The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady - Elizabeth Stuckey-French [105]
She finally had to say, “Excuse me.”
All four adults and the toddler turned to look at her. Everything was happening in slow motion, like the time her car spun off the icy road in Iowa and landed in a ditch. She couldn’t stop that and she couldn’t stop this.
Buff smiled quizzically. Paula just smiled. The toddler stared.
“I’m Suzi Witherspoon’s mother,” she said. “Remember me? Remember Suzi?”
Buff’s mouth opened.
“Soo-see. Soo-see Widderpoon!” Angel said.
“Suzi’s such a great girl,” Paula gushed.
“Yes, she is!” Caroline said heartily, idiotically. Her ears were ringing. She’d never been this angry in her life. “What’s your name?” she asked Buff. “I don’t mean Buff. I mean your real name. Not your nickname.”
“Ah, it’s Buffington. Buffington Coffey.”
“Buffington Coffey! Buffington Coffey!” said Angel.
“Well, Buffington Coffey,” Caroline repeated and then let loose with a string of foul language and accusations and threats that scared the hell out of her.
Paula cowered and she and Angel backed away, and the other couple stepped back, too. Only Buff stood his ground, listening, as if she were reciting Bible verses.
“There’s been some mistake,” he said when she stopped. “Would you like to come back with me to my office? We can talk in private.” Then he addressed his wife. “There’s nothing to this. Suzi’s got some problems.”
“She does now!” Caroline yelled. “After what you did to her.” She went on and on, saying that there was no way in hell she’d go back to his office and did he want to take nasty photos of her and get her to suck his dick, too?
There was quiet after this last outburst, and then she heard a rumbling behind her. It was Vic, growling like a bear, running up the aisle. He tackled Buff, like the football player he’d been in high school, and then started whaling on him, beating the tar out of him, and Caroline was glad, very glad.
Buff didn’t fight back but lay there like he deserved it.
She hadn’t been to Mission San Luis since elementary school, and what she mostly remembered was the long climb uphill to get there. Otis had dropped her off at the bottom of the hill and zoomed off to God knows where, refusing to wait, even when Ava promised she’d just be a few minutes. He was off on some Otis errand of mysterious importance. But actually she was glad that he’d gone, glad to be left alone and entirely free of her family.
It was late afternoon. On top of the hill the live oaks shaded the paths and buildings. She followed the path to the right, past the friary and the huge thatched-roof church, seeing no one until she noticed a few people gathered in front of a cottage across the field. She had no idea what sort of craft or trade Travis demonstrated—had no idea whether or not Travis was even working today. But she needed to talk to him. Talking to someone she didn’t know well on the phone made her nervous, and he wasn’t on MySpace, so she’d taken a chance and come here. She’d taken a chance! She didn’t usually take chances.
A gaggle of little boys in baseball caps raced past her, going the opposite way, red-faced and shouting. She approached the cottage. There were gardens around it and a small bonfire in a clearing. The smell of meat cooking wafted up from an iron kettle in the fire. A costumed woman was holding forth near the fire, while an earnest middle-aged couple in matching T-shirts and shorts, with big smiles plastered on their faces, looked on.
The talking lady, who wore an ivory linen mantilla and silver earrings and an ivory linen bustled dress, turned to include Ava as part of her audience, and Ava felt obliged to stand and listen.
“That’s my cook,” the talking lady said, pointing to a darker, younger woman sitting on a log nearby, sewing. “She’s fixing our stew for dinner. I have to keep an eye on her