Things are Complicated

Chapter 16: Satan's Quad

“Jedidiah Sinclair Truman! What the hell have you done to my kitchen!”

A jolt of fear and panic coursed through my veins and instantly I sat up from the recliner. The back of the chair shot up as well, knocking Leah upright and out of whatever foggy slumber she’d been in.

“Jed!” My mother’s voice held all the bark and bite of a German Shepard.

Footsteps stomped down the hall, throwing open doors and slamming them shut again. By the time she reached the living room- two doors down from the kitchen- every one inside was awake and cringing.

“Get up right now young lady,” My mother stormed into the room, ignoring the others to grab my arm. “You are going to clean that kitchen until it is spotless and then you are grounded for the rest of the year. Everybody out of my house- now!”

Jett and Leah scrambled to their feet and headed straight for the door as my mother yanked me along to the kitchen. My “friends” knew the routine and were accustomed to the firm commands my mother frequently sent our way- especially when it concerned me getting into trouble. However, D’Angelo was not so familiar.

“Wait a moment,” he tromped down the hall, dark hair flat on one side and frilly on the other. “Mrs. Truman, I started the food fight. Please, I apologize for the mess. Let me help clean it up.”

“Don’t play the martyr D’Angelo, I know my own daughter,” My mother turned and gave him a heavy green-eyed stare. “Stay out of this.”

“I can’t,” he stepped forward and grabbed my other arm, pulling me free of the iron grip of evil. “You’re going to be my step-mother and Jed my step-sister. I won’t let her take the blame for something I started.”

The furrowed brown and deep frown on my mother’s face slowly smoothed away, but that heated look in her eyes- which she threw my way- never truly disappeared. “Very well,” she took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “Then care to explain why the mirror upstairs is broken?”

D cringed a bit, glancing at me for only a heartbeat before saying, “Leah broke it during our game of Sardines last night when she thought I was standing in front of her. She mistook the mirror for me and struck out,” he pointed at his right cheek. “That’s why she had the bruise- kept running into things in the dark.”

My mother stared at him, weighing the odds of whether his story could be true or not. That look in her eyes has had full-grown, burly men crying apologizes and confession that put them away for life. Yet, D never once flinched or buckled for his lie.

“Very well,” she finally backed off a bit, than pulled out her cellphone. “Then you’re both grounded. Now go clean my kitchen!”

We very carefully slipped past the steaming pile of anger- that is my mother- and into the kitchen. As soon as we were out of sight D whipped out his phone and started texting someone.

“Are you stupid or just hankering for a beating?” I lowered my voice and glanced at the door, expecting my mother to burst in and rain hell fire down on us.

“Shh-,” he put a finger to his lips. “I’m backing up my story with Leah and Jett.”

“O-oh!” I guess D’s starting to pick up on a few things after living with my mother for a few weeks. For example, there is no such thing as being too paranoid.

 As he covers all his bases I start sweeping away at the food scattered about on the floor. The half-eaten, olive-covered pizza still sits on the counter appearing sad and disgusting. Mustard and marinara sauce dried on the cupboards and I cringed at the task of removing it without damaging the wood. Mother will undoubtedly give forty lashes to anyone who so much as dents them and I don’t think she’ll use the playful whip hiding in her closet.