Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(64)

“Lavender!” Mary-Margaret cried out, rushing down the line toward Holly like Holly was her pet bunny rabbit and just got hit by a car. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

Holly took hold of Shanequa’s arm. “Don’t let that woman near me.”

“What? Why?” Shanequa leaned in. “Has Mary-Margaret been messing with you?”

“They were her cookies,” said Holly, hoping to get her story out before the Pink Witch made her way through the line.

“Mary-Margaret gave you a batch of bad cookies?” Shanequa sounded amused. Concerned, but amused.

Holly nodded, bending forward over the scrapbooking table as Mary-Margaret arrived beside them.

The volunteer arrived, too, with Holly’s six scrapbooking bundles. Holly handed the volunteer her Primm Paper bag, and she tucked them carefully inside, beside Holly’s completed pages. She said she hoped Holly felt better real soon. Told Holly she could finish them at home and even call her if Holly had questions. Now Holly just needed to get out of this line—fast.

“Come with me, Lavender.” Mary-Margaret took hold of Holly’s arm. “I’ve got this, Shanequa. Thank you.” Mary-Margaret dragged Holly past the moms who were bent forward across the table, providing a pathway for Holly to exit.

“Stop. Let. Go of me!” Holly shouted—sort of burping—as a little bit of bile rolled up her throat and into her mouth. They were almost at the end of the line, and Holly absolutely could not go any farther. Please, God. Please don’t let me throw up. Not here, not now. Instead, Holly—um. Passed gas. Essentially, this happened:

*

“Good glory, what was that?” Mary-Margaret gasped. “Was that you?” Her eyes grew wide. “Did you just—tootie?”

“It’s the cookies, Mary-Margaret,” Holly grumbled. “You gave me bad cookies.”

“How many cookies did you eat?” Mary-Margaret asked.

“A lot. I was hungry.” Nom-nom-nom.

“Oh, no, Lavender, this is terrible.” Mary-Margaret’s eyes grew wide. “Those were detox cookies. I put solidified coconut oil and chia seeds in them. I make them for my love, My Love, when he’s constipated.”

“You fed me digestive cookies?” Holly panted, clutching her stomach. “Why?”

“Because they’re healthy. Penelope told me you moved into Collette’s home on Petunia. I thought you were a Foodie Mom. I thought you’d appreciate sturdy ingredients.”

“No,” Holly yelped. “I’m not a Foodie Mom. I hate kale.” It felt like a confession, a release of a weight she’d been carrying. Holly took a peek around, wondering how many Petunia Moms heard her say that.

Mary-Margaret elaborated. “I baked them with wheat bran, oat bran, ground flax seeds. Chia seeds. That sort of thing. Whatever I could find. I soaked the batter in castor oil. I thought the flavor of the peanut butter and all those peanut chunks would help disguise the taste of the ingredients. I put all kinds of stuff in them. Oh, Lavender, come to think of it, you did eat a bunch of them. You’re in trouble. You’re in big, big trouble.” She checked her watch. “Yup! About six hours since your last cookie. Right on schedule.” The look in her eyes mirrored the urgency in her voice. “Get to the bathroom.” Mary-Margaret stepped aside, signaling for Holly to pass. “Go! Toss those cookies. Blow chunks. Move it. Move it!” To the women around them, “Hurl girl’s having a yak attack. Everyone, take cover.” But it was crowded, the line bottlenecked.

Holly stumbled a few steps, her neck sweating, her palms clammy. Her stomach sent her crumpling over with shooting pain. “I think I’m really sick,” Holly said to whoever might hear her and could help. The anger she felt was almost unbearable. Holly stabbed her finger in Mary-Margaret’s direction, grumbling at her through gritted teeth. “You did this. You poisoned me. You freaking poisoned me!”

“Let’s get you out of this line, Liverwurst,” Mary-Margaret said. “Sauerkraut. Polish Sausage.” She added, “Move it, Creamed Corn Squirts.”

“Stop it!” Holly snapped. “Quit with the grocery insults.”

Holly snatched Mary-Margaret by the arm and pulled Mary-Margaret’s face close. “You fed me poisoned cookies. Didn’t you? Didn’t you!”

Mary-Margaret squirmed, obviously aware of the crowd of onlookers. “Poisoned you? But that wasn’t my intention at all,” she whined. “I was trying to impress you. It’s not my fault your body is filled with toxins. A body with that many toxins is hard to detox. Turns detox cookies into little intestinal tornados.”

And then—

*

“Lavender! Another tootie? Stop that,” Mary-Margaret squealed. “This is a scrapbooking event. Do something. Squeeze your butt cheeks together. Do Kegel exercises.”

Holly tried squeezing but couldn’t. Her entire digestive system was dying a slow, rancid death, and it was all Mary-Margaret’s fault. She did this to Holly. She did it.

Holly sort of coughed.

(=)

Burped, choked. Something.

“Lavender.” Mary-Margaret must have seen it in Holly’s eyes. “Was that a cough—or an itty-bitty roar with a burp in it?”

“A roar with a burp in it,” Holly sneered. “Because I’m dying. But first, I’m going to kill you.”