Rabbit Punch (Part Two)
BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH
Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.
I sat inside the bathroom with my face in my hands, regretting the decision I’d made. I stood to wash my hands and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I felt unrecognizable. I wasn’t sure who this woman was staring back at me. It had been almost a week since I terminated my pregnancy, but I was still feeling the pangs of guilt and anguish. I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Get your shit together, Jo,” I whispered aloud, wiping the last of my tears away. I tattooed a fake smile across my face and pulled the door open, determined to make it through the evening.
I made my way back to the kitchen, where I’d already set up a dozen empty glasses near the punch bowl. I placed a few ice cubes and a cherry into each glass, before filling them with the potent elixir. I looked over at Daytona, who was fixated on her spinach puffs with an obsessive eye. The sweat coming from her brow and the determined look on her face told me she was consumed with having everything perfect. Personally, I would have ordered a caterer for such an affair, but knowing her, that wouldn’t have stopped her from hovering over their shoulders the entire time anyway. Her food was always delicious, so I wasn’t sure why she was worried. It’d been a while since I’d attended one of her dinner parties and this was the first since she’d moved into her new house. I still couldn’t get over how glamorous and pristine the kitchen was.
We continued our individual tasks in silence, which only made the thoughts inside my head grow louder and more malicious. I figured I’d make things easier on myself by engaging in a little small talk. “Girl, I don’t know what you got cooking in that oven, but it smells divine.”
She looked up for a moment and gave me a half-smile. “Thanks so much, Jo. It’s just a roast. I used my grandma’s recipe. They were out of Irish butter, but I’m hoping my potatoes still turn out okay.”
“They always do,” I said offering a genuine grin. “Everything looks amazing.”
“Damn, Day!” Dahlia said, walking into the kitchen with a bottle of wine in one hand and a paper bag of groceries in the other. “You got it lookin’ like Thanksgiving up in here. They were out of brioche by the way.” Daytona let out an audible groan as her little sister dropped everything on the counter before walking over to give me a hug. “Hey Jo. You’re looking fit—that dress is hugging you in all the right places.”
“Thanks girl. I’ve been on the Stairmaster twice a day, trying to get back right,” I said with a smile. Dahlia had always been sweet and thoughtful to me. For her to be so young, she carried herself like a woman ten years older.
“Why did you bring wine?” Daytona asked her, moving the items from the counter to the fridge. “I told you Hampton was bringing Rabbit Punch.”
“You know I can’t drink that shit. I always end up with a two-day hangover, and knowing him, he probably tried to sneak some extra tequila in there.” I gave a chuckle and began to pour another glass of punch when I heard a commotion coming from the gallery. The three of us looked at each other with concerned expressions and I placed the ladle back inside the bowl. I rushed out of the kitchen to see Hampton yelling at a man I hadn’t yet been introduced to.
“No, fuck you!” Hampton yelled out as Morris attempted to hold him back.
The guest stomped past me in a huff as I stood there confused. “Babe, what’s going on?” I asked concerned.
“It’s nothing,” he said, waving me off. “Little motherfucker can’t take a joke.” Without another word, he made his way out of the gallery as Morris just stood there, shaking his head. I let out a sigh and called out after Hampton, still wanting an explanation. I returned to the kitchen and saw him making his way outside in silence, presumably for a smoke. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so angry, especially in the company of a stranger.
I began to chase after him, but Daytona stopped me. “I’ll figure out what’s going on,” she said, placing the final spinach puff on a serving dish and wiping her hands on her apron. “He knows how important this night is for me and I’m not about to let him ruin it.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, relenting to her offer to fix things. I wasn’t in the right headspace to corral Hampton’s mood anyway. She made her way outside and I decided to pour punch inside the remaining glasses to keep my mind and hands from turning idle, beginning to regret that I’d agreed to attend. It was the first time I’d been out of the house since leaving the clinic and being around people was already beginning to get to me. Once I was done pouring the punch, I glanced outside to see Daytona and Hampton sharing a laugh. Within a few moments, she returned to the kitchen while he remained outside to continue his smoke.
“Everything’s fine,” she said, coming up to me. “Looks like he just got into the punch a little early... I’m going to call everyone in so they can be formally introduced. Do you mind making a quick toast? It would probably ease the tension.” I nodded that I would as Daytona gathered everyone into the kitchen. They each selected a glass except Dahlia who insisted on sipping her wine instead. Hampton returned from his smoke and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before grabbing a glass of his own.
“To Daytona,” I started, lifting my glass in the air. “Congratulations on your beautiful new home, your much-deserved promotion and...”
“And don’t forget that big-ass raise!” Dahlia let out with a laugh. I gave her a quick wink and Daytona blushed as the guests raised their glasses.
“To Daytona!” everyone cheered in unison. I Iooked Hampton deep in his eyes and gave him a kiss on the lips as he smiled at me, unaware it would be the last one we’d ever share.
***
“So that’s the last thing you remember?” Officer Giovanni asked inquisitively as I nodded inside the interrogation room. “And you made everyone’s drink?”
My face scrunched at his question. “Yes—well, Daytona asked me to. She always handles the food. Taking care of the drinks is usually the only way I can feel useful.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s just extra particular about the way everything looks and tastes. It would probably ruin her entire night if I made an appetizer the wrong way.”
“I see,” he said, scribbling into a small notepad as I shifted uneasily in my chair. “And Hampton brought the punch?”
“He insists on bringing it to just about every type of festive event we attend. He’s been doing it since college.”
“It’s pretty potent from what I hear.”
“That’s an understatement. No one knows exactly what he puts in it—just that it’s a lot of liquor and little of anything else.”
“So you don’t even know what he puts in it?” he asked with an upraised eyebrow.
“He keeps it a secret and almost always makes it the night before. Hampton is—was a nighthawk and I’m an early bird. I was usually in bed long before he made it in. He preferred to work in the evenings. He always said the world was quieter then.”
His brow furrowed and he scribbled down more notes. “Mrs. Hamilton, I need to ask you something that may be a little difficult, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t.” I swallowed hard in anticipation. “Were you ever unhappy with your husband?”
I sat and thought about all the times Hampton and I had argued over money or the kids or spending enough time together. It all seemed so arbitrary now. “Are you married, Detective?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Me and Fat have been together almost fifteen years.”
“And have they all been happy years?”
Now it was his turn to think. “Personally, I’ve been happy since day one. Not sure if I can say the same for her. She spends a lot of time by herself.”
“Why is that?”
He let out a sigh. “Mrs. Hamilton, you appear to be avoiding the question—do you not want to answer it?”
I sighed heavily. “Hampton is... was the best man I’ve ever known. He made me happy everyday. We argued, of course—but there was never any malice. He worked hard, he always stepped in with the kids when I needed it. He gave me everything I desired and treated me like a queen. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.”
He scribbled something else into his notebook as I let out a sigh. I still couldn’t believe he was really gone. “Mr. Hamilton’s murder was especially savage. Whoever did this must’ve had a real problem to carve him up so brutally. Can you think of anyone who would want to cause him harm?”
I searched my thoughts for an answer, but none came to mind. I shook my head. “Hampton just wanted the best for everyone. A lot of people assume that folks born in New Lorraine become ruthless once they get their reparations and move to Gigglemug—but not him. He always reminded folks of where he came from and tried to help everyone that he could. That’s why he took Morris under his wing and kept pushing him to absorb as much knowledge as he could during his internship. He saw so much of himself in that kid. It was probably why he invited him to the dinner party—Morris always seemed so overwhelmed and out of place. Hampton was teaching him how to carry himself.”
“You sound proud,” he said.
“Well, Morris has come a long way. I remember when he—“
“No, I was referring to your husband,” he said, scribbling into his notepad and taking a long pause. “What exactly is your relationship with Mr. McMahon?”
My face scrunched in offense. “Excuse me?” I asked.
“It’s just—well, you seem a little preoccupied... maybe you saw Hampton in him just as much as your husband did?”
“Are you... are you really trying to imply that I killed my husband, so I could run off with some penniless intern who still lives with his mother?” I asked taken aback.
“I didn’t imply that you’d killed anyone. Or that you intended to run off with someone else,” he said calmly, studying me closer than ever. “I just asked you to explain—“
“Morris is a brilliant young man. And I’m happy to see him reaching towards his potential. But that’s where it ends. I have no interest in him and I have always been devoted to Hampton. Always.” Anger inflamed inside my chest as I leaned back against the aluminum chair. I knew spouses were always the main suspect when a murder took place, but that didn’t give him the right to accuse me of anything salacious.
“I understand,” he said with an almost irritating calm. “I apologize if I’ve struck a nerve, but like I said, I wouldn’t be doing my job if—“
“Do your job by finding out who murdered my fucking husband! Not by accusing me of colluding in a heinous plot with some nothing who can’t even afford to pay my weekly salon bill!”
He closed his notebook quietly and clicked his pen before returning it to his pocket. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Hamilton. I apologize for my insinuation.” He stood and walked over to the door, reaching the knob before turning back to me. “Your husband seems to indeed be a great man, but it also appears that he made a grand error in choosing a partner. Perhaps you should learn to think as highly of people from New Lorraine as he did.” I opened my mouth to speak, but swallowed my retort as he exited the room, leaving me to battle with my preconceived notions.
***
By the time I was let out of the interrogation, I only had a half hour to get home, wash the blood off me and change clothes. I was just grateful the kids had gotten up on their own and made it to school. Despite all the time I’d spent in my own head since the night before, I still had no idea how I was going to tell them that their father had been killed.
When I pulled up to their school, I had talked myself through a thousand different ways to say it, but none that I thought would ease their pain. Suddenly, a wave of children exited from the building and shook me from my brainstorm. I recognized my son and daughter almost immediately as they marched towards the car.
“Hi Mommy!” Nola yelled excitedly, hopping into the front seat and giving me a tight hug. “I didn’t know you were picking us up today.”
I wiped away the tears forming in the corner of my eyes before they noticed. “Hey Babygirl,” I said as cheerfully as I could muster as her brother simply slumped into his seat. “You doing okay, Brendan?”
“Yeah,” he let out somberly, keeping his eyes focused out his window as we pulled off.
“You sure? It looks like something is bothering you.”
His eyes met the floor. “I’m fine.”
“He’s upset because Stacey Baker rejected him,” she said with a stifled giggle.
“Why don’t you be quiet!” he spat out violently. “You weren’t even there!”
“Who is Stacey Baker?”
“She’s no one,” he said, looking back out the window.
“She’s a girl in his science class. He loooooves her.”
“God, will you shut up?”
“Brendan, that’s not nice. Don’t be mean to your sister.”
“She’s been bothering me since lunch,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “She thinks it’s funny, but it’s not.”
“Oooh, Mom—can we go to the bakery and get some banana pudding?” Nola asked as her face lit up. “Please, please, pleeeeeease!”
“Sure,” I said, giving her a warm smile, happy for a little more time to figure out exactly what I was going to tell them.
“Yesssss!” she exclaimed as Brendan remained silent. I could tell this Stacey Baker situation was really getting to him.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it now, son... but you’ll find someone one day. And you won’t even think about Stacey again.” He was unmoved by my words, so I decided to let it go, allowing the radio to fill the car’s silence for the rest of the drive.
Once we arrived at the bakery, we walked inside and I ordered banana pudding for the three of us as we took a seat near the large window that peered out into the parking lot. Nola happily dug into her dessert as Brendan took a single bite and swirled the rest with his spoon, still lost in his own thoughts.
“So do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked. “I can tell it’s bothering you.”
He sighed and took another bite of pudding, before clanging his spoon inside the small bowl. “Mom—“
“I just want you to feel better, that’s all. Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”
He took another spoonful and let out a heavy sigh. “I wrote her a letter, telling her that I liked her. That I thought she had beautiful eyes and a pretty smile. That she was funny and smart and a nice person. I told her that I thought we could be good together. When I walked into class, I handed it to her and she just kinda gave me this weird look and put it in her pocket. I figured she would read it and give me an answer when class was over, so I just went to my desk and tried not to think about it. When the bell rang, I made my way to her desk, but she was already gone. When I walked out, I saw my letter crumpled inside the trash can.”
I could the see the agony etched into his face as I stammered out a response. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, baby. At her age, sometimes girls just... it’s one of those things that... but, you know—”
“There’s more,” he said somberly. “After gym, I was walking to the cafeteria and... and her boyfriend threatened to punch me in the face if I ever talked to her again. Everyone just stood there and laughed at me.”
My eyes narrowed. “Wait, she has a boyfriend?” He took another small bite of pudding and released a heavy sigh as tears began to fill his eyes. “Well, son it makes sense why—“
“It’s just not fair!” he let out through angry tears. “He doesn’t treat her right. He yells at her all the time and she just... she just takes it. She should be with me! She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
I sighed and examined his face. He was hurt, not just because she’d rejected him—but because he wanted to save her. “I’m sorry, son. I know it hurts. But she’s made a decision. If she wants to be with him, you have to accept that, okay? It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”
He shook his head and began to swirl his pudding again as Nola continued to munch away happily. “You just don’t get it,” he mumbled with a shake of the head. I expected him to say more, but he just clammed up and remained silent.
I sighed and scanned the room at all the families laughing and sitting together inside the bakery. It reminded me of the first time the four of us had come together. Hampton had convinced us it was the best dessert in town, and although I’d never been a fan of bananas, I couldn’t deny how amazing it tasted. Nola finished her bowl before everyone else and Brendan ended up eating two servings before we left. Hampton beamed with pride for proving himself right.
A loud cheer inside the bakery brought me back to the present as I noticed Brendan had given up finishing his dessert and was clearly distraught. I finished the rest of my pudding and placed my spoon inside the bowl, staring at nothing out the window. Once Nola was finished, I began to gather our things. I returned the dishes to the counter and turned on my heel to make our way out to the car.
“Mommy, aren’t you going to get Daddy some to go?” Nola asked innocently.
“Not today, baby,” I mumbled out, choking back tears. We returned to the car and everyone buckled up.
Brendan slumped into the seat, steadfast in his self-imposed silence as Nola looked down at her feet and then up at me. “Won’t Daddy be upset if he finds out we went to the bakery and didn’t get him anything?”
I still didn’t know exactly what I was going to say, but it seemed as good a time as any to inform them of what had happened. “Guys, there’s... there’s something I have to tell you. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say to anyone—it’s something that will change everything going forward.” I let out a sigh and did what I could to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks as I backed out of the parking lot and made me way down the street.
Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.