her favorite authors and some actors and actresses, and a certificate that I printed out for her to frame and hang, if she wanted to.
I hung the quotes around her house, and her final exam was to read them aloud. Then we were to celebrate.
The celebration had commenced.
Brando had been working more hours, so it seemed like I was spending more and more time with Maggie Beautiful. She made me feel good about life. As she had once said, to laughter and applause from Violet and me afterwards, we were tight.
A cheeky grin came to my face when I looked down. Part of the celebration included me gussied up and in one of her showgirl outfits. Red sequined, feather topped, and a bit tipsy on bourbon.
Instead of spiked hot chocolate, we started spiking our punch during warmer days. This time, I was in charge of a new bowl. I felt like a rebel without a cause every time I did.
It seemed Maggie Beautiful was out of bourbon, so I used rum instead. It smelled of exotic beaches and sunshine, so I took a few deep gulps, went to put it back, but decided on a few more. Some of Maggie Beautiful’s cabinets, the ones she hid her contraband in, required a step stool to reach.
The small ladder shimmied underfoot. I steadied myself with a hand against the counter, about to put the bottle in the back of the cabinet where it was housed, when I was swept backwards, my arms automatically coming to find one strong arm wrapped around my waist like a vise. The rum exploded on the floor; fumes of the tropical drink blossomed in the air.
“Hey!” I slapped at the arm. “Put me down!”
“Yeah,” Brando said, ignoring my attempts at freedom. “No.”
“Brando! What are you doing? Put me down!”
He ignored me, carrying me into the front room as if I weighed no more than five pounds, and then set me down in front of the sofa. I stumbled back a bit, the bourbon and rum starting to course through my veins, and something else, anger.
He paced between the kitchen table and me. Each time he did a whiff of oil, sweat, and beer meandered in the air. His work clothes still clung to him, stained with black patches and soaked with perspiration.
“Scarlett Gorgeous, look what I found—” Maggie Beautiful stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from me to her son. She had a book clutched in her hands. She frowned. “What are you doing here?”
He stopped pacing, facing the both of us, eyes ablaze.
“What did you call her?” He whispered the words, but he might as well have shouted them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie Beautiful whispered, clutching the book to her chest.
“Yes it does!” I piped up. “She called me Scarlett Gorgeous. That’s her nickname for me.”
“Is that so?” He took measured steps, stopped when he was face to face with me. He leaned in and sniffed my mouth. “What did you give her?”
“I had bourbon and a touch of rum,” I spoke up again. His accusations should have been aimed at me. Then I sniffed his mouth. “What did you have, hmm?”
He looked me up and down with slow appraisal. The tick in his jaw jumped. He glanced at his mother before his attention settled on me. “Time to go.” He went to take my arm, but I yanked it away, sidestepping the sofa, coming to stand in the doorway of the kitchen.
I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. A stance he clearly recognized as, hell no, I refuse to go without a massive fight.
He cursed and then flipped the table over with momentum born of uncontrolled rage. All of the books spread out on the table crashed to the floor, papers scattered in all different directions, and droplets from the punchbowl splashed against my arm. Glass shards shone like ice in the sun’s golden light.
Maggie Beautiful ran to the floor, separating the papers, looking frantically for something. I picked up the certificate, wiped the punch off, and handed it to her. She clutched it and the book to her chest, as though she couldn’t bear to part with either.
“Why are you so angry?” My own anger took me by surprise. I had shouted so loudly that my voice cracked on the ending word to my short tirade.
His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, his hands came to his hips, and he refused to look at me. “It’s all I