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“No?”
“Nope. Not a lick. How are you at rapping?”
***
“Rapping?” Liam blinked light green eyes at me as if I’d just asked him to perform Swan Lake with the New York Ballet Company. “Are they serious?”
“Totally.” We were seated down at the dock in the late afternoon, our day officially over. The sun was close to setting but lingered in the sky, casting a bright red glow to the peaceful waters of the lake. “They gave me the lyrics. Shooting starts Friday.”
He plucked the papers from my hand, eyes widening at the lengthy song. “I’ve never rapped a day in my life, and this song is…” he glanced at me and I shrugged, “it’s crazy long. Three days to memorize all these lyrics?”
“I know. I said that too, but Marlene was sure we could do it. She said they’d pick the best bits and then edit in some of our killer goalie moves, like a montage, that they would release on social media on opening day. I mean…” I drew in a breath, wishing now that I’d worn more down to the water. This time of year, a sweater felt nice in the morning and at night, but during the day, you wished you’d skipped the damn sweater. “It’s kind of a cool idea. And the song is amazing.”
“Sure, I mean it’s a classic and works well with the message they’re trying to send, but…Friday? Seriously, that’s crushing. I didn’t study this hard in college.” Wind rustled the printouts in his hand. My skin pimpled.
“I feel you. So, yeah, that’s happening. You cool with it?” I looked over at my roomie.
“Sure, I’m down. I mean, they could have given us more time to lock the lyrics but…dude, you look frozen.”
“Yeah, I’m cold. I miss summer already,” I moaned as I hugged myself.
“See, this is why you should have grown up in Pittsburgh. Sixty degrees is still shorts and tank top weather.” He waved the papers at his clothing. “Shit, I’ll be wearing shorts until Christmas.”
“You’re a freak,” I grumbled, playfully bumped his shoulder with mine, and eyed the stairs leading up from the dock to our house high on the hill. “Guess we better get upstairs and start rehearsing.”
Liam nodded and plodded up after me, making amends to the greatness that is MC Hammer for what we two were about to do to one of his songs.
Chapter Six
Marcus
“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Da-deeeeeeeee.”
A tiny finger jabbed my cheek. I managed to get one eye opened to see a large ladybug sitting beside me, its antenna slightly off center but otherwise delightfully adorable.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, beetle girl.”
“Daddy, I’m not a beetle. I’m a ladybug. Is it Halloween yet?”
“No, child, it’s not, and ladybugs are beetles. You asked me that last night before bed. Do you remember what I told you?” The sun was bright in the sky, telling me that I’d slept through my alarm. Not a great thing to do on opening day, but it had been a long night. “Do you still have an upset tummy?”
“No, it’s better. I pooped a lot an hour ago and my belly was all better.” She rubbed at the red-and-black costume covering her from chin to knees, the foam bent out of shape due to her sitting cross-legged, so it was more coverage of her from chin to armpits at the moment. “You said Halloween is not for two weeks. But I was sick from not pooping good last night and sleeped long so maybe we sleeped through those weeks.”
“Sorry, baby, we did not. Today is the twentieth and Halloween is the thirty-first so eleven more days.” She rolled big brown eyes and then collapsed dramatically onto my chest.
“I will die by then.” She sighed with all the flair of a Broadway actress.
“Nope, you won’t. Hey, when you pooped, did you flush and wash your hands?” I hated to ask, but sometimes you just had to. She nodded, curled up beside me, and began telling me about school and the party at her friend’s house for Halloween, and her new ladybug costume, and a few dozen other things. I lay there with her, grateful for this time together. The season kicked off today with a game against Hershey, and my time at home would be drastically reduced from here on out.
“Can we eat? I feel hungry now that I pooped.” She sat up to stare down at me.
“Sure, you go to the kitchen and feed Goldberry her treats while I get dressed,” I suggested, and she raced off, eager to find our elusive yellow cat and dispense kitty treats. Once she was out of my room, I rolled back the covers, stood up, and straightened my T-shirt and boxers. I much preferred sleeping nude, but with a kid and an older lady in the house, those days were over.
My phone was charging downstairs, so I bumbled into the bathroom that we all shared, rubbing at my eyes with the tips of my fingers. I could hear my aunt snoring as I passed her room. Kyleen had had us both up into the wee hours last night. I was glad to hear that a good pooh had eased her bellyache. The child really needed more fiber, but it was easier to give Goldberry a pill than it was to get a vegetable into that girl’s mouth.
I opened the door to the bathroom, inhaled, and gagged. The child had not flushed. She probably hadn’t washed her hands either…
Thank the gods of housekeeping for inventing Febreze.
