A Special Obsession

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Honey Bear, how’s my favorite girl?”

  “Good. But we’re here to check if you’re making mashed potatoes.”

  “You know I don’t give up any secrets,” she says with a wink. Suddenly, the alarm goes off. It’s the one that lets us know someone just entered the long driveway leading to the house.

  “Shit.”

  “Honey Bear, you said a bad word.” Cody points a finger at me.

  Panic burns a path from my belly to my throat. “Mimi,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster, “turn off the stove and take Cody to the barn. You know the plan. You have your phone, right?”

  “In my pocket.”

  Shoving them toward the back door, I say, “Quickly now. I’ll handle things here. And, Cody, zip up the lips. Remember?”

  He does the pretend zipper across his lips, and I give him the thumbs-up. I watch until they are close to the barn, then run to Mimi’s nightstand where she keeps her gun. I load the old twenty-two-caliber revolver and hope the damn thing works. Jeb said we should get a new one, but at the time Mimi refused. Now I wonder if we should’ve listened to him. I take the gun and stand in the hall right outside the living room. From this vantage point I can see both the window and the front door.

  A fancy black truck pulls up in front of the house. I don’t know anyone who owns one like that. A man gets out, but I can’t see what he looks like. Chin length hair obscures his face. Shit. At least there’s only one. I run through scenarios in my head. Maybe this is a false alarm. Damn, I hope so.

  Forceful footsteps are quick to cross the wooden planks of the front porch. A loud knock on the door has me jumping out of my skin. Another knock, harder this time, rattles the rickety screen door and my lungs explode with the breath I’ve been holding. When there isn’t an answer, the screen door creaks open. Shit, why didn’t I close the big door? “Hello, anyone here?” When I don’t answer, he calls out again.

  What the fuck! Why won’t he leave? My biggest fear looms steps away from me. He’s come for Cody. Or maybe me. Terror nearly blinds me. My hand holding the gun trembles as though I’m holding a jackhammer. I steady it with the other, like they do on TV, but it doesn’t work very well. Now they both shake and I look like I’m having a seizure. Sweat trickles down my temples and neck. The urge to scream is overwhelming.

  I have a couple of problems. One is I can’t step into the open because he’ll probably kill me. But the second is I can’t get a clear picture of him from my perspective. I’m afraid if I call out and give myself away, I’m a dead woman.

  Heavy steps trod around the room, but his firm stance is more that of ownership than of curiosity. When he comes toward the hallway where I’m standing, I have no choice but to call out to him.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot.” My voice is scratchy feeling, not at all assertive. I have to swallow the knot of fear that swells inside of it.

  “Shoot? Why would you shoot? I’m looking for—”

  “Stop where you are. I know what you’re looking for and this is your last warning.”

  “Hang on a minute. It’s not like that.” He turns to the side, and instead of taking any chances, I fire. It’s a wild shot. I’m not sure if it’s because my hand is wobbling so badly or if it’s because the gun is so old. He’s still turning as I fire, so the bullet catches him somewhere below the waist.

  “Ow, shit! You shot me in the ass!” he yells. And then voice recognition clicks and I almost scream. It can’t possibly be him. How did I not recognize it until now?

  “What the hell!” I run into the room and start slapping and punching his arm and chest.

  “Stop it! What the hell are you doing?” he shouts back. “Are you crazy?” He grabs my arm, shakes it, and the gun falls to the floor with a clatter. “Stop it! Stop hitting me. Jesus Christ, woman. Calm down. You almost killed me!”

  The ability to speak flees. I can only stare at him. His hair is down, instead of in that ponytail thing, which is why I didn’t recognize him. Then my gaze drops to the floor where the gun lies and the gravity of the situation slams into me.

  When I don’t say anything, he asks, “Do you always shoot people who happen to drop by for a visit?” I finally turn to him and see him staring at me as though I’m on a day pass from an asylum. “Who does this kind of shit—shoot people in the ass?” His hand covers his butt where the bullet must have hit him. “Damn, this hurts.” He aims his finger at me and adds, “You’re a menace with that thing. You could’ve killed me.”

  That spurs me to speak. “Y-you didn’t just stop by. You broke into my grandmother’s house. That’s a crime, by they way—breaking and entering. Why would you do that? You don’t even know her,” I screech. Panic and guilt grip me. I could have killed him. Thank God I’m a terrible shot.

  “Jesus fuck.” He holds his butt cheek and does this goofy hobble. “I didn’t break in. That door was wide open.” He points to said door. “I saw your Vespa and came inside. I was looking for you. If I’d have known I was taking my life into my hands, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to come.” Then I notice the flowers lying on the floor.

  “I don’t normally shoot people—only when they break in and I don’t know who they are. You should’ve called first.” My emotions are all over the board. I’m angry with myself for hurting him, but he scared the hell out of me. I thought he was going to kill either Cody or me.

  His eyes fire daggers at me. “I wanted to surprise you. Fuck it all! Fuck my ass. No, I take that back. Knowing you, you’d take me at my word.”

  Suddenly, the alarm goes off again. What the hell is happening today?

  “What’s that?” Weston asks.

  “The alarm system. There’s another intruder coming up the drive. This is what happened when you drove up.”

  “I’m not an intruder. I’m your friend. Or I thought I was. You’ve got this place rigged up like the fucking Pentagon.”

  “We need to hide. Come on.”

  “Hide? What the hell is this place anyway? A CIA safe house?”

  “Just be quiet and follow me.” I pull him into Mimi’s bedroom and shove him into the closet. “Now hush and don’t get any of your blood on my grandmother’s clothes.”

  “I don’t fucking believe this.”

  “Stay quiet.” I shut the door and tiptoe back to my vantage point.

  When the car comes into view, I see that it’s Jeb’s older blue truck. What the heck is he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to come this weekend. But I’m actually thankful he did. I’m not sure my heart can take any more adrenaline surges today. Besides, I may need Jeb’s help to straighten out this mess I’m in. I grab Weston out of the closet. “It’s safe. You can come out.”

  His hand still clutches his ass and I see blood. I hate the sight of blood. Oh, shit, I really screwed up.

  Weston scowls. “Well, this is a relief. No more shootouts at the O.K. Corral?” I can’t blame him for his snarky comment. I wouldn’t exactly be overjoyed if he had shot me in the ass. “Maybe your new visitor can take me to the hospital. Who is it anyway?”

  “It’s Jeb, you know from the bar.”

  “I hope he’s saner than you are.”

  Jeb walks in before I can respond and asks, “What’s going on?” His eyes target Weston and then move to Weston’s bloody hand and finally to me.

  “I shot Weston in the butt.” I cringe when I look at his backside again.

  “You shot—what did you do that for? Jesus, Spesh. Did he piss you off or something?” His mouth puckers as though he’s trying not to laugh.

  “No! He broke into the house.”

  “For the last time, I did not break in. Will you listen to me for once?” Weston sounds like a toddler about to stomp his foot, and I can hardly blame him.

  “Did too,” I say.

  “Did not.”

  “I hate to break up this boxing match, but are you okay, young man?” Jeb asks.

  “No! There’s a bullet in my ass. I need to go to the ER
.”

  Jeb casts a look my way filled with all kinds of questions I can’t answer right now. I imagine one of them has to do with how in the hell Weston got here. He knows I never invite people over to Mimi’s. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that?”

  My hand flies to my mouth because I know I’ll faint if I see blood. “Ugh.” A shudder of revulsion ripples through me.

  “Spesh, where’s Mimi?”

  “Oh, shit!” Without another thought to Weston and his bullet-bitten butt, I run out to the barn to tell her that I’m okay. When I open the door to the root cellar, she’s pacing and clenching her hands together.

  “What happened? I thought I heard a gun go off.” She climbs up the steps faster than I’ve ever seen her move. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” She grabs my arms in a death-grip and I wince.

  “No, no, I’m fine. I shot Weston’s butt.” I explain what happened.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is.”

  At first she starts giggling and then downright cackling.

  “Oh my God, you have to stop. Jeb is here and I have to go help him get Weston’s butt fixed up.”

  “Come on. Let’s go.” Mimi turns to Cody, but he hangs back. “What is it, Cody?” she asks.

  “I’m scared. There’s stranger danger in there.” He points toward the house and then sticks his thumb into his mouth. He hasn’t sucked his thumb since he was four.

  We’ve preached the stranger-danger thing to him almost on a daily basis, particularly what to do if one comes to the house. Maybe we did too good of a job. I kneel down and say, “It’s okay because I know Weston, so it’s safe to go inside. Jeb is in there too.”

  When we get inside, Cody remains in the kitchen with Mimi while I hunt down first aid supplies for Jeb.

  “Spesh, you don’t have to watch, you know,” Jeb says. He knows how squeamish I am in the presence of the red stuff.

  Weston adds, “I may need stitches. Or a bullet removed.” By now his pants are around his knees, and the bullet wound is forgotten because his ass is spectacular. I am in awe.

  “It looks like it just grazed you,” Jeb says. “It doesn’t look very deep so I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Why don’t you lie down on the couch and I’ll fix you up good as new?”

  “Are you sure, because it hurts like hell.”

  Jeb has to elbow me in order to get my attention. I hand him the peroxide, alcohol, antibiotic ointment, and bandages he needs to get the wound cleaned and doctored up.

  “Yeah, it’ll be sore for a few days. It might make it a little tough to sit on, but it shouldn’t give you much trouble. Just be sure to keep some antibiotic ointment on it and keep it covered up.”

  Weston stares blankly at Jeb, then asks, “How do you know so much about this? Doctoring bullet wounds?”

  “I was a medic in the Army.”

  “Good to know. Next time I get shot—” he pierces me with his damning eyes, “I’ll know who to call. It’s a good thing you stopped by. You’re lucky you didn’t get shot in the ass too.”

  “Yeah, Special is a little paranoid about the security out here. She worries too much.” Jeb gives me a pointed look.

  That brings a question to mind. “By the way, Jeb, why didn’t you call first?” I ask. “I didn’t think you were coming over today.”

  “Oh, about that. I was on my way home from visiting my aunt in Conyers and decided to take a chance. I would’ve called, but my phone is dead. Forgot to charge it last night when I got home.”

  “I didn’t know you had an aunt in Conyers,” I say.

  “Don’t talk about her much. She’s been in the nursing home for a long time. Alzheimer’s,” he says with a slight shrug. “She doesn’t know anyone and hasn’t in ages. I try to go see her every other month or so, just because. Anyway, I was hoping I could get here in time for some of Mimi’s dinner, but I see you have company so I’ll just be leaving.”

  Grabbing his arm, I say, “Hang on. You know Mimi always cooks enough for an army. And if you leave without speaking to her, she’ll never invite you back again.”

  Weston studies us like he’s watching a Ping-Pong match, but his eyes grow large at the mention of food. Now my focus isn’t on Jeb anymore.

  “Weston, you may as well stay too. Do you think you can sit long enough to eat?”

  “I think I can manage,” he says. “But I didn’t come here to beg for a meal. I brought you something.” He points to the abandoned bouquet on the floor.

  “Right.” I give him a sheepish look. “Let me get them in some water. Oh, and thank you for these.” I squeak out my thanks. Flowers are scattered across the floor. I gather the enormous bouquet and ask Jeb to take care of the gun when he’s finished patching up Weston.

  When I get to the kitchen with the monstrosity, Mimi can’t believe it.

  “Why, Honey Bear, those are not your everyday flowers. There are orchids, calla lilies, and everything in between. That man probably had to bribe some fancy floral shop to get you those since it’s Sunday. They’re not open today.”

  “Yeah, and I shot him in the butt for it. Jeez, Mimi, I feel terrible.” What the hell was I thinking? Why didn’t I pay closer attention to who he was?

  “Don’t. You didn’t know who was entering this house. Besides, I’ll make it up to him with this dinner.” I think my grandmother is enjoying this scenario.

  “Thank God I’m a terrible shot. I could’ve killed the man.” Just the thought of it makes me sick.

  “No, you weren’t aiming high enough for that. But you could’ve permanently disabled him in the baby making capacity.”

  “Mimi!”

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  God, what if I had shot him in the peen? How awful would that have been? I cover my eyes at the thought.

  “Oh, stop it, Honey B. You didn’t. Now, go and flirt with the man. He must really be something to hunt you down all the way out here.”

  I don’t have to look very far because Jeb and Weston walk into the kitchen. Jeb wraps Mimi in a big hug while Weston shakes her hand. Polite doesn’t come close to how sweet and kind he is to her. Then he notices Cody and his eyes saucer as they take him in. They flick from Cody to me and back and forth again. I know exactly what he’s thinking. Yeah, we’re both dark-haired and dark-eyed, so he’s assuming Cody is my son, which is cool. I like to think of Cody as my own. If I didn’t work such crazy ass hours and could afford a live-in nanny, Cody would be living with me. But it’s safer out here with Mimi and he gets her undivided attention. Nothing is better than getting loved by that woman. I should know because she raised me.

  “Cody, this is Mr. Weston. Can you say hello to him?” I ask.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi there, kiddo.”

  “Did Honey Bear shoot up your butt?”

  “Honey Bear?” Cody takes his index finger and aims it at me.

  “I’m Honey Bear,” I say.

  “You are, huh?” Weston asks.

  “A childhood nickname from Mimi.” Mimi looks over her shoulder and grins like crazy.

  “Well, did she?” Cody asks.

  “Excuse me?” Weston says.

  “Did she shoot up your butt?” Cody repeats himself.

  “Oh, yes, she certainly did,” Weston answers.

  Cody walks up to Weston and circles him. Then he says, “Mister, you have a hole in your pants.” A bubbly giggle tumbles out of Cody and it’s infectious. It’s hard not to laugh along with him.

  “Well, Cody, a bullet will do that to you. So my suggestion is don’t mess with your mom.”

  “My mom?”

  “Yes, Special. Your mom,” Weston says.

  Cody draws his brows together. “Honey Bear isn’t my mom. My mom was Sasha. She’s dead.”

  8

  Weston

  If my ass didn’t hurt so fucking bad already, I would kick it as hard as possible. This is the perfect example of why you should
never assume anything. Poor little Cody’s huge beautiful eyes stare at me, waiting for me to say something, but words are smoke. They wisp away before I can latch onto them.

  Special clears her throat and says, “Cody came to live with us a few years ago. His mom was my best friend since childhood.”

  “Well, Cody, seems to me you came to the right place. Looks like Mrs. O'Malley here is a pretty amazing lady, and I know for a fact Special is. I mean, who else could take such good care of you, right?”

  “Why do you like Special so much if she shot up your butt?”

  I’m asking myself the same fucking thing.

  “That’s a good question. But I believe the reason she shot me was she was protecting you and didn’t want me coming here to hurt you.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Cody, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Special stops Cody’s little interrogation. “Mr. Jeb put a big bandage on it so it would heal up.”

  “Oh.” Cody actually looks disappointed. Maybe the kid’s going to be a doctor when he grows up. “Is it a Superman Band-Aid?”

  “No, it’s an extra big plain one,” she says.

  Mimi claps her hands. “Okay, everybody, since I got interrupted during my cooking today, we’re just going to serve our plates from the stove. Weston, are you okay to serve yourself, or do you need help?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m fine.”

  “It’s his butt, Mimi, not his arms,” Special practically huffs at her grandmother.

  “Honey B, he still might need a little help.” At least someone has sympathy for me.

  Everyone loads up their plates with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, squash casserole, and homemade biscuits slathered with butter. Special helps Cody with his, and we all gather at the dining room table. Mrs. O’Malley has iced tea and water poured for everyone. I stand until everyone is seated, pushing in Mrs. O'Malley’s chair for her.

  She grins at me. Maybe this will score some brownie points. I hope so, though I’m not sure it’s safe spending time with someone who shot me in the ass. My brain is still trying to process this whole gun thing.