PLANS COME TOGETHER Chapter 2
SATURDAY
-"JESUS CHRIST!"
We both heard it. Mike sat up in bed.
- "What was that?" he said.
The sweet sound of success, I thought. I was tempted to dawdle a bit, but realized that I probably shouldn't be the last person to respond, in case it looked suspicious.
We all eventually trickled into the kitchen and living room, where Bailey was blasting her best friend.
- "Well, I'm not fucking cleaning it up!"
- "What? So I have to?" said Lisa. I was pleased to see that she was holding her nose, looking thoroughly disgusted.
- "Who else? He's your - I mean,
you
invited him."
- "FINE!"
Bailey had gotten up early, good hostess that she was, to put on a pot of coffee and start preparing breakfast. She'd been taken completely by surprise when she encountered Matt and the vomitous mass.
- "I'm sorry." she said, apologizing to everyone. "I was just..."
- "What can we do to help?" asked Diane. Bailey shot her a look of complete gratitude.
Amy and Bailey went to the kitchen, to start serving coffees, muffins and bagels (serious breakfast food would have to wait until we completed a shopping run later today). Meanwhile Diane pitched in to help Lisa with the most disgusting task: cleaning up Matt and the couch.
- "
She's a saint
." I whispered to Mike. He was just standing there, completely in awe.
In a crisis, or an emergency (however minor), there are people who adopt a 'Woe is me' attitude, and then others who stand around watching. There are also the talkers, who like to make suggestions. Then there's the small minority who just roll up their sleeves and do something useful.
Diane got a bucket of warm, soapy water, and brought it to the couch while Lisa was still trying to figure out where to start. It didn't help that we were all gagging at the horrific smell.
- "Best to move him, first." I said.
Diane agreed. Mike and I levered Matt into a semi-sitting position, trying not to get any of the yuck on us. I peeled his shirt up, over his head. Lisa held Matt's hand by the fingertips, lifting his arm so that I could get the nasty, pukey shirt over it.
- "Ew, Ew, Ew..." she said, as she took up his second hand and got some vomit on her fingers.
Mike and I pulled Matt to his feet, basically holding him up between us.
- "Uhhh..." was Matt's first contribution to the discussion.
- "Take his feet." I said to Mike. We literally carried him to his room, and deposited him on his bed. I wanted to pinch his cheek and thank him, but I settled for propping him on his side, with one of the larger pillows behind him, so that it would be hard for him to roll onto his back.
- "I thought I was going to ralph." said Mike.
- "I'm glad you didn't. Imagine cleaning him up? I can't believe that Diane is doing that. Now I can see why you're crazy about her. She's really something."
Mike smiled. "She is, isn't she?"
We returned to the living room, where Lisa and Diane had removed most of the... yuck. Matt's shirt and most of the... loose bits had gone into a garbage bag.
- "Want us to get rid of that?" I asked.
- "Yes. Burn it, or bury it a mile underground." said Lisa.
- "I'll take it." said Mike.
Diane smiled at him. "Thanks, Mike."
Is it just me, or does vomit bring people together? Seriously, though - I mean small obstacles. You get over them together, and sometimes people bond.
Bailey was telling Amy and Joanne where to find things, and they were putting together a breakfast for everyone. Steve, meanwhile, was making himself useful by having a smoke on the deck. It was a lovely morning.
Over coffee and breakfast, we made plans. Matt was still out cold; that was no great loss. Bailey and Lisa, with Mike and me, would go into Walker's Corners for our major shopping run. We needed to fill the gas tank for the motorboat. Meat, eggs, milk, baked goods... there was an extensive list. And since the butcher had his special 'deal' with the Walkers, I'd collected $50 cash from everybody.
- "It should be more." I said. "How much are we spending on gas?"
- "None of your business." said Bailey. "My treat. Boat rides are part of the package. I'm just so glad that you're all here." She beamed at Diane and Amy, in particular. "What do you two want to get up to while we're gone?"
- "We could do the dishes and clean up." said Diane. Seriously - that's what she said.
- "No, no." said Bailey. "Clean-up will take up ten minutes, if we all pitch in. You should do something fun."
Diane glanced at her best friend, then back at Bailey. "Could we maybe try kayaking?"
- "Perfect." said our hostess. "Steve, sweetie - could you set them up? Life-jackets, and everything?"
- "Alright." said Steve, grudgingly. But I saw his eyes flicker to Amy.
- "Want to see the boathouse, Mike?" I said. "I didn't get to see it last time I was here. We should probably have a look, if we're going to go canoeing later."
There was no fucking way I was going to leave Steve Holmgren alone with Diane and Amy. Not for a second. And he knew it.
The five of us trooped down to the boathouse. It was in a lovely spot, with a beautiful view of this end of the lake. After last night's rain, there was barely any wind, and the water was very calm. The girls would have little trouble.
Steve pointed out the available kayaks, pulled out a couple of paddles, and pointed at the life-jackets. That done, he went back up to the cottage. Great guy.
Mike and I helped the girls get settled in their kayaks. Diane was confident, but Amy had never done this before.
- "Trust your paddle." I told her. "It'll help to keep you balanced. You'll be fine."
We gave them a gentle push, out into the lake, and watched them paddle out. Amy was concentrating on keeping her craft steady. Diane turned to smile and wave.
- "I get it, Mike." I said. "She's special."
- "I know."
- "Last night was good, right?"
- "Yeah." He let out a deep sigh.
- "So... whatever happens, in the next few days... you can't bail on me, Mike. I think it's all going to work out. But don't leave me, alright?"
He hesitated. He always did. Mike had to think about his answer, first.
- "What does that mean?"
- "It means that I need you to trust me. Okay? I got you this far."
- "Okay, Kyle."
Bailey, Lisa and Joanne had cleaned up after breakfast. Steve was on his phone.
- "Ready to go?" asked Bailey.
- "All set." I glanced at Joanne, who gave me a slow nod.
Bailey would drive Steve's SUV. The hatchback would be a lot more convenient than the deep trunk on my old beast. Lisa sat up front with Bailey, while Mike and I piled into the back.
- "Last night was fun." said Bailey, cheerfully.
Yeah, let's not talk about the puke.
- "All of it was." I said. "Name that tune, Beep Bop - but Rude Scrabble was probably the best."
- "Ha! Yes. Who knew that Diane was... so wild."
I let Bailey drive down the dirt road for almost ten minutes. Then I slapped myself in the forehead.
- "SHIT!"
- "What's wrong?"
- "I - shit! I left my wallet in the bedroom. All of the cash is in it."
- "Oh!" said Bailey.
- "Kyle, you dumbass." said Lisa. She was not in a particularly good mood this morning.
- "I'm so sorry, Bailey." I said. Mike frowned, but didn't say anything. He knew that I wasn't the forgetful type.
- "It's okay, Kyle." said Bailey. We'll just go back and get it. No harm done." She pulled into a lane, reversed direction, and headed back to the cottage.
I was trying to calculate the time that had elapsed. Well, there are some things that you can control, and some that you can't.
- "I'm sorry." I repeated.
- "It's no big deal." said Bailey. "Just a couple of minutes."
She pulled up in front of the cottage. Lisa jumped out first.
- "Now I have to pee." she complained.
- "Yeah, I should probably go, too." I said. I had been just about to say it first. Peeing is almost like yawning; harder to resist when someone is doing it.
- "Oh, fine." said Bailey, climbing out of the driver's seat. My plan had picked up a certain kind of crazy momentum; obstacles were simply evaporating. I let the two girls precede me to the door.
The kitchen wasn't a separate room. It was more of an open concept thing, with no wall separating it from the living room, which was the first place you came to.
We all heard the slapping of flesh on flesh.
