things were officially out of hand.
Desperate to get the quilting back on track, Gia pressed her palms together in front of her heart. “Could we not—”
“Traditions are traditions for a reason. Sacred rituals give—”
“Oh, save the Madison’s Mark speech for your TV show.” Shelley’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “We’re not your demographic.”
“Girls,” Darynda said. “Let’s all—”
Madison stuck out her palm. “Hand me the scissors.”
Gia added, “Please.”
Shelley picked up the scissors from the table beside her, held them out of Madison’s reach. “Tell Gia that strawberry cake is perfectly fine for her fall wedding.”
“But it’s not.” Madison stood up.
Shelley jumped up, knocking over her chair in the process. It smacked to the floor with a loud bang.
Gia and Darynda cringed in unison.
“It’s not your wedding. You already had your chance.”
“Yes, I did, Shelley, and you blew it.”
They glared at each other, arms akimbo.
“I’ll have white cake, Maddie,” Gia said. “I’ll have white cake. Just please, sit back down. White cake it is. And I’ll do the groom’s cake, too.”
“Don’t cave in to her, Gia,” Shelley said. “Bowing down just feeds the beast.”
“Are you calling me a beast?” Madison’s eyes were daggers.
“Girls!” Darynda’s voice was sharp but no one was listening to her.
“If the shoe fits . . .” Shelley crossed her arms and glowered.
“Please, please, please, can we just get along?” Gia beseeched.
“Give me those scissors right now.” Madison growled, her eyes dark and her body shaking all over as she glared at Shelley. “Or I will come over there and I will take them away from you.”
Shelley dangled the scissors over her head. “C’mon, I dare you.”
“Son of a bitch!” Madison exploded.
“Madison, stop it,” Darynda said.
For one horrific second, Gia thought Madison was about to throat-punch Shelley. She swung her gaze to her older sister, ready to fling herself in front of Shelley to protect her, but Madison was staring out across the yard at the beach.
Something else besides Shelley had triggered her curse.
“What is it?” Gia swiveled her head.
Darynda stood up. “Mercy, what is going on here?”
Her sister stormed down the porch steps. On her way across the sloping lawn, Madison stopped long enough to snatch up one of Grammy’s pink flamingos staked into the ground. “Hey, you. You there!”
Simultaneously, Shelley and Gia hurried down the steps after her as Madison waved the plastic pink flamingo at a male jogger who’d stopped to urinate in the shrubbery dividing the Moonglow Inn property from their neighbors to the west. Darynda stayed on the porch watching the altercation.
The guy startled and fell back into the sand on his butt, raising his arms to cover his face as Maddie charged him.
“Pervert!” she exclaimed.
Even from the middle of the lawn, Gia could hear the swoosh when Madison swung the flamingo through the air like a baseball bat. In high school, Madison had played softball, and she’d been damn good at it.
Uh-oh. Gia pitied the guy.
Lifting his butt up off the sand, he scurried backward on his hands like a hermit crab, desperate to get away from flamingo-wielding Madison, but unable to scramble to his feet before she reached him.
Madison swatted at his crotch with the flamingo, but he rolled away before she made contact. “How dare you pee in the bushes! This is a family beach! There are children around! If you can’t wait for the Porta Potty, have the decency to go in the ocean!”
Shelley and Gia flew down the beach toward them. Gia wasn’t really sure whether they were there to back up Madison or save the jogger.
Maddie swung the flamingo again, but he was quicker and got out of the way.
Arm raised to protect his face, he cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Maddie stood over him, breathing hard and straddling his legs, the flamingo cocked back on her shoulder, sweat beading her brow.
The jogger cupped his crotch. “Please don’t hit me.”
“Madison,” Shelley said, her voice soft, but firm. “Put down the flamingo. He’s not the one you’re really mad at.”
“He was peeing in our bushes.” Madison held tightly to the flamingo, but Gia saw all the fight go out of her. “It’s the third time this week, and I’m sick of it. Just because he has a penis doesn’t mean the world is his toilet.”
“You’re crazy, lady.” The jogger chuffed.
“I suggest you hush up,” Shelley said. “Before we go back to the house and let her have at you.”
“Don’t go,” the jogger said in a high, scared voice.
“For the record”—Maddie sniffed—“I didn’t hit you.”
“It wasn’t from lack of trying.”