Mayhem, Murder and the PTA

by Dave Cravens

  Mayhem, Murder

  and the PTA

  By Dave Cravens

  Copyright 2019

  To my first fan.

  I hope I did you proud.

  0.

  “What exactly did you expect to happen, Parker?”

  Parker Monroe closed her tired hazel eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as though to keep it from exploding. This is a mistake, she thought. A joke. A dream – a nightmare.

  The forty-year old red head and Pulitzer prize winning journalist for the American Times took a deep breath. She opened her eyes to lock with those of her editor, Jerry, a fifty-something divorcee hemorrhaging money from his two kids still trying to “find themselves” in an ivy league school. Jerry’s eyes didn’t express anger so much as abject terror. He simply couldn’t afford screw-ups like the one he’d just printed a million copies of, let alone the re-tweets and shares online.

  Ever defiant, Parker straightened her posture. “What I expected was for Senator Hammers to be hauled away in handcuffs,” she explained.

  Jerry threw his hands in the air. “Jesus, Parker, you’re lucky they’re not hauling us away in handcuffs!”

  Parker paced across the office’s hardwood floor. Yes, her source vanished before supplying the documented proof he’d promised over the phone. Yes, it was risky trusting him without the usual verification. Yes, she put her magazine’s reputation on the line to scoop Drudge, the Post, the Times and all the other hacks who moved at the speed of emojis. But Parker hadn’t won a Pulitzer by playing it safe.

  Jerry’s only sin was trusting Parker enough to go along for the ride.

  “We’ve already retracted the story,” Parker assured her boss. “We’ll issue an apology. Let’s not blow this out of proportion.”

  Jerry shook his head. “That’s not going to do it. I’ve got every lawyer and member of the board making my ass red. Defamation. Slander. Personal distress. It’s all over cable news.” Jerry turned off the circus of talking heads on the TV’s behind him, weary of the endless scrolling text that announced variants of: American Times’ “bombshell” blows up in own face!

  “Fuck cable news,” Parker spat. “And defamation? Try this headline: Senator Hammers can go choke on a dog’s dick! How’s that for defamation?”

  “Classy, Parker, you talk to your kids with that mouth?” berated Jerry. “Hell, you even see your kids these days?”

  Parker’s face flashed red hot. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jerry took a deep breath. Normally he didn’t dare poke the momma bear. But it was high time he said something. “Listen, I know how hard it’s been since Kurt died.”

  Parker’s ring finger suddenly ached. She adjusted her wedding band around the swollen skin. “That was three months ago, it’s got nothing to do with--”

  “You never talk about it. You took like, what, a week off to grieve? You hire a nanny, so you can come back to work while your kids—”

  “Leave my kids out of this.”

  Jerry waved Parker off. “No, no, this is my fault. I should have never allowed you to come back so soon. I thought it might help you cope, but you weren’t ready!”

  Parker summoned her calmest voice. “I’m fine. My kids are fine. Nothing has changed.”

  “Everything has changed!” Jerry exploded. “Jesus, if you can’t look at your own personal situation then look at your work! I used to have this spitfire reporter who chased down every lead, talked to every witness, verified all her facts and triple checked her goddamn sources before going to print!”

  Parker swallowed. “Used to?”

  Jerry sheepishly looked down at his desk. “They want blood, Parker. They want a sacrifice. You wrote the story.”

  “So, you’re firing me.”

  “The board has agreed to call it a suspension.”

  Parker allowed herself a chuckle. “For how long?”

  “Indefinite.”

  “So, you’re firing me. Let’s just call it what it is.” Parker kicked her toe into the leg of the desk. “No, it’s bullshit. That’s what it is.” She smiled deviously as a new, delicious thought popped into her head. “I will fight this, Jerry.”

  Jerry laced his hands onto the top of his perspiring bald head. “Of course. I told the board you would.” He turned around to look out at the Chicago skyline framed by his 82nd floor window. “All you’re going to do is make it worse.”

  “So much worse!” Parker insisted. “I’ll countersue! Then we’ll get all the nasty facts out about what a douche bag the Senator is! While he’s floundering in the court of law, I’m gonna fuck him straight up the butt in the court of public opinion!”

  Jerry spun around, his face contorted. “I don’t even know how to process that.”

  “Uh, yeah, because it’s gonna be raw and nasty!”

  “Stop!” Jerry held out his hand. “Okay? He played you, Parker. For all we know your ‘source’ was a plant. You got beat!”

  “I’m not your employee anymore!” Parker shouted. “I will blow the lid off every shady deal Hammer’s ever had in his silver spoon-fed inbred life and America will thank me!”

  Jerry sighed. “If I were you, I’d stay low for a while.”

  “That’s not my style. I’m doing this, and there’s not a thing you or anyone can say to make me change my mind!”

  “Excuse me, Ms. Monroe?” a meek voice asked from behind.

  Parker spun around to glare at the young millennial who carefully poked his head around the glass office door. “What?” she blasted.

  “Um, I hate to interrupt,” the millennial winced. “but no one’s been able to reach you on your cell.”

  Parker seethed. “That’s because I turned it off. I didn’t want to be reached. See how that works? If I don’t pick up, stop calling.” She pressed on. “There was a time, long ago, before your mom tore up the backseat of a Volvo with your dad, when children didn’t have cell phones. Adults were able to converse without being interrupted by Game of Thrones ring tones, poop emoji texts, or Instagram photos of your lunch!”

  The millennial rolled his eyes. “Yeah, wow, thanks for that. I’m a better person for it.” His head retracted behind the door, only to immediately pop out again. “Oh, and by the way? There’s an emergency regarding your daughter.”

  Parker’s heart skipped a beat. “My daughter?”

  “They’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last hour. I couldn’t think of a good emoji to properly express that, L-O-L, so I thought I’d just tell you in person, hash-tag: you condescending bitch.”

  Parker’s mind went blank. She instinctively reached for her phone to turn it on.

  After a quick boot, several text rings piled on.

  Where are you?

  I’ve tried calling twenty times!

  Emergency!

  Call me back, NOW!!!

  911!

  Why aren’t you calling back?!?!?

  Parker’s heart thumped against her chest like a trip hammer as she pressed to dial home. She carefully placed the phone to her ear. A hysterical whimpering bled out the speaker.

  “It’s Parker,” she stated in her calmest voice. “Tell me what happened.”

  1.

  3 months later…

  “Mom, stop falling asleep!”

  Parker snorted as her eyes shot open. She clutched the steering wheel to jolt her Toyota Highlander back onto the moonlit freeway along the Mojave Desert. Parker violently shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she stopped mid-sentence to taste the dryness of her mouth. Yuck. What did I eat for dinner? “I-I wasn’t sleeping,” she protested. Cheetos. I ate a bag of Cheetos.

  “Yes, you were!” argued Maddy, the eleven-year-old portrait of p
re-teen angst who sat in the front passenger seat. “Your eyes were closed!”

  “It’s called blinking.”

  “You could’ve killed us!”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Parker shot her oldest daughter an angry glare.

  Maddy folded her arms and shot one back.

  Still haven’t forgiven me yet, have you, Maddy?

  It had been three months since the “Chicago Incident.” Parker had made two huge mistakes that day, the first of which got her fired—that was the good news. The trauma of the second created a rift between Parker and Maddy the size of the Grand Canyon. Still, it could have been worse. Nobody died, right? Parker didn’t blame Maddy for being angry. But how long was it going to last?

  I’ve packed up everything we own and am moving across us country to start over. Maddy, can’t you appreciate that? Can’t you at least see I’m trying to change?

  Parker glanced in the rear-view mirror to check on the others. Her bushy haired six-year old son, Drew, used his plush Pokémon as a pillow. Ally, her golden-haired toddler of two years was slumped over, sound asleep in her car seat. Every square inch of the enclosed space behind them was crammed with plastic sacks, suitcases and backpacks stuffed with life essentials – toothpaste, semi-clean underwear, toys, comic books, magazines, cereal boxes, shoes, umbrellas and Maddy’s piano music.

  “…and in other news, Senator Hammers continues his assault on American Times magazine months after the firing of senior journalist, Parker Monroe…” squawked the radio.

  “Turn that shit off,” barked Parker.

  “Mom, your language,” grumbled Maddy as she pressed the radio’s button.

  “What—you mean, English?”

  “Why do you swear so much?”

  “Maddy, it’s just how I talk.” And everyone I used to work with.

  “I don’t get to talk like that.”

  “When you turn forty and have three kids, talk however you want.”

  Maddy slumped further in her seat. “Dad never talked like that.”

  And there it was, the daily comparison Maddy slung at her mother to make her feel small, inadequate and lonely all in one strike. Parker’s husband, Kurt, had given up his music career to be a stay at home father, and bonded with the kids in ways Parker only dreamt of. Parker worked overtime winning the bread, but Kurt knew how each kid liked to have it toasted, sliced and buttered. Kurt’s sudden death traumatized the entire family in the obvious ways, but now, nine months later the not so obvious ways kept surfacing.

  Angry, Parker clamped her mouth shut as she adjusted her wedding ring to ease the throbbing pain of her finger. She was careful not to lash out and undo the minutia of progress she’d made with her daughter these past few weeks. “Why don’t you close your eyes and get some sleep?” suggested Parker. “We’ve got a few hours before we hit Grandma’s.”

  Maddy refused to look at her mother. “If I fall asleep, who is going to wake you up?”

  Oh, you little shit, don’t make me pull this car over.

  Maddy turned away to stare out her window, but the night had long since swallowed the California desert in black velvet. Only the sparse train of headlights and brake lights on the freeway offered any distraction, and Maddy had tired of them hours ago.

  Parker cringed at the idea of starting their new life like this. “Okay, I tell you what,” she relented. “How about a game?”

  Maddy shrugged. “What kind of game?”

  “You play your cards right, a profitable one.”

  “Go on.”

  “To help break me free of my deplorable habits--anytime I swear in front of you, I will pay you one dollar.”

  Maddy tilted her head. “Five dollars.”

  “Fuck that.”

  Maddy’s index finger lashed out toward her mother. “Ha! You owe me five dollars!”

  “I never agreed to five dollars!”

  “Come on! One dollar isn’t going to do anything, and you know it!”

  Parker reluctantly nodded. “Fine. Whatever. Five dollars,” she held up her finger to mark an addendum. “If, and only if, you agree to pay me five dollars if you don’t address me as ‘Mom, The Almighty.’”

  “What?”

  “I want some respect, damnit! I’m tired of all the pouting, and the eye rolls and stuff!”

  “Mother!”

  “Nooooooooo, ‘Mom, The Almighty! Now, I’ve got five dollars in the bank!”

  “Nooooooooo, you swore twice! I’m still five bucks ahead!”

  Parker allowed herself a chuckle, maybe the first in nine months. She looked at Maddy hoping to catch her in a half smile – none surfaced. “Okay,” said Parker. “You’re five bucks ahead.”

  Bribing. That works with kids, right?

  Parker studied her daughter’s face as she continued to stare out the front window. This was the first tearless moment they had shared together in weeks. A small victory to be sure, but a victory nonetheless. Then Parker’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh shit!” She slammed on the brakes, throwing their bodies at the mercy of their seatbelts. The Highlander violently shook and skidded to a halt. Ally and Drew stirred in the back, trying to recover from a rude awakening.

  “What? What is it?” screamed Maddy.

  Parker leaned ahead to look past her daughter out the passenger window. “We missed our exit.”

  Maddy took several quick and short breaths. Once her pounding heart had settled she grinned at her mother. “You owe me ten dollars!”

  Parker threw the Highlander in reverse and slowly backed up along the road’s shoulder, earning angry honks from the passing cars. She pulled forward onto the exit ramp. “You know I’m out of a job, right?”

  2.

  Cruising through the empty streets of Oak Creek…

  at three in the morning marked a surreal homecoming for Parker Monroe. She’d spent her first eighteen years of life trying to escape the stifling suburbia hell. At a population of fifty thousand in the foothills thirty miles north of the Mexican border, it was neither a big city, nor a small town, nor largely Hispanic or white, nor vastly rich or hopelessly poor, only decidedly average in every way. Parker despised average, which may be the only trait she had in common with her mother, Valerie.

  Even from down the street, Parker could see her mother, sitting on her porch’s bench swing, beaming like some perfect, twisted angel. Despite the ungodly hour, Valerie projected the confidence of a movie star, with a grace and poise that eluded her only daughter. Sixty-two years of age had done nothing to slow the tall brunette down, her shapely body and toned skin seemingly impervious to the sagging hands of time.

  Parker pulled into the familiar driveway of the five-bedroom detached home. Valerie’s eyes tracked her daughter’s SUV like a hawk, only relaxing when Parker finally waved to her. Valerie smiled, and stood up from the bench, leaning the broom she’d held in her lap next to the front door.

  “It is you!” Valerie greeted with her arms outstretched. “I wasn’t expecting you so late. Why didn’t you call?”

  Parker shushed her mother as she stepped out of her SUV, pointing to the three sleeping children. “Maddy finally dozed off,” whispered Parker. “We got another late start, so I thought we’d push through the night.” She embraced her mother with a heavy squeeze.

  “My,” Valerie’s postured stiffened as she took a sniff. “You are ripe!” She pulled back with a smile and massaged her daughter’s arms. “Oh, and there’s more of you to hug than I remember.”

  “Wow, thanks, it’s good to see you too, Mom,” said Parker. She had no desire to recant her recent weight struggles at three in the morning. “Were you waiting on the porch this whole time?”

  “Of course,” answered Valerie in a tone that implied any mother worth their salt would have dutifully sat for the additional eight hours until their child’s arrival. “I was expecting a minivan. You gave me a startle when you pulled up in that—”

  “Highlander. Why a minivan?”

  “
When you said you bought a new car, I figured you got something practical.”

  “I did get something practical,” argued Parker. “And I would never buy a minivan. Ever.” It screams ‘mom’ and I’ve got enough in my life screaming at me. Parker hunkered down on the porch swing with a yawn. “God, I’m tired.” That’s when she noticed the “broom” that Valerie had stood up was not a broom at all. “Holy fuck, Mom, is that a shotgun?”

  “Twelve gauge, dear.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “What use is a gun that isn’t?”

  Parker’s jaw dropped. The statement was a stark reminder of Valerie’s political tendencies and her love of the NRA. “Were you expecting trouble?”

  Valerie smiled. “No one ever expects trouble, Parker. But for the love of Hellen Mirren, I’m a wealthy, attractive woman sitting alone on her porch waiting for a daughter who was supposed to arrive eight hours ago and never bothered to inform me she’d be late.”

  “Ah,” Parker nodded. Her mother never swore, she only invoked the names of famous women she respected. “But now that my kids are living here you’re going to keep all that locked up in the gun cabinet like you promised, right?”

  “Of course,” said Valerie, picking up the shotgun. She glanced down affectionately at the gun in her hands.

  “Great,” said Parker, lifting her aching bones off the bench. She rubbed her eyes as she looked back to her sleeping kids. “Everyone is beyond bath-worthy. We’ll let them sleep in, then hose them off for lunch.”

  Valerie laughed nervously. “Lunch? Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Parker snapped her fingers. “Right! I need to borrow twenty bucks.” She’d already dug a considerable swearing hole before Maddy had passed out.

  “Parker, tomorrow is the first day of school,” reminded Valerie. “Well, today is, technically.”

  “What? No, school doesn’t start until the 22nd.”

  “Correct.”

  “That’s--” Parker checked her phone, prompting a slap to her own forehead. She’d been all turned around going from central time to mountain time to whatever time over a three-day drive that somehow became four days. Where did I lose a day? Parker eyed the mountain of life she’d jammed in the back of her car. “Holy shit! School starts in five hours!”