“Help!” he cried, and fell on the floor, pounding his fists like a spoiled child.
Sal clamped her hand over her nose. “What happened? Did you fall into a trash heap? Did you step in cow manure? Did someone puke on you on the subway? Did the town dump move into our living room?”
“I was sprayed by a skunk, you moron!” Mal shouted. “And I have to be at work in half an hour.”
Although the smell was foul, Libby couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of her father, fuming and in need of fumigation, in the living room.
“Why were you bothering a skunk?” Sal asked.
“I wasn’t bothering it; I was making a deal with it.”
Making a deal with a skunk? Libby thought.
“Do something,” Mal shouted. “I can’t stand the smell and I have three appointments. Do something or I’ll rub it off on you!”
“Libby!” Sal yelled. “Find some canned tomato juice and pour it in a bath for your father.”
“I. Don’t. Bathe!” Mal said.
“Well, you’ll have to. No one will buy insurance from you smelling like that. And I’m certainly not having anything rubbed on me.”
Libby ran into the kitchen to look for canned tomato juice. All she could find were two jars of spaghetti sauce. She rushed the jars to the bathroom, ran a bath, and poured the sauce into the tub, along with all of the shampoo she could find.
She smelled rather than heard her father. “Get out,” he said. Libby backed all the way out of the bedroom. Mal slammed the door.
There is a scientific theory called chaos theory, which says that small events can create big changes, like a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can cause a tornado in Texas.
There is also an old saying that opportunity doesn’t knock twice, which is not true. Opportunity knocks many times, just never in the same way.
Libby had overheard that she might have to stick her hands in toilets and be lowered into sewers. She had finished the last book. Her mother had offered her ice cream, which made her feel odd, like she’d stepped into someone else’s life. Mal had been sprayed by a skunk. These small occurrences set in motion the event that would bring about a big change.
Libby waited in the hall and listened for the jangling of keys as Mal dropped his pants onto the floor, then waited for the bathroom door to close and for the splashing sound of a stinky body landing in soapy spaghetti sauce.
Quietly, she opened the door, slid in, and, holding her nose, dragged Mal’s pants into the hall. Between the splashing of water and the blasting of the TV, no one heard the key to the basement being worked off its chain.
Out of the chaos, Libby was answering the knock of opportunity.