Flush - Carl Hiaasen [32]
“I overheard her say something on the phone to Grandma Janet.”
My father stood knee-deep in the water, blinking and cocking his head like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard me right.
“She actually used that word. Divorce?”
“Loud and clear. She’s already spoken to Mr. Shine. Abbey was eavesdropping.”
“Oh man,” Dad sighed. “What a mess.”
At long last, reality seemed to be sinking in. I could see he was really worried about what Mom might do next. So was I.
“Come on,” I said, “let’s go.”
He reached down and scooped up a baby blue crab, which he cupped in his hands. When he bent down to inspect it, the crab promptly fastened its miniature claws to his nose and hung there, like a weird painted ornament. My father and I broke out laughing until the crab let go and plopped back into the water.
“Go tell your mom I’ll be home shortly,” he said. “We’ll take the skiff out this evening—you, me, and Abbey. Catch some snappers for supper.”
I felt pretty good when I hopped on my bike and headed for home. I’d done the tough job that I needed to do, and Dad had responded the way I’d hoped. As I rode along, my thoughts were still bouncing all over the place and I wasn’t paying attention to what was ahead of me.
Unfortunately.
One second I was pedaling full speed, the next I was hurtling over my handlebars. I landed hard on my right shoulder and rolled. When I came to a stop, I was flat on my back.
Staring up at the pinched, angry face of Jasper Muleman Jr.
“Hey, dorkbrain, where’s your training wheels?” he said.
I heard a dumb hick laugh that was unmistakably Bull’s. He and Jasper Jr. must have spotted me coming and ducked into the woods to wait. I sat up and saw my bike on the ground, a freshly snapped gumbo-limbo branch sticking out of the front spokes.
“That’s original,” I said to Jasper Jr.
Bull snatched me up by the collar and dragged me into the trees. I could hear Jasper Jr. running after us. When we got to a clearing, Bull straightened me up, spun me around, and pinned my arms.
Jasper Jr. got right in my face. “So where’s your big white-trash bodyguard? The one who knocked over my wheelbarrow.”
I wondered if he already knew that something bad had happened to Lice Peeking.
“He wasn’t my bodyguard,” I replied. “He was my personal chauffeur.”
Jasper Jr. said I was a real comedian. Then he hauled off and slugged me in the gut.
“That’s for Snake Creek,” he snarled, “for making me sink my johnboat.”
The punch knocked the wind out of me, and I went limp as a noodle in Bull’s grip. I remember thinking of something clever to say, but all I could do was squeak like a leaking balloon. It seemed to take forever to catch my breath, and right away Jasper Jr. slugged me again.
“And that’s for your crazy father sinking my father’s boat,” he said.
At that point the world turned fuzzy and gray, and I thought I was history. My mouth was flapping but absolutely nothing was coming out.
I heard Jasper Jr. say, “Bull, you wanna turn?”
“No, bro, I’m good,” Bull said, and let me drop to the ground.
Immediately I closed my eyes and let my tongue hang out and pretended I was dead. It might work fabulously for possums, but it sure didn’t work for me.
Jasper Jr. kicked me so hard in the thighbone that his big toe made a sharp popping sound. He started hopping around and hollering that I’d busted his foot. Bull remarked that it was usually a smart idea to put on shoes before you started kicking somebody. Jasper Jr. told him to shut up and gimped away, moaning. I heard Bull chuckling as he followed his wounded friend back to the road.
I would’ve been chuckling, too, if it hadn’t hurt so much.
TEN
It isn’t easy pretending everything’s wonderful when you feel like you’ve been thrown off the roof of a building. Luckily, there weren’t any bruises that Mom or Dad could see because this time Jasper Jr. had socked me in the stomach (not my eye), and the ugly knot on my thighbone was covered up by my pants.
I didn’t tell my parents what happened because they would’ve freaked and gone straight to Dusty Muleman, or maybe even the