From Bad to Wurst by Maddy Hunter

exciting part of her trip.
    I checked out the interactions up front: Otis lifting the accordion out of its case and handing it off to Dad. Dad hefting it in his arms.
    I shifted in my chair for a better view. “Wow. You should see this baby, Mom. It’s candy-apple red with a keyboard that looks like it’s marbled with mother-of-pearl. And there’s a big intricate diamond design on the bellows. And red marbled housing.” I smiled in amazement. “And Dad actually looks pretty comfortable holding it.”
    Soft whimpering sounds escaped from Mom’s throat as Wendell encouraged Dad to try it on for size. Dad slipped his arms through a set of wide straps and crushed the accordion to his chest. “Looks like we’ve got us a live one!” hooted Otis as the other musicians suddenly fell into each other snorting, laughing, and knee-slapping.
    A befuddled look settled on Dad’s face.
    Hetty eased the instrument off Dad’s chest and flipped it 180 degrees. “A small helpful hint, Bob. You’ll find a piano accordion easier to play if you’re not holding it upside down.”
    Play an accordion? He didn’t even know how to hold an accordion.
    Oh, God . I needed to get Mom out of here before the embarrassment became too crippling for her. “Would you like to go back to your room to freshen up before dinner, Mom?”
    Snatching her hands away from her eyes, she jackknifed upward, resolve stamped on her face. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll fly home. So if your father wants to continue this fool’s errand, he won’t be able to humiliate anyone but himself—and the musicians, and you, and Etienne, and the rest of the tour guests, and your tour company in general.” She paused in reflection. “Maybe you’d like to fly home with me.”
    A frisson of alarm coiled in my stomach. Holy crap. She was serious. How could this be happening? I’d learned to contend with foul weather, feuding guests, unexpected death, and Bernice, but I had no idea how to contend with dissention between my parents. I couldn’t even refer to the updated version of my Escort’s Manual because I’d written it, and I hadn’t included a section that dealt with parental discord.
    OhGodohGodohGod . I had no other choice. I was going to have to initiate the nuclear option.
    My throat started to close in protest. “What about me?” I gasped out in a hoarse breath.
    The resolve on her face suddenly wilted.
    â€œI thought you and I were going to be joined at the hip until I started feeling like myself again.”
    I could see the war playing out in her eyes. Commitment or flight? Humiliation or duty? Good mother or bad mother?
    She tucked in her lips, looking contrite. “I’m sorry, Emily. Your father has upset me so much that I completely forgot about you.”
    â€œNo problem,” I soothed. “I know it’s been traumatic for you.”
    â€œYou understand me so well.” She patted my hand while Dad, in the front of the room, surrounded by a full complement of musicians, gawked at his marbled keyboard and chord buttons with a clueless look on his face.
    Mom regarded him and winced. “So I’ll stay with the tour until you’re feeling better…and then I’ll fly home. Do you have any idea how long you might need me? Another day? Maybe two?”
    Okay, I hadn’t solved the problem, but at least I’d gained a little breathing space to work things out.
    Dad expanded the bellows, generating a mournful drone that sounded like ailing bagpipes. “That does it.” Mom shot to her feet. “I’ve had enough. You stay right here. I’ll get your key from Etienne and take you up to your room.”
    â€œHas the meeting been adjourned yet?” Osmond called out over the whining bellows.
    â€œMeeting adjourned,” announced Wally.
    They vacated their seats in typical “mad