“How about you make sure the MargoMobile is battened down, Doc,” Dew said. “I want us out of here before the local media stops writing about a white supremacist group getting bombed in Marinesco and decides there might actually be another story afoot.”
He opened the door for her and gestured outside. Margaret walked out, and Dew followed.
DEEEEE-TROIT BASKET-BALLLL!
“Unkie Donny, you sit here,” Chelsea said. She patted the center cushion of the couch. It was Daddy’s spot, but Unkie Donny was a guest. She got to sit in Daddy’s lap all the time. She didn’t see Unkie Donny anymore, hardly ever. Not since he moved to Pittsburgh. She didn’t get to see Betty, either. That was worse.
Betty was so pretty. She had pierced ears. Daddy wouldn’t let Chelsea pierce her ears. Maybe in a few years, Daddy would say. A year was such a long time. A few years? Chelsea couldn’t imagine that a few years would ever come. She’d never get her ears pierced, never be as pretty as Betty.
Unkie Donny sat down on the middle cushion. “Right here, honey?”
“Yes,” Chelsea said. “Right here. And to sit here you have to pay the toll.”
“The toll? What’s this going to cost me?”
“Smoochies!” Chelsea said.
Unkie Donny lifted her clear up off the ground. “Ready?”
She nodded. They both puckered up and made a mmmmm noise as they slowly brought their lips together, then made an exaggerated kissing sound as the mmmmm turned into a loud ahhhh. Unkie Donnie sat her on the cushion to his left. Chelsea immediately crawled into his lap.
Betty smiled and sat down on the cushion to their right.
“O-M-G, that was so cute I could just keel over,” Betty said. She leaned toward Chelsea. “And where’s my smoochies?”
Mmmmm-ahhhh.
Daddy sat on the cushion to the left. He clicked the remote control. The TV changed from a cartoon to show men in white pajamas shooting the basketball.
Chelsea clapped, then leaned back on Unkie Donny’s chest.
He gave her shoulders a little shake. “Honey, do you know what time it is?”
She checked her Mickey Mouse watch. The big hand was on the eleven, the little hand was on the one, so that… was…
“Not that kind of time,” Unkie Donny said. “The game, Chelsea. It’s time for…”
Chelsea took a deep breath, sat up, then screamed in unison with Unkie Donny, “Deeeee-troit basket-ballll!”
She rested against his chest. “Unkie Donny, who is your favorite Piston of all time?”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Well, I’ve been watching them for a lotta years, honey. I’d have to say Bill Laimbeer or Chauncey Billups. Who’s yours?”
“I like Peyton Manning!”
“Wrong sport, baby-girl,” Unkie Donny said.
“Oh,” Chelsea said. “Then I like Chaunney Billups.”
“Chauncey, baby-girl,” Unkie Donny said.
“Chaun-see,” she said, trying the word on for size. “I was going to name my puppy Fluffy, but now I’ll name him Chauncey. Then you can come and play with Chauncey, Unkie Donny.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Unkie Donny said.
Daddy sighed. “We’re not getting a puppy, Chelsea. Don’t start trying to get other people to campaign for you like you always do.”
“But Daddy, I want a puppy!”
“Chelsea, we’re not going to talk about this now.”
Chelsea crossed her arms. “You’re not the boss of me.”
Mommy came out of the kitchen so fast that Chelsea flinched. Mommy had her heavy wooden mixing spoon in her hand. The spanky-spoon. It was still clumped with mashed potatoes.
“Little lady, if you say that one more time, you’re going to get it.” Mommy shook the spoon as she talked, flinging little bits of mashed potatoes.
“But Mom…”
“Not another word,” Mommy said.
Chelsea pouted and fell back against Unkie Donny’s chest.
Mommy nodded once, blond hair bouncing, then turned and strode back into the kitchen just as fast as she’d come in.
“Chelsea is in a bit of a willful stage,” Daddy said to Unkie Donny. “Usually when she doesn’t get what she wants, she throws a tantrum. Seems she’s on her best behavior because you and Betty are here.”
“Be careful,” Unkie Donny said. “Sometimes they don’t grow out of the tantrum phase.”
Betty smacked Unkie Donny on the shoulder. “Knock it off, geezer.”
Unkie Donny laughed, and Chelsea forgot all about the puppy. She watched the men in the pajamas for a second, then grabbed Betty’s hand. “Who’s your favorite player, Betty?”
Betty reached up and stroked her cousin’s hair. “Oh, I don’t know, dolly. I don’t pay that much attention to basketball. If you want to talk about clothes or flowers, I’m your girl.”
The way Betty stroked her hair, it was so nice.
“I like dandelions,” Chelsea said.
“Oh, those are pretty,” Betty said. “Do you like the yellow kind or the white kind better?”
“I like the white kind,” Chelsea said. “I like the way they float and fly.”
Betty agreed with her. Betty always agreed with her, which was very nice. Chelsea had Daddy on her left, Betty on her right, and she was sitting on Unkie Donny’s lap. This was just so awesome.
She watched the men take off the white pajamas. She thought this was the funniest part of basketball. If she took off her pajamas in front of people, she’d get in trouble. She wanted more ice cream. She’d already had one bar, and that was supposed to be it, but Mommy wasn’t in the room.
“Daddy, can I have an ice cream bar?”
“Don’t you mean another ice cream bar, Chelsea? It’s not even noon, and I know for a fact you had one already.”
“Why can’t I have more? I like it.”
“Chelsea!” Mommy shouted from the kitchen. “Do I need to come in there?”
“No,” Chelsea said quickly. “I’ll stop.”
She sighed and fell back against Unkie Donny’s chest again. It just wasn’t fair. She watched the men walk onto the court to start the game.
HELP IS ON THE WAY
Forty miles above Chuy Rodriguez’s backyard, the Orbital finished a probability analysis.
The results showed an 86 percent chance of success. Well above the required 75 percent specified in its parameters.
It began to modify the seeds of batch seventeen. It also broadcast a message to the remaining hatchlings, the ones that hadn’t been able to make it to Marinesco or South Bloomingville in time, the ones that were hidden away. It sent the message to the triangles still growing in hosts, from seeds that had blown around for days before making a lucky landing.
The message said, Stay hidden, stay quiet.
Help is on the way.
VOICES
Perry Dawsey suddenly sat up in his bed. Steam floated near the ceiling. Every glass surface in the room was beaded with water, even the alarm clock that read 4:17 P.M. He still had a hangover, although it wasn’t as bad. Hunger hit him like a wave. Maybe that breakfast place Dew wanted to eat at was close by.