Previously on DOOL:
Cheryl’s garage smelled faintly of motor oil and mothballs, the kind of place meant for lawnmowers, not history. The box sat on her workbench, caked in dirt, iron bands scarred and rusted. Nobody spoke at first.
Nathan tapped the screwdriver against his palm. “We opening this thing, or just staring ’til it walks off?”
“Or we don’t open it at all,” Lynette muttered, arms crossed. “Some things stay buried for a reason.”
Sawyer leaned in, tracing the faint “D.C.” carved into the wood. Her chest thudded. “It’s waited long enough. And why the screwdriver again? You think it’ll be magic this time?”
Nathan jammed the tool under the band. Metal groaned, unmoved.
Sawyer hoisted a set of bolt cutters she brought.
Nathan stepped back.
She rolled her eyes, snapped the band with a crack that echoed through the garage. The lid creaked, dust rising.
Inside were bundles of rotted cloth, a knife – slim and stained, a velvet pouch spilling pearls, and a folded covenant.
Sawyer eased it open, voice trembling from anticipation:
“‘Marriage covenant between Malcolm Patterson and Elsvia, daughter of the Chickasaw Nation’. Looks like it’s signed by somebody…but I can’t make it out.”
Cheryl slammed the lid shut. “That’s enough. If this gets out, we’ll have more than nosy neighbors sniffing around.”
Lynette and Sawyer exchanged glances. “What do you mean? Shouldn’t we at least notify a historical society?”
Sawyer nodded in agreement. “What is so shocking about this? It’s just some trinkets and a marriage certificate.”
“We should call the Williamson County Heritage Foundation,” Lynette reiterated.
Nathan shrugged, and Cheryl sighed. “No. Not yet. All this might be worth something. We need to maintain the leverage.”
Sawyer side-eyed them. ‘Leverage?’, she thought. What leverage?
Another HOA Violation
A shadow passed Cheryl’s front window. Then the slap of paper on her door. She ripped it free and read aloud:
“Notice of Violation: Provision 6, Section 3 – Excavation and unsightly yard disturbance at the Ferguson property. Excavation activity failed to align with Hawthorne Grove’s Lawn Integrity Standards.”
Sawyer scrunched her face and tilted her head. “Lawn integrity? Can a yard have morals?”
“Integrity can mean diff– never mind,” said Nathan.
Cheryl kept staring at the paper. “But how did they know to bring the violation to my house?”
Lynette grabbed the notice from Cheryl. “We have a mole!”
Nathan perked up and raised his arm, pointing upward at nothing. “And that,” he looked at Sawyer, “could really affect the integrity of a lawn.”
Sawyer rolled her eyes. She needed some Riggins, and she need it now.
Cheryl took the paper back from Lynette and waved it like a battle flag. “So we drag a hundred and fifty year old chest out of the Ferguson Jungle Maze, and the HOA’s worried about holes in the lawn?”
Sawyer shrugged. “We did not ‘call before we dug’.”
Cheryl blinked. “What?”
“811,” Sawyer said, puffing up a little after being humiliated by Nathan. “You call it before you dig. 811. They will tell you if there are underground utilities near.”
Lynette sighed, “So many rules.”
Nathan nodded.
“I don’t do ‘man-things’,” Cheryl snapped.
Nathan chuckled. “Figures. Weeds are taller than me over there, but this is the violation they chase.”
Even Lynette smirked. “Unsightly yard disturbance. Like it wasn’t unsightly before the dig.”
Sawyer’s phone buzzed.
You okay? Still up?
— Blake
Her pulse skipped. The timing was too perfect, like he knew. She shoved her phone in her pocket before anyone saw.
Outside, a car slowed, headlights dragging across the driveway. Everyone froze until it rolled past. Cheryl hit the garage door closer, sealing them inside with secrets better left buried.
Dem Boyz Reset
Later, Sawyer pushed open her bedroom door. It was time for some lovin’ from her boys. Riggins was sprawled across the bed, chin on her pillow, eyes wide with gratefulness that she had finally arrived. Russo paced like he had been robbed of adventure. Rafa lifted his head from the dog bed, tail thumping once, steady and forgiving.
“I know, I know,” Sawyer sighed, sliding off her On Cloud 5s (the best shoe in the world, according to Sawyer). “Mama left you out of the Big Dig.”
She crawled onto the bed. Riggins gave a dramatic huff before melting against her. Russo wriggled until he tucked tight at her side. Rafa climbed up last, circling once before pressing his solid weight against her legs.
The heaviness of the day eased. For a moment, the covenant, the knife, the pearls – all of it slipped away. All that mattered were Dem Boyz piled around her, alive and warm.
The box might carry history. It might carry fortune, or it might carry ruin. As Sawyer drifted to sleep, one thought stayed with her: Nothing stays buried forever.