Cooked Goose

Seagulls swirled overhead. A couple of kids in bright pink and yellow bathing suits were playing on the swing set closer to the pier. An idyllic setting, but Savannah was suspicious.
    “Why are we here?” she asked. “Don’t tell me we’re going to be looking for bodies again.”
    “Nope.” He reached into the backseat and grabbed a couple of small white bags. “This visit is purely social. I’ve gotta pay you somehow for the good job you did for me just now, so...”
    He opened the first sack and pulled out a couple of Styrofoam cups filled with coffee, some sugar, creamer and stir sticks. The second bag held half a dozen donuts.
    “Coffee and donuts beside the bright, blue sea,” he said proudly. “Now don’t say I don’t take care of my women.“
    “Women?” She laughed. “Like you’ve got more than one. I’m it, buddy. I’m all you got.”
    “All right. I take care of you.” He handed her a Boston cream filled and took out a big bear claw for himself.
    “You do, indeed, big spender,” she said, giving him a smile before she bit into the gooey pastry.
    They munched and sipped in silence for a while. Then she said, “These taste like the ones we used to get on midnight patrol out at Miguel’s Quick Stop there in the valley.”
    He avoided her eyes, took another big bite and grunted.
    “So,” she said, “Miguel still gives you freebies, huh?“
    “Just shut up and eat.”

    * * *

    5:02 P.M.

    Savannah and Margie stood at the kitchen sink, squeezing lemons for yet another gallon or so of lemonade. At the table, the twins were rolling Play-Doh into snakes and arguing whether theirs were girls or boys. Predictably, Jack had placed a penis and testicles on his.
    From the window where she stood, Savannah could see Vidalia and Butch sitting on lawn chairs beneath the arbor in her backyard. The occasional angry word drifted back to the house. They hadn’t stopped arguing since he had arrived last night.
    He had spent the night on her sofa and Margie had bunked with Savannah again.
    Ah... there was nothing like the bliss of having family home for the holidays.
    “You guys go through a lot of this stuff,” Margie said.
    I’ve never squeezed so many lemons in my life.”
    “It’s cheaper than soft drinks,” Savannah replied, dumping an obscene amount of sugar into the pitcher. “And with this many mouths to feed, I have to cut corners wherever I can.”
    An expression crossed Margie’s face that looked a lot like guilt. “I’m sorry we’ve all barged in on you like this. You’re used to living alone, all peaceful and then here come the troops. You must feel like you’ve been invaded.”
    “It’s not that bad. And you don’t have to feel guilty about how much you eat or how much lemonade you drink. You’re the only paying guest in the house.”
    “You mean, my dad is paying you to let me stay here?“
    “Well, he brought over that batch of groceries and...“ “And that’s the last we saw of him.” Her voice trailed away and Savannah could see the glint of tears in her eyes. Damn anyone who could bring a child into the world and then forget they exist.
    “I’m glad you’re here, kiddo,” Savannah told her as she shoved the lemon rinds into the garbage disposal and rinsed her hands. “Really glad.”
    A few choice phrases floated through the open window from the backyard; it sounded like the fight was heating up.
    A second later, Vidalia came storming through the house, muttering something about turning her husband into a gelding, and stomped upstairs. The bedroom door slammed so hard that the dishes in the kitchen cupboard rattled.
    “Would you mind keeping an eye on those two?” Savannah said, nodding toward the twins who had graduated to curling their snakes into snails. “I’m going to go have a word with my dear brother-in-law.”
    “Sure, no problem. I still like messing with Play-Doh.”
    Savannah grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator, poured a glass of icy lemonade from the pitcher, and joined Butch beneath the arbor.
    It was a warm evening, and he had a glossy coat of sweat n his forehead... although she guessed the perspiration might be due to arguing with Vidalia. From experience she knew it was hard work.
    “Your sister’s bananas,” he said, popping the top on the beer. “She’s gone off the deep end this time. She says she’s gonna divorce me, and I think she actually means it.”
    “I doubt she means it. It’s probably just the hormones