Chapter 6 - The Eviction of Pride
"Name it, Ms. Evelyn," Thibodeaux said.
"They have twenty minutes," I stated, checking my watch. "Twenty minutes to gather every single stitch of clothing, every shoe, every suitcase, and every crumb of their presence off my property. If so much as a stray bobby pin is left on my grass by eight-thirty, I will sign the warrants for destruction of property, breaking and entering, and criminal assault."
"You heard the lady," Officer Cole said, pulling a stopwatch from his pocket. "Clock starts now."
What followed was twenty minutes of pure, chaotic humiliation.
Makenna, barefoot and sobbing, dashed around the lawn like a frantic animal, scooping up dirty underwear, ruined silk blouses, and expensive skincare bottles that had shattered on the driveway gravel. Demetrius ran up and down the stairs, dragging down the remaining suitcases, sweating profusely through his polo shirt.
None of the guests helped. The neighbors stood along the edge of the property, arms crossed, watching the unraveling of the great illusion.
"Mom, where are we supposed to go?" Demetrius begged as he dragged a monstrous black trunk toward his trunk. "Our apartment lease is up! The new tenants move in tomorrow morning! We don't have anywhere to sleep!"
"There’s a Motel 6 on the highway," I said, leaning casually against the porch post. "Thirty-nine dollars a night. It doesn't have an oak table or a walk-in closet, but they have clean sheets. Provided your credit card doesn't decline, of course."
"You're really going to abandon your own flesh and blood?" he pleaded, tears streaming down his sweaty face. "After everything?"
"Everything?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean the four hundred thousand dollars I spent raising you? The college degree you dropped out of twice? The car notes I paid? I didn't abandon you, Demetrius. I retired. And that retirement includes retiring from saving you from your own stupidity."
Makenna shoved a pile of wrinkled clothes into the backseat of Demetrius's battered Civic, her face swollen, her hair matted with dried sweet potatoes and powdered sugar. She glared at me with pure hatred, but the fire had gone out of her eyes—she was just cold, dirty, and thoroughly beaten.
"You're a monster," she spat through her teeth. "A selfish, bitter old monster."
"And you," I smiled smoothly, "are trespassing on a monster's front lawn. You have three minutes left."
She slammed the car door so hard the side mirror rattled.
Demetrius stood by the driver's side, staring at me, hoping against hope that my maternal guilt would flare up, that I would break down, call him back, and offer him the garage suite like I had always backed down in the past.
I met his gaze and held it, unblinking.
"Keys, Demetrius."
He swallowed hard, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the brass key he had stolen from my purse. He walked over, placed it on the bottom porch step, and turned around without another word.
The Civic’s engine sputtered to life with an embarrassing rattle, backfired once, and roared down the driveway, spitting gravel against the shrubs as it fled into the darkness.
The taillights vanished around the bend, leaving behind the peaceful, heavy stillness of the Louisiana night.
Mrs. Fontenot lowered her phone and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Well, Evelyn. That was certainly more entertaining than bingo at the parish hall."
"Indeed it was, Clara," I said, looking back at my front door, where broken porcelain and gumbo still covered the floor. The celebration had been ruined, the house was a disaster, and my only child had just exposed himself as a deceitful stranger.
Yet, as I turned back to my guests, a sudden, unfamiliar sensation bloomed in my chest. For the first time in forty-one years, I didn't owe anyone an explanation, an apology, or an extra hour of my life.
"Now," I announced to the remaining crowd, dusting off my hands. "Who's going to help me clean up this mess so we can open the good bourbon?"
Before anyone could answer, the shrill ring of my cell phone echoed from the foyer table. I walked over, picked it up, and saw an unfamiliar out-of-state number lighting up the screen.
May you like
I swiped to answer. "Hello?"
"Is this Evelyn Miller?" a sharp, venomous woman's voice barked through the receiver. "This is Brenda, Makenna’s mother. My daughter is calling me from the side of the highway in hysterics, covered in bruises! You listen to me, you crazy old woman—you just made the biggest mistake of your miserable life!"
