Citizen Insane - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,24

wasn’t Howard’s—it was Colt’s familiar scrawl. What a guy. It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that I understood why the girls might become frightened. My shirt and sweatpants were stained with blood. Some dried caked remnants remained on my arms as well, even though they tried to clean it off at the hospital.

The shower felt so good that I didn’t want it to end. But taking up residence in the bathroom was no way to live, so I got out, dressed myself, slapped a band-aid over the black and blue goose egg on my forehead, turned my frown upside down and headed downstairs. The enticing aroma of fried bacon welcomed me before the girls did. I found them sitting around the table munching. Colt was bent over Amber, cutting a banana into her bowl of Rice Krispies. Bethany was reading a book while shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth, and Callie ate a piece of toast while glued to the screen of her cell phone. A pretty typical morning in our house except I never fixed eggs and bacon on a school day. Colt would make some lucky woman a great wife one day.

“Hey there, Curly!” Having finished slicing the banana, he popped the last bit into his own mouth and threw the peel into my kitchen trash can. “Pull up a chair. The coffee is ready.”

Amber patted the table. “Sit next to me, Mommy! Look what Colt made!”

Next to her bowl of cereal was a pancake as big as the plate it sat on—two banana slices for eyes, a mouth made of chocolate chips and whipped cream hair. “I can’t eat it,” she said solemnly. “It’s too pretty.”

Before my butt hit the chair, a steamy cup of brew was placed in front of me, already fixed to my liking—a teaspoon of sugar and a dash of cream. While I sipped, a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and sliced tomatoes appeared. Holy cow. I wondered if I had I moved to Bizarre-o-world where mothers were treated as well as their children. “So, when did you guys get here?” I asked before scooping up some eggs.

“Your mom called the condo at six-thirty this morning,” answered Colt. “She had somewhere to be. I told her I’d pick up the girls and bring them home for you.”

I wanted to know why Howard didn’t bring them, but was afraid of the answer, so I decided not to ask. At least not until the girls were gone.

“Man,” I said smiling at my three beauties. “You must be tired.”

“Not me.” Amber was always in a good mood. The other two didn’t look up or answer. They were probably pooped and grumpy.

“Mommy!” cried Amber, “tell us about the polar bear.”

“Hmm?”

Bethany lifted her nose from the book. “Yes, Mom.” Her voice carried a suspicious tone. “Tell us about the POLAR BEAR.”

This must have been the story Colt concocted to explain last night’s adventure. He could whip up a dandy breakfast, but I was beginning to worry about his skills with believable fiction.

He cleared his throat. “I told them to let you eat first, before you told them all about accidentally hitting the polar bear. You know—the one you hit with your van. Last night. And why they had to go to their grandmother’s house.”

“I got it Colt.”

“Is he okay, Mommy? You didn’t kill him did you?” Amber was very concerned.

“No—”

“I don’t believe it,” protested Bethany. There aren’t any polar bears in Rustic Woods.”

“Colt said it ex-scape-ted from the zoo.”

“The only zoo around here is the Rustic Woods Zoo,” she did finger quotes in the air when she said the word zoo, “and all they have there is a buffalo, a couple of goats, and an emu with a peg-leg.”

Callie never looked up from her phone, but let us know how stupid she thought we all were by sighing loudly and mumbling, “Speaking of zoos . . .”

I didn’t comment on Bethany’s issue with the zoo, because it was true—the Rustic Woods Zoo was a poor excuse for an animal exhibit. The closest thing they had to a bear was a severely overweight opossum whose tail had been amputated after an unfortunate tangle with Snippy, the snapping turtle. “Well,” I said, making the best of this sad excuse for an excuse, “he’s fine, but they did have to medevac him to a polar bear hospital at the North Pole, because really, that’s where they belong anyway. I mean, if a polar bear wanders around at night in