The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug by Jennifer L. Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug by Jennifer L. Hart Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
at the boiling point and I dragged Marty down the hall to my bedroom so Penny wouldn’t hear me erupt. I needn’t have worried as the drone of the hairdryer filtered into the room.
    “She’s pregnant, Marty! At least five months along! Correct me if I’m wrong but five months ago, you were still living with Dee in the Bronx!”
    “I know that!” Marty huffed and ran a hand thru his hair.
    “Were you cheating on Dee? Is that why you two broke up?” Dee was a zoologist at the Bronx Zoo, and she had been great for Marty. At least until wanderlust had taken hold of him yet again.
    For a moment, Marty looked hurt, much like the sixteen year old boy I had raised after our parents’ deaths. I squelched the nurture impulse; he was a grown man now and needed to be aware of the consequences of his actions. “I’ve never cheated on a woman in my life, Maggie. Dee wanted someone steady and dependable.”
    I pointed sharply in the direction of the bathroom. “And this girl doesn’t? Cripes Marty, in a few months she’s gonna have a baby!”
“I’m great with kids. Kenny and Josh love me.”
    “It’s not the same. You’re the favorite playmate, but you get to give them back at the end of the day.”
    My brother raised his chin in a gesture of stubborn defiance. “I can learn how to be a parent, just like you did. It’s not like any of those shmoes crapping out kids right, left and sideways gets an owner’s manual or how to for dummies.”
    The drier cut off and I lowered my voice to a menacing whisper. “This isn’t a game you can walk away from when you get bored, Sprout. Babies especially depend on you for everything. You don’t get vacation or sick days.”
    He opened his mouth to respond but I held up a hand as the front door slammed. I closed my eyes, searching for the right words to explain the situation to Neil. Unfortunately, I took too long.
    “No luck with the camper, Uncle Scrooge. You in here?” His soft footsteps stopped outside of the bathroom. I heard the hinges squeak ominously.
    Oh hell, no. I shoved Marty aside and flung open the door. Neil was struggling to get his T shirt over his head, probably intent on taking a shower, just as I had been. Penny’s towel had been shucked and I caught her reflection in the mirror as she eyeballed the broad expanse of my husband’s chest.
    Neil’s shirt gave way and he took a breath, as if to continue but let it out in a whoosh when he realized he was being ogled by a pregnant stranger.
    “Helllooo handsome,” Penny drawled.
    I shot Marty a death glare and sprinted to close the bathroom door.

Five

    “ S ylvie, come on. Open the door.” I stood outside my friend’s house and begged. Neil had gone to pick up the boys from school and I couldn’t stand to be in my house with Marty and Penny for another minute. Everything about Marty’s Baby’s Mama annoyed the daylights out of me. Her favorite song was Redneck Woman , which I had actually kind of enjoyed until she played it for the thirty seventh time on our stereo. Penny’s hair, which had dried to a curly mass of coppery beauty, made me tug self-consciously on my own gray-streaked brown locks. Her accent made my eyelid spasm, which, I admitted to myself, was kind of hypocritical. Technically, I grew up south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but I’ve been told by numerous sources that I talk more like a trucker on the Jersey turnpike than a Southern Belle. And the way she praised every fool notion to pass my brother’s lips was beyond ridiculous.
    Despite Marty’s protests, both Neil and I agreed there was no way on God’s green Earth that we would let a pregnant woman sleep in the RV in sub-zero temperatures. I’d pulled Neil aside and offered to send them away, for the sake of his sanity, but he’d just sighed and gone about filling the air mattress where we would sleep until the weather improved. Or Penny went into labor, whatever came first.
    “Please, Sylvia. It’s frigging cold as a witch’s

Similar Books

The Inherited Bride

Maisey Yates

Stranded

Bracken MacLeod

The Bell Jar

Sylvia Plath

Cold Sassy Tree

Olive Ann Burns

A Thing of Blood

Robert Gott

Promising Hope

Emily Ann Ward

Sutherland’s Pride

Kathryn Brocato

Demon's Offer

Tamara Clay

Shiloh

Shelby Foote