Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense Page 6
“Uh, no you didn’t,” she retorts. “You asked me to watch Evan. Not Colt.”
I squeeze my fists open and closed, willing myself not to flip out. “Allie, it was implied that you would keep an eye on both of your brothers. Now I have to call the front desk and see if anyone has seen him.” My voice breaks off at the end, panic rising in my chest. Would DFYS be dispatched for sure now? Who loses two of their kids in one day?
“There was a vending machine in the hall,” Lexie pipes up helpfully, exiting the bathroom.
Rubbing my temples, I stride nervously over to the phone and reply, “Not now, Lexie.”
“But Mom…”
“Lexie! Not now!” I repeat, picking up the phone receiver.
“Mom—” She grabs my arm and tugs on it just as I’m about to dial. I nearly whack her in the face as I try to detach my arm from her grasp.
“Lexie, this not the time to be badgering me for snacks. Just go in my wallet if you need change.” I wave her away, annoyed that at twelve years old she doesn’t grasp the concept of her brother being misplaced in a hotel. I recall my conversation with the airport employee and shudder as I attempt to dial the phone again.
“Mom, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lexie whines as she depresses the button to disconnect my call. “Colt was going through your wallet for change. He was babbling about Doritos. I think he went to the vending machine in the hall.”
Oh. Damn. Maybe I should listen a little more closely and not assume that Lexie is simply out to drive me bat-shit crazy. I have this terrible habit of tuning out my youngest daughter when she speaks more than two sentences, simply because she has the tendency to ramble and go completely off topic at times. I have no idea where she gets that from.
“Thanks,” I mumble with shame and slip a pair of flip flops on my feet. “Um, watch Evan,” I instruct both girls as I pull open the door leading to the hall. I step out and pad down the hall, the door slamming with a thud behind me. I can see the glow of the vending machine in an alcove at the end of the hall. Getting closer, I hear the sound of coins being fed into the machine, and a male voice saying something about Doritos. I nearly collapse with relief.
Thank God. I’m not a horrible mother after all. He was only thirty feet away the whole time.
I stop in front of the doorway to the alcove, propping my hands on my hips and announcing, “You’re in big trouble mister! You need to tell Mommy where you’re going from now on!” I start to waggle my finger, just like my own mother used to do when I had been bad. Except my hand falls to my side, suddenly heavy. Before me stands, not Colt, but two grown men.
“I think you have the wrong person,” the taller of the two men comments. His eyes roam up and down my body and I realize I am only wearing a robe. I wrap my arms around my body and suck in my breath.
“Are you looking for someone?” the shorter of the two asks. He is a younger version of Danny DeVito. Except more hardened and not nearly as funny.
“Um, my son,” I manage to stammer, and then instantly regret it as the two men exchange sidelong glances with each other, causing a shiver to run up my spine.
“A young boy?” the first man asks, jiggling the change in his hand.
Don’t tell him anything, Amy, my voice of reason is shouting into my ear.
“No, he’s um, in college,” I lie.
The two men exchange a skeptical glance again.
“Well, you look really good for having a college kid,” the first one tells me, a sly smile playing on his lips. My brain is screaming at me to get away from these two creepy men.
“Well, it was nice talking you,” I tell the men as I head toward the stairwell, shuddering and panicking. I need to find Colt before he falls victim to the likes of these creeps.
~Six~
I have searched the hotel high and low, but I still have not found Colt. Considering the idea that the vending machine on our floor had been out of Doritos, I scoured the machines on the floors below and above us, with no luck in finding him. My mind is racing with all the possibilities of what could have happened to my child. He could have been kidnapped. He could be at the bottom of the ocean. He could be in a sweatshop somewhere making sneakers.
I feel cold, clammy, and nauseous all at once. I am going to have to tell Roger that I’ve misplaced our child, and we’re going to have to call the police. Or whatever they have on the island.
Alas, I am dragging myself through the door of our room, mentally preparing myself for how to proceed, when I see Colt reclining in the middle of one of the beds, fingers stained orange.
“Colt!” I gasp, the door slamming into the wall.
“Hi, Mommy!” He glances up guiltily, and then reaches for a blue bag on the bed. “I got you Doritos, too. Aren’t they your favorite?” This is a game we play. He claims to get me a food (i.e. Doritos, Cheetos, etc.) and then when I tell him I don’t like that food, he offers to eat it for me. He is now wiping his hands all over the sheets in attempts to rid himself of the snack food indulging evidence.
For once, I don’t care about the mess he is making. I only care that he is in front of me, and he is safe. I rush at him like a soldier on furlough. “Thank God!” I exclaim, scooping him up and planting kisses all over his sweaty forehead. “Oh, thank God!” I repeat while he squirms to get out of my reach.
“Ewww, Mom! What are you doing?”
“Just appreciating that you’re not at the bottom of the ocean,” I say, not releasing my grasp on him at all.
That’s it! I’m not letting any of my children out of my sight for even a second anymore! Why, so much can happen in a minute! He could have been swept out to sea! Or kidnapped! Or run over by an ATV out on the sand! Or mauled by a jellyfish!
“I went to the vending machine!” Colt says, his voice muffled because I have him completely smushed up against my body. “I told Daddy I was going!”
I drop him like a hot potato at the mention of Roger’s name. Roger knew where he was? And he didn’t tell me? How could he? He knows how neurotic I am about these things!
“What's going on in here?”
Speaking of the devil. I turn on my heel, slowly and deliberately, locking eyes with my husband, who is standing in the doorway. I am hoping that fire is actually shooting from my retinas and singeing his own eyeballs in the process. He continues to stare at me, not sensing my fury.
“Where have you been?” I finally ask, ending our staring contest. “How dare you leave and not tell me that Colt went to the vending machine and—”
Roger interrupts me. “You told me to go straighten out the room situation!”
I cross my arms over my chest. Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I? But he still could have told me where Colt was to save me some panic. I decide not to dwell on it and change the subject.
“So when are we moving into our new room? Or are we staying here and the kids are moving?” I consider the latter idea to be less desirable. The kids have already ruined this room with their Doritos hands and juice boxes and stinky little bodies that haven’t showered in two days. Although, the same might be said for Roger. For a second, I ponder the possibility of getting my own room and not telling any of them where I am.
“We’re not,” Roger tells me as he collapses dramatically onto the side of the bed.
I stare at him, my jaw coming dangerously close to my boobs. Which is difficult because my boobs practically hang down to my knees. “What do you mean? I thought you took care of it?”
Roger closes his eyes and massages his temples. “I tried to, Amy. But the resort is booked solid. There are no rooms to be had. So we’re going to have to make the best of this.”
Make the best of this? Is he nuts? I can barely fall asleep in a room with just him, let alone an entire circus tent full of kids. They’re unmanageable at best when I can send them off to individual rooms. How’s it going to be if I can separate them all week? Or get away from them myself? And with one bathroom? One freaking bathroom?
Despite the bouncing, Roger has managed to fall asleep on the bed. He is gently snoring within seconds. Allie glances up from her phone in disgust.
“Is he really gonna snore all night? You know nobody else is gonna be able to sleep if he snores, right?”
I sink down onto the other bed and massage my own temples. “Yes, Allie. I am aware of his snoring.” Why do you think I’m so sleep deprived, kid?
“I didn’t even want to come on this vacation, Mother,” she reminds me with a scowl.
“Yes, Allie. I know.” I am beginning to sound a bit like a robot. Why did I even agree to this vacation? I had to know it wasn't going to be fun at all. But, like Roger says, I’m going to have to make the best of it.
I pick up the phone and press button number two. It rings briefly and then is answered by a very chipper voice. “Room service!”
“Hello,” I say into the receiver. “I’d like to order a pitcher of margaritas, please.”
~Seven~
“Hello again, Amy.”
I open the door to find Jason standing on the other side of it, tray of margaritas in hand. He looks absolutely debonair wearing a tux, his dark hair slicked back, and a smile that showcases his dimples, deeply ingrained in his smooth, tanned skin.
“Why, Jason!” I gasp as I pull on the tie of what should be my ratty bathrobe. Only it has somehow morphed into a sophisticated silk dressing gown. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be coy, Amy,” Jason admonishes. He holds up the tray. “I have the margaritas that you ordered,” he explains, sweeping into our humble hotel room. The children are all in various stages of undress since they were planning to go visit the hotel pool. They stare at him like he is a green Martian with six heads and four testicles.
“Hello, children,” he remarks in an affectionate voice of a great uncle of some sort. They still continue to gawk, causing Jason to raise his eyebrows at me. “The cat got their tongues?” He offers me one of the margaritas on the tray.
I accept the salt rimmed glass, teaming with golden liquid. “Actually, they're not usually this quiet,” I reply.
“Maybe you should get rid of them,” he remarks with a wink.
Completely taken aback, I stumble and nearly trip over the mountain of shoes my girls have already managed to create in the middle of the room. “That’s a horrific idea!” I gasp while dramatically clutching my chest. Visions of Jason dumping my children off a cliff race to mind.
“My dear, I didn’t mean permanently,” Jason says, as if he has read my mind.
I sigh with relief as he explains, “You should come to my room. It’s a suite with several bedrooms.”
I clutch my chest again, appalled by the insinuation that I would leave my family vacation to shack up with him. “Jason! I’m a married woman!”
Jason smiles cockily and grabs my hand. He brings it to his lips as he murmurs, “I meant nothing improper about that, Amy. I am simply offering you an escape from your unruly children. I am nothing but a gentleman and I will be on my best behavior, regardless of how difficult it is to control my urge to ravage you.”
“Amy!” I am being violently shaken awake by my husband.
I glance around, wondering where Jason and my margaritas have gone. It is semi-dark; I can make out a hazy sunset in the distance. Where the heck am I?
It takes me a moment, but I finally remember. I realize that I am in a lounge chair on the balcony of our hotel. In my hand, I clutch a margarita glass that was delivered, not by Jason, but by a butler that managed to sneeze fifty times from the moment he walked into the room till he walked out. He also wiped a booger on his arm, I recall with a shudder. I must have taken the margarita glass out to the balcony and fallen asleep.
Roger snatches the glass out of my hand. “Jesus, Amy! You’re drinking already?”
I wave my hand in the air and reply, “It’s five o’clock somewhere, Roger.” Actually, it’s probably 5:00 here, no? Crap! Am I slurring my words? They certainly sounded slurred. I cannot possibly be drunk on one margarita! That’s impossible! I quickly cover my mouth with my hand as a hiccup escapes.
“You’re wasted, Amy!” Roger turns the empty glass upside down. Not one drop escapes, causing Roger to stare at me incredulously. “How much did you drink?”
I hiccup as I answer, “He only brought me the one! I’m not drunk, Roger! I swear.” I stand up (unsteadily) and lean my head back, closing my eyes.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Roger asks with annoyance, while I alternate touching my fingertips to my nose.
“Field Sobriety Test,” I reply as I successfully pass. At least, I successfully pass in my eyes. Roger is not so convinced.
“You can barely stand up straight for God’s sakes,” Roger mumbles as he grabs my arms. “Stop this. You look like an idiot. People are staring.”
My eyes snap open and I glance around to see that people are indeed stopping on the sidewalk underneath our balcony, just staring up at me. I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean over the side and wave enthusiastically. “Hi!” I yell. “How are you fine folks tonight?”
An elderly woman grabs her husband’s arm, urging him to move on and get away from the crazy lady in room 420. “Hey!” I call after them. “Where ya going? You don’t wanna chat with me?”
Roger grabs my arm and pulls me from the edge. “Will you knock it off? They’re probably on their way to dinner. Which is where we are supposed to be in exactly fifteen minutes.” Roger glances down at his nonexistent watch. The man hasn’t had a watch since he got a cell phone, yet he insists on looking at his wrist whenever he wants to indicate to me that we are late. Which is quite regularly.
“Oh, dinner sounds fun!” I chirp, following him into the room. The kids are all standing around the room, and as usual, they are in various stages of undress. And there appears to be two of Lexie. And she’s swaying.
I slap my face lightly, partly to wake up and partly to get rid of the twin Lexies.
“What’s wrong with Mommy?” Lexie asks as she watches me slap my own face.
Roger shakes his head. “Nothing. She’s going to get dressed now, and we are going to go to dinner.”
“She’s drunk,” Allie scoffs.
“She’s not drunk,” Roger replies angrily as he throws open my suitcase and starts rummaging through. For what, I don’t know. “She's just...happy.”
“Whatcha lookin’ for?” I ask, leaning my chin on his shoulder.
“Something for you to wear,” he mumbles, unearthing my bathing suit and stack of bras.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask defensively. Then my eyes scan my body. Still in a robe. Oops.
“I highly doubt that robe meet the dress code of the restaurant that we’re going to,” he replies, holding up a sundress and panties.
“Roger, it’s Egyptian cotton. I am sure that such plush luxury meets the restaurant’s standards.” I smirk as I wave my hand over my nearly threadbare robe. A giggle escapes my lips—I’m feeling downright giddy right now. Roger does not share my giddiness. In fact, he seems perplexed and scratches his head.
“Huh?”
I shake my own head and snatch the dress and underwear from his hand. “No sense of humor,” I mutter while shuffling unsteadily to the bathroom. Once inside, I fiddle with the latch for a few seconds, ensuring that the door is actually locked. You may think the fact that my entire family witnessed me going into the bathroom would be enough to stop someone from opening the door, but unfortunately it’s not.
I drop the robe to the floor and pull on a pair of thong underwear. I absolutely detest this underwear, but Roger loves it for some asinine reason. “I bet he’s thinking he’s gonna get some,” I mumble, wriggling into the
sundress he picked out. “Ha! Like that’s gonna happen in a room with four kids!” I decide that Roger has definitely screwed himself by not booking the suite. And it’s the only screwing he's gonna get this week.
I quickly smooth the wrinkles out of the sundress and momentarily wonder if it is too cold for night time. Then, I remember we are in the Caribbean on what should be my dream vacation.
“Mom, can you get out of the bathroom?” Lexie is begging on the other side of the door. “I’ve got to go!”
I swear that kid has a bladder the size of a peanut. Every single store we go to, every single restaurant we go to...she’s gotta pee.
“In a second!” I call back. I lean forward to inspect my now completely dry and frizzy hair. There’s no salvaging this mop once it’s dried, so I reach into the toiletry bag to retrieve a hair tie and put my hair up in Roger’s favorite style...Librarian Bun. That’ll drive him bonkers, I think as my hand grazes the box of sinus headache medicine and it clatters to the floor.
Groaning as my knees pop, I bend down to retrieve the box. Hmmmm, that’s funny. I thought I took one of these, I muse, realizing the box is unopened. As I stand up, I am certain, No, I definitely took one of them. But the box is closed…unless I’m Houdini, that’s impossible.
Slightly panicked, I realize I must have taken something else. But what? Searching the counter, I find it. The box of Dramamine. Shit! I must have taken two of these instead of the headache medicine!
I grab the box and read the label. “Do not consume alcoholic beverages while taking this medication.” Well, that certainly explains how I got completely trashed on one margarita. I shake my head as I shove both boxes back into the bag. You really need to be more careful, Amy. Why, you’re an irresponsible mess! Losing kids and overdosing on anti-nausea medication! What’s next? Drowning in the ocean because you went too far out? Getting run over by a bus because you didn’t look both ways?