Buried In Buttercream

making sure things come out right side up in a squabble.”
    “Yep.” Waycross nodded. “Sounds like vigilante justice to me.”
    “There’s a fine line. I’ll give you that.” Savannah poured herself a glass of sweet tea and nibbled on a piece of pecan-cherry fudge as the other two finished with their chores.
    “You must be plum worn out,” Alma said. “What with all the stress of the fire—”
    “Not to mention the exertion of an old-fashioned Georgia purse whoopin’,” Waycross added.
    “I’m tuckered, I don’t mind tellin’ ya.” Savannah pulled the tiny plastic bride and groom from the buttercream mess, rinsed them off under the faucet, and dried them with a paper towel. “I think I’m going to call it a night. Has Granny already gone up?” she said as she stuck the mini-couple into her pants pocket.
    Alma nodded. “Retired half an hour ago to read her Bible. She’s in your bed again, like last night.”
    “You’d better go stake out a claim on the guest bed,” Savannah told her, “before Marietta and Jesup and Cordele hog it again.” She gave Waycross a pat on the back. “Sorry about the army cot, big boy.”
    He shrugged and gave her a big grin. “No problem. It’s the price you pay for being male in a family that’s mostly womenfolk.”
    “That and never getting to use the bathroom and having to change everybody’s spark plugs and rotate their tires,” Savannah said.
    “And rousting ’coons and skunks out from under the back porch,” Alma added.
    Savannah gave them each a kiss on the cheek and left them to finish their labors of love.
    As she passed through the living room, she said to those less labor-inclined, “Wouldn’t hurt y’all to go give Waycross and Alma some help in the kitchen. There’s a heap of dishes left to do, and everybody had a hand in dirtying them up.”
    “I did my do,” Marietta said, staring at the television. “I set the table.”
    “I cut the cake,” Jesup replied as she scrutinized the silver spiderweb she was painting on her black toenail.
    “Butch heated up the biscuits,” Vidalia added.
    Macon continued to snore.
    “Well, as long as everybody contributed.” Savannah made her way to the staircase. “I’m going to bed.”
    “Good luck,” Vidalia said. “Both sets of twins are already in it with Gran.”
    Savannah paused, one foot on the bottom step. “Whatever happened to the Kids-Sleep-on-Pallets rule we had?”
    Vidalia chuckled. “Yeah, right. Like kids as smart as mine wouldn’t figure out after one night that ‘Camping Out’ means sleeping on a hard floor.”
    “How hard could it be with plush carpeting and five quilts under ’em?”
    With a shrug, Vidalia shoved another heaping spoonful of ice cream and cake into her mouth. “I don’t know. But they pitched a fit about it, so I told Butch to put ’em in your bed with Gran.”
    “Gee. Thanks.”
    She trudged on up the stairs, meeting Butch halfway.
    “Sorry about the sleeping arrangements, Sis,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I know I spoil those younguns somethin’ fierce.”
    “My sister’s the one you’re spoilin’ rotten, boy,” she said as she gave him a slap on the back. “Put your foot down once in a while. It’d make it easier for all of us.”
    Savannah continued on upstairs and went into the bathroom, which was, surprisingly, empty for a change. Once inside, with the door locked behind her, she stared at the woman in the mirror. A tired woman. A disappointed woman. A blue-eyed, light-complexioned, dark-haired, forty-something woman who was wearing a lot more makeup than she usually did, so carefully applied that morning in the anticipation of wedding photos.
    “Happy wedding day, Savannah,” she whispered. “Yeah ... right.”
    Suddenly, she missed Dirk with a vengeance. She took her cell phone from its belt holster and called him.
    He answered after the first ring. “San Carmelita Sheraton. Honeymoon Suite.”
    “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Hiding out in the bathroom.”
    “Solitude’s a precious thing.”
    “Precious and rare around here.” She reached over and lowered the toilet seats ... both of them. Darned brothers anyway.
    Sitting down, she looked around her bathroom; it looked like Sherman’s army had performed its evening ablutions in the tiny room. The hamper overflowed with dirty towels and washcloths. Several glasses from her kitchen were lined up on the sink with copious toothbrushes of all