She woke up in the living room, on one of Miss Callie’s antique upholstered lounge chairs. She lay there for a few minutes with her eyes closed, willing her stomach to stay out of her throat. Her head kept on hurting, but her belly slowly calmed down.
She didn’t know how she’d safely made it to the chair, but it didn’t matter. She heard the kids, still outside, blissfully clueless that their mother just went on a paranormal time-traveling jaunt. She dozed on the chair for about thirty minutes, letting her mind and her body recover their twenty-first century sensibilities, until she heard the girls yelling in the front yard. Ayers had pulled a very amateurish parenting move, and bought one sparkly unicorn bathing suit, because you girls can share it. Instead of following his fatherly advice, the girls were about to go all Henry and Jane on each other over who would wear the suit to the beach. Tipsy grabbed her purse, opened a bottle of Tylenol, and downed three.
“Girls!” she yelled, and winced. Despite her pounding head, she had to lay down the hammer on their bickering. “No one is wearing the unicorn bathing suit! It’s staying in the drawer, tags on, until y’all can figure out a way to get along. Got it?”
Wish you had a sparkly unicorn bathing suit to use as a bargaining chip with the Motts, said Granna.
You and me both.
Tipsy always made the kids carry stuff on the walk down to the beach. Little Ayers had a boogie board slung over his shoulder. Mary Pratt hauled the bag of beach toys. Olivia Grace peered into the snack basket as she walked and kept tripping over her own feet. Neither wore the infamous unicorn bathing suit. Tipsy figured she might as well frame it and hang it on the wall, as each girl would each rather go naked than let her sister win that battle.
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