Road Trip

“It turns out that I can order scorpions and a speculum online, and I can get one of each for less than twenty bucks.” Lila pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, where it stayed for a full five seconds. “I know I can get honey,” she continued, “but fireants might have to be captured in the wild. It’s fifty bucks for a 25-ant colony, and no way in hell I’m spending that much on her.”

The sun had slipped into its autumnal slant, changing the size and shape of shadows. The long, dark arc of the guardrail’s shadow splaying down the right lane of 127 always fucked with me, seeming to deliberately distort the lane, bisecting it into uneven halves.

I swallowed hard. I knew Lila hated Susan, she’d been going on about scorpions and speculums for a few weeks. I figured it was just talk, but yesterday, I noticed a small brass scorpion on her keychain. I tried not to react, but my eyebrows sought my hairline. Now this.

She was cool as a cucumber, which, if you know Lila, sets off warning bells.

She kept on. “I think there’s a roll of two-pound test in my tackle box, along with God knows how many hooks, but I looked all over the house and garage for duct tape yesterday and came up empty-handed.”

The guardrails and their shadows disappeared as I rounded the curve into my favorite stretch of the highway, lined on either side with adolescent hickory trees dense enough to feel like a forest but holding enough space between the trees to allow the dappled green light to filter through. Visible oxygen.

“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve been studying the tide charts.” I cut my eyes toward her without turning my head.

She propped a ruby-nailed foot on the dash and turned toward me. “So what if I have?”

I eased to a stop as we approached a red light. “Goddamnit, Lila, put your foot down and put your fucking seatbelt on.”

I didn’t even have to look at her to see her roll her eyes.

“I’m suddenly rethinking this beach trip. It sounds like you’re planning to get locked up in county until your indictment.”

“Party pooper. I’m not really going to kill her, just trying to put together a spectacular way to do it and see if it’s feasible.” Lila’s foot returned to the floorboard, and she buckled her seatbelt, then promptly pulled the shoulder strap over her head to rest between her shoulder blades against the passenger seat.

“Whatever. You can bet your ass I’m checking your bag when we get to the beach, and there better not be a scorpion or two-pound test in it. And you can forget about stopping at a produce stand. You’ll just have to hope Miss Jeannie will give us some tomatoes from her garden. You don’t fucking surf fish with two-pound, and I know that better than I know I’m Masie Adams.”

Dollars to doughnuts, this had something to do with Sam. A couple of days before the scorpion fetish began, she and Sam had a huge fight, the kind where Lila does all the talking. Screaming, actually. I’m pretty sure everyone from here to Montana heard her say she’d like to tear his spleen out through his throat. You don’t ever have to ask if Lila’s upset. Hell, future generations are probably aware.

“Oh, come on.” There it was. The fucking Lila pout. The eyes would be next. Lila has better control of her mouth and eyes than anyone on the planet, probably because that’s where she spends every ounce of it she possesses. If I wasn’t careful, I’d get drawn into one of her schemes. I didn’t think she would really kill anyone, this was part of her routine. Whatever she was really planning would seem to be a shiny silver shade of the morally grey area in comparison to her tying Susan up with fishing line, covered in honey with fire ants crawling all over her while using the speculum as intended and releasing a scorpion into it, throwing her onto the bottom of an oyster bed and drinking a beer while watching the tide come in.

Lila knows rhetoric better than anyone, and she was damn sure setting up to make something truly devious sound like an April Fool’s Day prank. She doesn’t scream to make up for weak words, the screaming is her rage catharsis, and she doesn’t open fire without a full magazine of quotable phrases. And she only does it when she’s been pushed way too far.

“Fine.” Lila crossed her arms over her chest. I looked over at her and said, “You realize that you can’t pull that one off?”

“Can’t pull what off?” Incredulous eyes.

I wondered if Mischievous would take Innocent’s place in the lineup. “The arm crossing thing. Your tits are too big for it. That’s an IBTC thing, like those halter-top dresses. Your arms are perpendicular to your body, makes you look like you’re going to start chanting and doing a tribal dance. Maybe if you were standing up, but I’d abandon it altogether. Stick with hands on hips.”

“Noted. Since you’re planning to deprive me of Johns Island tomatoes, why don’t we stop off in Charlotte? I bet Soleil will hook us up on a room at The Dunhill. The friends and family rate is a steal, and I left on good terms.”

“Wait, what? You left on good terms? First time for everything, I reckon.”

“As if. Want to stay in the haunted room?” She pulled out her phone and placed a call. “Is Soleil available?”

Silence. Apparently, Soleil was available.

“Hey, it’s Lila. . . . Actually, yes.”

Good grief, she was doing the dropped-lid seductive look while she purred into the phone.

“Is 906 available? It is? Don’t you dare leave before we check in, we’re having a drink when I get there! You’re the best!”

An hour later we were driving into the Queen City’s martini-topped skyline with Lila navigating like a pro. She’s a damn good co-pilot, unlike Josh. I never have to tell her to ring for a stewardess.

When we pulled up to the curb at Sixth and North Tryon, Lila clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. She forgot that she was constrained and tried to hop onto the sidewalk with the lap belt on. She was out of the car with her arms around the valet’s neck before I stopped laughing.

When I joined them on the sidewalk, Lila was admiring the valet’s wedding band.

“Masie, this is Turner. He got married!” She turned back to him on the last word, beaming. “Turner, this is my best friend in the whole world, Masie Adams!”

I was treated to a warm hug and returned it. “Masie Adams!” Turner exclaimed. “You’re the one who stole those golf carts with her.” He gave me a respectful nod.

“We didn’t steal them! We never left the golf course with them!” Lila gave him a light punch in the ribs.

“You know what I mean.” He elbowed Lila back. “And something about a fountain?”

“Guilty as charged.” I winked back. This was going to be a fun segue.