Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(22)

“She’s my boss, Holly. You act like I’m into her.”

“Well, are you? And why’d that guy with the envelope come to our house the other day? I want to know what’s going on.” Something bad was about to happen. Holly could feel it.

He turned his head to stare at a spot on the wall.

“Fine.” Holly folded her arms. Decided the sword fight she wanted to have first would be with Jack, the crouching tiger. And then Bethanny, the hidden dragon. “Tell Bethanny number twelve Petunia Lane belongs to me. I own that coatrack.” Even if it is missing a screw.

“Holly,” he said calmly, taking a step toward her.

“She pulled Ella’s first tooth out.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh?”

Holly’s phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket.

“You suck, Jack.” She pointed. “You know that? You suck. Hello?”

“Holly Tree. It’s me.”

“You always call at the worst times, Mom.”

“I’m in a pickle.”

“A what? Where are you?”

Jack crossed his arms, leaned a shoulder against the wall. Like he was settling in. Like a call from Holly’s mom meant he had to get comfortable because something big was about to happen: Greta was on the line.

Greta said, “I’m at Caesars Palace.”

“Mom.” Why is this happening? “You’re not supposed to be there.”

“Now hear me out, Holly. I’m in a pickle. An actual, honest-to-goodness pickle. A six-foot-long, bright-green pickle.”

“Kill me.”

“It’s a pickle costume. I’m handing out flyers for the Céline Dion concert tonight. Imagine. Me! A pickle on the Las Vegas Strip.”

“Why, Mom. Why?” Holly’s head hurt.

“I’m working off a marker,” Greta whispered, as if pickles had secrets. “But don’t worry—it’s a small one.”

Through gritted teeth. “Another marker, Mom?” Holly thought she might scream.

Jack groaned. Took the phone from Holly. “Greta, listen to me. I deal with this all the time at work. Owing someone money isn’t a crime, but if you sign an IOU for more than two hundred and fifty dollars with no means of paying it back—you’ve committed felony theft under a 1983 Nevada law. Felony theft. Casino markers are legally binding. Do you understand me? Do not leave town again without arranging payment. I can’t fly to Vegas for you. I’ve got a lot going on at work.” He handed the phone back to Holly without giving Greta a chance to respond. Holly couldn’t blame him for being angry, but she hated the fact that now she was the one causing strife between them because of her mom and not because of his bringing Bethanny home to pull their daughter’s tooth out.

“Mom. I’m back.”

“My entire body is a pickle,” Greta explained. “From my ankles, to up over my head. I’m looking out a teeny tiny green screen cut into the pickle face. Can you believe they’re paying me to wave at people? Smells pickley in here.”

“The fact that you’re a pickle is not my problem,” Holly muttered. “Who’s the parent, Mom? Who’s the child? Hmm? You or me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I thought you were on probation. I thought they blocked you from pulling lines of credit.” Holly wanted to scream. Her marriage couldn’t handle another loan to bail her mom out. She sneaked a peek at Jack. He’s angry? No. I’m angry. About Bethanny. I get to be angry. I call “being angry” first.

“Have you been going to your meetings? Where’s your sponsor? Did you call your sponsor?”

“He’s standing right beside me.”

“Oh, thank God.” Holly exhaled. Covered the phone to whisper to Jack, “She called her sponsor. He’s with her right now.” Hopefully, Greta’s sponsor would speak to casino management and sort this whole thing out. Greta was registered with the local GA. Hopefully, Greta had her meeting card on her.

Holly asked, “So what did your sponsor say?”

“Not much.”

“What do you mean ‘not much’?”

“I mean ‘not much,’” Greta told Holly. “He can’t talk.”

“Why can’t he talk?”

“Because,” said Greta, “he’s a hot dog.”

WESTERN UNION ONLINE

Money transfer control number: 8720461849

Recipient: Greta B. Vogel

1610 Clairmont Court—Apartment 2B

Sender: Holly Banks

12 Petunia Lane

Amount $2021.80 (two thousand twenty-one dollars and eighty cents)

Message: This is a loan, and this is the last time. Do you hear me? And get a new sponsor. Your sponsor sucks. I was going to use that money to get CURTAINS and a BOOKSHELF. I need lamps. COFFEE TABLE! There’s this mom named Collette and she used to have my front porch. And Bethanny—forget it. Mary-Margaret St. James! Call Ella tomorrow. She gets out at 3. And stop doing this. I’M SO FREAKING ANGRY RIGHT NOW!





8


Monday night



For the rest of the evening, Holly iced Jack, refusing to talk or make eye contact. Inviting Bethanny over without so much as a warning—his fault. Speaking to her mom the way he did? His fault. But mutha frucker—Ella’s first tooth? His. Freaking. Fault! And he knew it. He eventually stopped with the I’m sorrys and went to bed, leaving Holly to flip mindlessly through hundreds of cable channels only to realize there was nothing on TV. Sometime after midnight, she went upstairs, Struggle trailing behind with nails that needed clipping: click, click, click, the sound of Struggle’s steps on the wooden stairs.