Deadly Drafts - CH 18

THE FULL FORCE OF MOM-GLARE (PATENT PENDING) 

 

Kavi breathed deep the earthy steam from her travel mug. Hold muzak oozed from the phone at her ear as a plaid-and-khaki mob swarmed her van, belting their teenage arias of freedom and rebellion and unrequited love. The cops had returned her van earlier in the morning. To their credit, not a single crumb or fast-food wrapper sat out of place. Yet it felt changed, strange like driving a car fresh from the shop. The smell was somehow different, made her van feel like its own evil twin.  

As these things go for parents, the hold music clicked off just as Kavi's daughters slung open the van's side door. 

"Thanks for holding, Mrs. Byrne." 

"Adnan-Byrne." 

"Adnan-Byrne? Yes. This is Janine Wrigley with the Hedgehog Review. Our receptionist said you had some questions?" 

"Mooooommm," Gwyn, eleven, nestled into shotgun, turned owl eyes to her mother. "What are you doing here? Dad is supposed to pick us up. In his car? I am soooooo embarrassed to be seen in this junky old van." 

Grace, a round faced, rambunctious 9-year-old, bounced from the bench seat behind them. "Caroline said you shot a guy, mom. Did you shoot a guy? That would be sooo cooool." 

Kavi turned to face her youngest daughter. "We've been through this, love. Someone did bad things pretending to be me. I did not shoot anyone." 

"Excuse me?" Janine Wrigley's voice crackled in Kavi's ear. "You shot someone?" 

Kavi hunched to the driver's window, trying to create a cone of silence. She felt like a chainsaw juggler, the chuffing knives plummeting toward her. "No no no. Sorry, I'm in a crowded space here and there's a few others rudely intruding. I don't want to waste your time, Ms. Wrigley, but I just need to ask a few quick questions. I work for a media auditing firm and—" 

Grace shot forward from her bench seat and poked Kavi's shoulder. "Mom!  You work in a library! Who is on the phone? Why are you lying? You told us never to lie." 

Kavi turned and put a sharp, shushing finger to her lips. "Ah, I'm compiling a report on small press publishing and wanted to know about your current receipts?" 

Gwyn turned the keys in the van's ignition. The old beast roared to life. "Mom, let's go. The other kids are watching. You're embarrassing me." 

"Are you auditing me?" Janine Wrigley sucked in a breath on the other end of the phone. "Those write-offs were completely legit." 

"I assure you, I'm not from the IRS." 

"At least that's the truth," Gwyn rolled her eyes and clipped her seatbelt. 

"Are...," Janine Wrigley's voice crackled. "Are there other people listening to this call?" 

"It's my kids," Kavi turned to her beautiful, infuriating daughters. The afternoon sun glimmered the amber threaded through their dark hair, the little love letters to James. "I mean, you get it, right? Working woman, trying to have it all?" 

Silence blared from the phone. 

"I detest children." 

"Nevermind. Listen, I just need to know who screens your incoming fiction submissions." 

"We have English majors from the nearby college shovel our shit." 

Kavi puffed anger from her nose. This whole damn game, calling magazines, grasping for any lead, felt like a perverted game of whack-a-mole. Every time she nailed one of the buggers, four more would pop up in its place. "Well, do you have a list?" 

"Fine!" Ms. Wrigley shouted through the phone. "They're unpaid interns! Is that what you wanted me to say? That we bend employment laws to make ends meet? You happy now?" 

"I honestly don't care about your interns," Kavi said. "What I really need to know is if you remember a story called The Sacred Heist. It would have been submitted about eight months ago." 

"Oh, okaaaay." Ms. Wrigley groaned, shifted gears to rival an Indy Car driver." Is that what this is? We rejected your story so you're calling to give us shit? Listen, I've never heard that title in my life, which means you got shoveled straight form the slush pile to the garbage can." 

"Mom!" Gwyn shot across shotgun and wrenched the van into drive. "Seriously. Everyone can see me here. Please, please can we just go." 

Kavi slammed the brake, jolting everyone forward.  Molars gnashing to nubs, she turned the full heat of her mom-glare (patent pending) to Gwyn. "God help me, you're not too old for me to take you over my knee and paddle you." 

"Excuse me?!" Janine's roar crackled the phone. "What the hell kind of call is this?" 

"Oh…" Kavi pinched the throbbing bridge of her nose. "I was talking… hello? Hello?" Well, at least she could strike another publishers from her list. Only a handful remained. She took a deep breath, counted five to one in her head. Just choose one thing to focus on. 

"I understand that it must be embarrassing to have everyone saying I shot someone…" 

"You're not embarrassing because of this fake-ass crime. No one thinks you did it." Gwyn shook her head. "I was sitting next to Ross Natze at lunch today and he told me it wasn't you. You're embarrassing because this van is old and you're old." 

Kavi wanted to shout that 42 is not old. It took a slow, slurring moment for her brain to catch up to what her daughter had just said.  

Ross Natze told Gwyn that Kavi wasn't at the jeweler's. Ross Natze knows Kavi wasn't at the jeweler's. A chorus of harps played Hallelujah in her head 

"Wait." The heavenly chorus screeched to a halt. A different, troubling image filled her brain. "You sit next to boys at lunch?" 

"Mooooommmm!" Gwyn cinched her arms across her chest. A comet tail of black hair whooshed as she turned her whole body toward the passenger window. "You are sooooo embarrassing!" 

"You sit next to boys. You sit next to Ross Natze. Shit." A gut-wrenching, finger-tingling frown pulled Kavi's cheeks. Robotically, she released the brake and merged out into the street. 

"Mom," Grace scolded from behind him. "It's not nice to swear."

Chapter Nineteen