“Bust the door down.”
I turn to look at Ida Sue, unable to hide the shock on my face.
“You want me to bust the door down?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Ida Sue, I’m not going to bust the door down.”
“Why not?”
She actually whines the words like a two-year-old would when she doesn’t get her way.
“Ida Sue, that door is solid.”
“So?”
“It’s not like we’re in danger. The kids will be back to let us out.”
“I’m not staying in here overnight. I have things to do. I have to work!”
“Yeah, right,” I answer, suddenly just tired of it all. Then, I walk back to the couch, plopping down on it and wishing there was a television. I don’t watch much of it, but right now it might be a good distraction.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ida Sue huffs.
She follows me, standing in front of the couch as I stretch out on it. I kick off my boots, letting them fall haphazardly to the floor, pull my hat down so it covers my face, and settle in.
“Of the two of us here, Ida Sue, I’m the one that needs to get to work. The last thing you need to do is work.”
“Are you taking a nap right now?” she cries.
“I am if you’d stop your caterwauling.”
“Caterwauling? Did you just say that to me? Do you not realize that we’re locked in this damn room alone until my kids decide to come let us out?”
“Gee, I guess that might have slipped my mind.”
“Now is not the time to be sarcastic, Jansen. We need to get out of here.”
“Then, quit giving me the opportunity.”
“Fine, if you aren’t going to help me out of here, I’ll find a way myself,” she announces.
“Sounds good.
I close my eyes, knowing there’s not a chance I’m going to go to sleep, but at least with the hat over my face and my eyes shut I might be able to ignore the fact that I’m in here with Ida Sue. If I’m honest, I have too much shit swirling in my head. I didn’t expect the kids to pull this. I didn’t expect them to… claim me. What does a man do when nine kids lay claim to him and do everything they can to stop him from leaving?
If only their mother showed that kind of emotion…
I’m so lost in my thoughts, that I jerk when a large noise echoes through the room. I frown, wondering if I dreamed it and then it happens again. I yank the hat off my face and turn to look around the room and there’s Ida Sue.
She has an old metal horse comb and is beating against the door with it.
“What in the tarnation are you doing?” I ask, still not quite believing my eyes.
“I’m trying to get out of here,” she says, beating on the door.
“What are you going to do, brush the door down?” I laugh.
“I’m trying to loosen the knob wise guy. If you’d help me, it might actually work!”
“In no universe is a metal curry comb going to get us out of here, Ida Sue.”
“Fine then,” she growls.
She’s not finished, however. She throws the comb at me, it swings wide and misses me by a mile, but I get up off the couch, stomping towards her—pissed.
“What in the hell is that for?”
“You need to help me get out of here!”
“What’s the big damn deal? The kids will get tired and let us out eventually.”
“I have to get to work!”
She screams the words, but that’s not what bothers me. There are tears in her eyes and that’s what has me by the damn balls.
“Are you crying because you’re not going to work? Jesus Christ, woman! You’re rich. You don’t need to work, you don’t need anything or anyone!”
“If that’s what you think, then you never really knew me at all, Jansen Reed.”
“That’s what I know! Have you noticed the amount of money in your bank account? You don’t need to fucking work and scrub toilets for assholes like Grave Mullins anymore, Ida Sue.”
“I do!”
“You don’t!”
“I do!” she repeats, stubbornly.
“Why?”
“Because it won’t last!”
I blink.
“What are you talking about now?”
“It won’t last, Jansen. Nothing good ever lasts and the more I try to make it last… the more it hurts when it leaves.”
“Darlin’, you could retire and live happily on what’s in your account now. It won’t disappear, it’s already there.”
“I couldn’t,” she says, and I shake my head. “You could especially when you factor in the payments you haven’t received yet that are coming—”
“I can’t live happily, Jan. I’ll never have that.”
“Ida Sue—”
“You’re leaving. Without you, I’ll never be happy,” she finally says, tears falling from her eyes.
Christ.