs perked up. “Heather? The one you bring only time you come home after you fly to fancy school?”
I cringed at the reminder of what a shitty granddaughter I’d been. Before my sister and I had come crawling back to the bayou, the only time I’d returned for a visit since heading off to college was Thanksgiving of my freshman year. Heather lived on the same hall of my dorm, and since her parents were on some European tour for the holidays, I’d brought her home with me.
“Yes, that Heather,” Addie answered for me. “Wasn’t that the year you got drunk and tried to steal Mr. Jacobs’ tractors?”
I cut my hand through the air in objection. “We didn’t try to steal anything. We borrowed a few so we could race them.”
“And did you, or did you not get pulled over by Sheriff Tucker?” Addie continued as if I were on the stand and she was the opposing counsel.
I glared at her, ready to argue my point that yet again, we hadn’t gotten arrested but just escorted home when a loud cackling interrupted my rebuttal.
Babs slapped a wrinkled hand on her knee as she tried to rein in her laughter. “That was fun night. I rode cow like horse. I like her. When she come?”
Addie looked like she was about to cry, and I could feel the grin splitting my face. I’d won. I’d secured Babs on my side. Victory was mine. Soon, the sounds of Stevie Nick’s soulful crooning of “White Winged Dove” filled the room, and I dove for my phone, only to be slightly deflated when I saw the person calling wasn’t Patrick but Heather.
“Hey, girl,” I answered, trying not to sound like I’d just hurdled over the bed.
The sound of gum smacking filled the speaker. “So, the fucker isn’t responding?”
I sighed and sat back down on the bed since Addie had commandeered the only other seat in the room. “Nope. He hasn’t responded to any of my messages, and I can see that he’s read them, so he’s ignoring me on purpose.”
More smacking and a faint popping noise greeted my answer. “And you absolutely need him there to get this shit done?”
“He has to be here. Otherwise, it’ll take months, and I need this done quickly. My fiancée can’t know.”
There was a long pause, and even the incessant smacking stopped. “Okay, I think he’s still working at that coffee shop in Venice Beach. It’s a four-hour drive from LA to Las Vegas, three when I’m driving. I’ll pick him up and head that way.”
A mixture of relief and trepidation washed over me. Turning away from my audience, I covered my mouth and whispered into the receiver, “What if he refuses to come?”
Savannah, you idiot! Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. That’s how you get labeled an accomplice.
Heather’s manic laugh pierced my ears. “I can be convincing. I’ll text you when I get into town, and we’ll figure out a place to meet. It might take me a little bit to track him down, but we’ll be there.”
“Heather, if you pull this off, I swear to God I’m naming my first born after you.”
“Bitch, I just want an invite to the wedding,” she snorted, promptly disconnecting the call.
60
Tag, You’re It
Savannah
Las Vegas, Nevada
I shielded my eyes as we stepped into the blazing desert sun. It was hot in Louisiana, and while it was indeed stifling, it was a swampy heat that didn’t make you feel like your skin was turning into beef jerky.
“Okay, you have the paperwork. What’s next?” Addie asked, stepping next to me on the sidewalk.
We’d found the garish chapel where I’d pledged my love for an overgrown, ambitionless, hipster child after a quick call to my favorite county clerk. Charlene had remem
bered me from the day before and had given me the name and address of the chapel. Her generosity didn’t come as a shock, because honestly, how many women came up to her window for a marriage license only to find out that they were already married? She’d told me the chapel would have all the information I needed, and sure as shit, they had pre-printed annulment papers all ready to be filled out and taken to the courthouse for such an occasion.
“Now, all I need is Patrick.” I sighed and checked my phone for a message from Heather, but all I found was a handful of missed calls from Pope. He’d been calling all morning, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer—not until I had things sorted out. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I knew he wouldn’t understand. Heather had texted me an hour ago to tell me she was leaving her condo in the hills and was headed to Venice Beach where she’d last heard Patrick was working. Pope would just have to wait.
Behind us, Babs let out a snort. “Heather better hurry. Officer Hotmuffin and Clam Digger are on way.”
As if we’d choreographed it, Addie and I turned in unison as Babs held up her phone. Addie snatched it out of her hand, almost dropping it as the pink alligator skin case slipped in her sweaty fingers. I nearly headbutted her trying to get a better view of the screen.
What I saw stopped my heart.
Babs’ Facebook page was lit up, and she had checked all three of us in at The Little White Chapel over twenty minutes ago. I had no clue if I was having a heart attack or a stroke, but as Addie clicked on the comments section and the tiny thumbnail of Pope’s face popped up, I assumed it was both.
When did Pope get a Facebook account? And when did he and Babs become friends?
“Oh shit,” Addie breathed, and as soon as my eyes focused enough to read the first comment in all its tagging glory, I knew why.
Zephirin LeBlanc: What the hell? Quentin Pope did you see this shit?
Quentin Pope: Savannah’s not answering her phone Zephirin LeBlanc. Have you heard from Addie?
Zephirin LeBlanc: Not since this morning. Ekaterina Dubois can you please tell me what my pregnant girlfriend is doing at a fucking WEDDING CHAPEL?!
Quentin Pope: To hell with this. Pack a bag Zephirin LeBlanc.
Zep LeBlanc: Already done. On my way to you.
I staggered back, my head swimming with the realization of how truly fucked I was. “Oh no, no, no! This can’t be happening. Shit, fuck, goddamn it!” I yelled, pacing the sidewalk like a lunatic. I had no idea how in the hell the mess I’d gotten into got messier by the second, but it did. The shit just kept piling on, and sooner or later it was going to bury me.
I could hear someone calling my name, but it sounded like my head was under water. My mind was a storm of regrets, and I felt the future I’d planned out crumble around me.
“Savannah! Snap out of it!”
I blinked, my vision clearing to reveal Addie’s face, only an inch from mine, her cheeks red and splotchy as she shook the ever-loving shit out of me. When she was satisfied I’d come back to Earth, she let go of my shoulders and paced the same patch of sidewalk I’d walked moments before.
“Okay, so they’re coming. There’s nothing we can do to stop them at this point. It’s about a four-hour flight, assuming they catch the same one we did yesterday,” she said glancing at the time on the phone, “Taking into consideration the time needed to get through security and travel to and from the airport, we have a minimum of seven hours before they get here—nine if we’re lucky.”
Black dots spotted my vision, and a tingling light-headed feeling spread across my temples. My worst nightmare had come true.
I think I’m going to pass out.
Spotting a bench to my right, I stumbled toward it and flopped down. My limbs felt heavy and numb, and not even the blistering heat could permeate the ice running through my veins. My breath came out in sharp pants, and I was fairly certain I was going to drop dead right there on the Vegas strip.
“Hey, shhhh. Here put your head between your knees. That’s it. Now, try to focus on breathing. Don’t think about anything else but breathing, okay?” Addie’s soothing, maternal voice blanketed me as she rubbed my back in soft circles.
Once I felt my heartbeat stagger to a normal rhythm, I let out a scoff. “Did they teach you this in Lamaze?”
“No, asshole, but I know a panic attack when I see one. Look, I know you’re freaking out right now. Trust me so am I, but you’ve got to keep it together. There’s still a possibility, slim as it might be, that Heather might come through for you before they get here.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t look up. “Gee, thanks for the pep talk. Whatever would I do without your continual optimism?”
“I’m just being realistic. Either way, you’re going to have to tell Pope about this. Zep is already freaking the fuck out with me just taking off to Vegas and now this shit?” she said, holding up Babs’ phone. “He already asked me if I was meeting Roland while we’re here. Can you fucking believe that? He’s all twisted up about this and thinks there’s something shady going on. After all we’ve been through, I can’t keep him in the dark. Plus, since he and Pope are BFFs now, this shit isn’t going to stay a secret.”
I groaned and scrubbed my face with my palms. She was right, of course. She was always fucking right. I just prayed to every God I could think of that I could get my sham of a marriage annulled before Pope got here. At least then I could tell him it was over.
“He’s not going to want to marry me once he finds out what an idiot I am.”
Addie pushed herself off the bench belly first and glowered down at me. “Have a little faith, Sav. Pope loves you. He’s not going to run for the hills because of some pencil dick ex-boyfriend turned accidental husband.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” I mumbled, rising from my seat. My vision had cleared, and I didn’t feel like face-planting on the concrete anymore. However, something felt off. Like I’d forgotten something important.
“Shit! Where’s Babs?” A whole new panic seized my chest as I spun in a circle, looking for any sign of our wayward grandmother.
“Goddamn it!” Addie growled. “She’s like a toddler. Take your eyes off her for five seconds, and she’s gone.”
“Where the hell would she go?”
“Casino,” we both answered in unison. However, just as we were about to turn toward the hotel, a loud and distinctive cackle came from behind the doors of the chapel, followed by a wet hacking noise.
Babs.
We both flew through the doors just in time to see Babs tugging a young man in his early twenties down for a very thorough and very wet kiss—something of a shock to the young girl in a little white shift dress standing opposite of him at the altar. Before we could fully register what was happening, Babs released the man and shoved a bottle of vodka against his chest.
“Mazel tov!” she bellowed as she shimmied down the aisle toward us.
“But we’re not Jewish,” the girl called out, her face still a mask of shock and confusion.
Babs threw her arms in the air and let out another cackle. “Me either!”
I met Addie’s bewildered gaze, and we both shrugged at the same time. As soon as Babs was within grabbing distance, I snatched her hand and made a run for it. It was probably best for all of us if we left the scene of the crime.
“They’re going to be here any minute. Where is she?” Addie asked, her eyes darting around the parking garage.
“She texted me ten minutes ago and said she was almost here.” Addie and I waited impatiently in the sketchy-ass parking garage for Heather. She’d finally texted back a few hours ago to let me know she had Patrick and was headed our way, keeping us all on edge ever since. Well, all except for Babs, who’d guzzled vodka and yelled at Drew Cary on the The Price is Right until she passed out in a puddle of her own drool over an hour ago.
An echoing screech came from our right, and we both swiveled our heads in time to see a white Land Rover barreling towards us. It skidded to a ha
lt a mere foot and a half away from squashing us like gum on a sidewalk. The blacked-out driver’s side window rolled down slowly, and Heather’s head of wavy blonde hair poked out.
“Hey, bitches! Somebody call for a punk-ass soon to be ex-husband delivery?”
“She drives a fucking Land Rover?” Addie whispered the question out of the side of her mouth. I just shrugged. To say that Heather lived like Paris Hilton’s evil twin sister with all of the money and none of the publicity was an understatement. Her parents were house in the Hamptons, villa in Florence, diamond-encrusted Ferrari kind of rich. Although, you’d never know it if Heather was your only point of reference. She seemed more likely to steal a car than buy one, but that was part of the wonder and excitement of being her friend. You never knew what to expect—kind of like at that exact moment when I peered into the window and didn’t see Patrick.
“I thought you said you got him?”
Heather smirked and hopped out of the SUV. “I did. He was being a little bitch, so I opened the lift and shoved him in.”
I risked a glance at Addie, fully expecting an “I told you so” look, but instead she just stared, mouth agape.
I suppose that’s better than getting yelled at.
We followed Heather around the vehicle like robots as she pressed a button on her key fob. The minute the lift popped open, it revealed a slightly older and incredibly distressed Patrick hogtied with a strip of silver duct tape covering his mouth.
Maybe I should’ve listened to Addie.
“Ta-da! So, what do you want to do with him? I’d love to stay and see this thing through, but I’ve got a date tomorrow morning on a yummy hunk of man meat’s private yacht. I don’t give a shit about his dinky little yacht, but damn girl, you could bounce a quarter off his ass!” She emphasized her last point by pantomiming the action, complete with sound effects.
