The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #2 Swept under the Rug

by Jennifer L. Hart

  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, same way 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.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  “Sylvie 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 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 britches out here and I’ve had a bear of a day and I won’t be able to sleep on my ancient air mattress tonight till I see for myself that you’re all right.”

  The door opened a crack and I sighed in relief. Stepping inside, I hugged Sylvia before my brain registered what I’d seen. Her blond locks were pulled back in a sloppy pony-tail, highlighting her gauntness. She wore a grubby T-shirt covered by humongous overalls and a determined expression I’d never seen on her typically serene features. After shutting out the cold she turned to face me, hands on hips, but made no move to invite me in further

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. This isn’t a good time to visit.” Sylvia’s right foot tapped and she practically vibrated with nervous energy.

  “What are you doing and how can I help?” I shucked my jacket and rolled up my sleeves in a gesture of solidarity. I’d pooched the encounter with Eric and possibly made things worse for her, and I was prepared to make amends.

  Sylvia sighed and dropped her chin to her chest. “Maggie, go home.”

  “Not until you let me apologize.” I stated stubbornly. “I was going to make you my classic I’m sorry casserole, but it’s got sausage in it and I know you wouldn’t eat it.” Sylvia was a vegan and card carrying member of PETA.

  “While I appreciate the half-assed gesture, you don’t have anything to apologize for. You weren’t screwing Eric in the ball room.”

  “No, but I made a scene and I figured I’d brought more attention to your situation than you wanted, especially at your place of employment.”

  Sylvia didn’t say anything, just stared down at her paint-spattered boots.

  “Are you remodeling?”

  Her ponytail bobbed as she shook her head. “I’m applying the principles of Feng Shui to the house.”

  “Didn’t you already have it all Feng Shui-ed?” I asked.

  Her gaze darted to mine for a moment then out the window. “That was for mine and Eric’s home. Now it’s just my house and I need positive energy to improve my Chi.”

  I had no idea what to say. I’d been prepared to be a shoulder to cry on or share a drink and rail about cheating bastards but Chi was out of my realm of understanding.

  “So, put me to work. You want to move a sofa or dresser? Marty’s in town and Neil will be back soon—”

  “Maggie, stop.” Sylvia held up her hand in a hold-it-right-there gesture. “I just want to be alone for a little while, okay?”

  Stung, I nodded and donned my coat again. “Please call me if you need anything.”

  “I will,” Sylvia offered me a ghost of her usual smile and I left before I started to cry. What a screwed-up day.

  Deflated, I headed back to my house. Thoughts buzzed like pissed-off bees inside my skull, nattering on about what a lousy friend/wife/sister I had become. Was it my curse to disappoint the people I loved time and again?

  “Shut up,” I growled at myself. Mental flagellation didn’t accomplish anything. What I needed was to form a proactive plan. Set a goal and strive for it as well as prioritize my life.

  When I started thinking about it that way, the task didn’t seem so daunting. Neil and my marriage came first. Dr. Bob may be a tool, but he might be a useful tool, if applied correctly. My course set, I huddled in the relative shelter on the garage and dialed my freshly charged cell phone. Dr. Bob answered his own phone on the first ring.

  “This is Maggie Phillips. I was wondering if I could maybe come back in at some point this week to continue our session?”

  Silence reigned for the span of several heartbeats. “What for?” Dr. Bob asked, bewilderment cutting through the static on my end of the line.

  Spit it out and move on with life. My mother’s voice comes to me every so often, usually when I’ve hit an emotional wall. I’ve made it a habit to listen to her. She always protects my interests. “I’ve done some thinking and I realize that I need to treat my marriage as a priority.”

  “Mrs. Phillips, I’m going to be blunt here. While you may seem sincere now, I predict that every session will be a battle and frankly, there are easier ways to spend my days.”

  What, my money wasn’t green enough for him? I took a deep breath, sucking frigid oxygen all the way down to my toes. “Neil wants this and I want Neil to be happy and I’m willing to do anything to get us there.”

  “Fine,” Dr. Bob snapped. “I’ll pencil you in for 10 AM tomorrow.”

  I flipped through my mental to-do list. “Oh, no Dr. Bob I have a—”

  “10 AM if you’re serious, Mrs. Phillips. If you don’t show up, I’ll know otherwise.” A distinctive click had me gaping at the phone.

  What a control freak! Doubts surfaced about my resolution but I shoved them
to the dark recess of my brain. I’d made a decision and would stick with it, regardless of his snide attitude.

  Okay, next on the priority list came Marty, but I didn’t feel up to another round. While my cell phone was out I scrolled through the contact list, feeling a bit like Earl, trying to improve my Karma by righting my many wrongs.

  “This is Leo, leave me a quickie and I’ll tap you back.” I giggled at the tinny recording and cleared my throat before the beep.

  “I’m sorry, Leo. I was being a twit. What I should have said is that I’m very happy for you and Richard. There, I’m going to shut up before I stick my foot back down my gullet. Love you. Oh this is Maggie, by the way.”

  There. Despite the frostbite, I was starting to feel better. Undoubtedly, Sylvia would come around and Leo would forgive me. I still had no idea what, if anything, to do about the dead bird, but there was no frigging way I would drag Detective Capri into it without an okay from the Valentinos.

  Neil’s Escort pulled to a stop in our driveway—Marty had moved the RV up enough so we could park off the street—and Kenny scrambled out, followed by a more somber Josh.

  “Hey you guys!” I greeted them. “You wanna help mom with some self-improvement?”

  Kenny eyeballed me, a wary expression in his green gaze. “You’re not gonna make us eat bean curd again are you?”

  Sylvia had given me a Vegan cookbook for Christmas which really is an oxymoron; since from what I’d seen, the Vegans don’t really cook so much as prepare various greens. Dutifully, I’d invited Sylvie and Eric over to sample the result. I shuddered at the memory. After they left, Neil had picked up a pizza.

  “Not in this lifetime, Sport. I wanna start an exercise regime. You guys are all fit and I need some pointers.”

  Now Neil was shooting me a squinty-eyed glare. “What gives?”

  “I’m trying to make my health a priority is all.” I huffed.

  Josh laughed. “Dad said you don’t like Uncle Marty’s new girlfriend.”

  “We just met,” I hedged. “I don’t know her well enough to decide if I like her or not.” Though I was strongly leaning towards or not.

  We trudged up the front steps. Neil grinned, probably at the astuteness of our oldest son. “What kind of exercise are you thinking about, Uncle Scrooge?”

  “Well I went jogging the other day, but I didn’t make it very far.” Understatement of the year.

  “You have to get a rhythm going for jogging.” Neil knocked his boots against the doorframe in an effort to shake loose some of the crusted-on salt and grime. Kenny and Josh didn’t bother, just kicked their shoes on the runner. “That’s why military formations always chant as they run. Maybe you could try listening to music while you exercise.”

  “You can borrow my iPod, if you want.” Josh volunteered. “I have an armband carrier you could wear. I’ll even make you a Playlist.”

  I shucked my jacket. “Thanks Scamp, but I doubt I’ll like your music.” Josh listened to rap, which was not my cup of tea.

  “No, I meant a Playlist with your music. Dad had me transfer all of your CDs into iTunes, so it’s only a matter of picking songs with the right tempo.”

  “Uh…” I had no idea what he meant or even how to work an iPod. I was a few years past the technologically savvy generation.

  “I’ll show you how to work it.” Neil whispered, a smile in his voice. Of course, Neil was older than me, but much more in tune with the times. Technology didn’t intimidate Navy SEALs who were trained to disarm a nuclear warhead as well as rebuild an engine. An iPod wasn’t even a blip on Neil’s radar.

  Kenny dumped his backpack on top of his coat and boots and padded down the hall to the fridge. “You got to remember to stretch both before and after you exercise so you don’t injure yourself. If you really want to get in shape, you need to add some weight-lifting to your routine, too, maybe three times a week. Cardio only burns calories for a few hours, but strength-training burns for up to two days after.”

  I gaped at him. He opened the refrigerator door. “Where did you learn all this?”

  Kenny shrugged, or at least I think he did. It was hard to tell with his head MIA, scrounging for an after school snack. “From Dad.”

  Neil caught my gaze and while he didn’t quite smirk, his expression gloated, see my boys listen to me.

  Of course. The better question was why didn’t I know any of this? To me, physical exertion should have a reward for all the effort. Like baking a cake or scrubbing out the tub. Exercise for the sake of exercise had never appealed to me. And most of the exercise Neil and I engaged in together was not for fitness purposes.

  “How y’all doing?” Penny glided from the hallway, greeting Kenny and Josh with a warm smile. She turned up the heat for Neil and I clenched my molars together.

  Be nice. My mother’s voice cautioned. Still, this tart was eyeing my husband, again and I didn’t like it at all, especially when she was supposed to be with my brother.

  “Where’s Marty?” I stepped in front of Neil and Penny shifted her focus to me.

  “Out in the garage, looking for something he needs to fix the shower in the camper.”

  “Excuse me,” Neil practically shoved me aside in an effort to keep Marty from rearranging his entire tool chest.

  After clearing my throat, I introduced Kenny and Josh to Penny, and then asked the room what they’d like for dinner. Josh shrugged and Kenny murmured an "I dunno." Typical, so I shuffled over to the pantry to search its contents.

  “Can I do anythin’?” Penny drawled from behind me. The g was lost in her accent.

  I closed my eyes; face still buried between the minute rice and Quaker oats. “Just have a seat and keep me company.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the counter and my ugly barstools.

  The boys may not have an opinion about dinner, but I needed comfort food. Meatloaf, my grandma Irma’s recipe, Mac-n-Cheese and broccoli—to help move all that cholesterol through the body—was the ticket.

  I grabbed the breadcrumbs and a box of Rotini, which actually holds the cheese sauce better than elbows, and turned around and bumped into Penny. I dropped my armload in an effort to catch her, but she took a graceful step back, absorbing the impact. And avoiding the mess of breadcrumbs on the floor.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I thought you were going to sit down.”

  “I’ve been sitting for days on the drive up here. I wanna move around a bit.”

  “How ‘bout fetching a broom, then?” Shit, my accent was deepening the longer I talked with her. I’d made an effort to lose the southern since most native New Englanders would talk slowly around me after they’d picked up on the accent. At this rate, I’d be y’all-ing by bedtime.

  Penny smiled and asked me where I kept the broom. I pointed to the laundry alcove where my Laundry Hag Commandments plaque hung above the washing machine.

  Neil had outdone himself with the new sign. Before I started my business, Neil and the boys had called me the Laundry Goddess and lived in constant fear of my wrath should they try to pirate a load of wash. After one particularly memorable rant, where I’d dubbed myself the Laundry Hag, Neil had immediately gone to work on a new sign, this one hand-painted on a huge slab of slate. Penny handed me the broom, but returned to read the sign aloud.

  “1. Thou shall separate thy whites (i.e. socks, undergarments)

  from thy colored clothes.

  Thou shall not mix thy sheets with thy towels.

  Honor thy (my) lint screen and keep it free of crud.

  Thy workout clothes must be washed with thy towels not my new white top.

  Empty thy pockets of gum, Chapstick, baseball cards, wallets, keys, candy, Swiss army knives, and all other pocket flotsam or thou will evoke the wrath of the Laundry Hag.

  Thou shall not mess with the water temperature settings without my permission.

  Thou must remove clothes from the washing machine in a timely manner, i.e. before the plague of mildew sets in.

&nb
sp; If thou are confused about liquid vs. powdered detergent, ASK!”

  “Cute, if a bit blasphemous.” Penny smiled at me, her hands propping up her lower back in classic pregnant woman repose.

  I swept the breadcrumbs into my dustpan. “I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor. How else could you explain Yanni?”

  “Gotcha,” Penny grinned and I felt the first tentative string of friendship tether us together. Maybe this wouldn’t, Josh liked to say, totally bite.

  “When’s dinner?” Neil emerged from the garage and asked.

  I sighed and I dumped the remainder of the breadcrumbs into the trash. “Gonna be late. I need to run to the store and buy more breadcrumbs for meatloaf.”

  Neil groaned. “They’re predicting six to eight inches of snow tonight. The stores are going to be mobbed. You might get back here by breakfast.”

  “You got any bread? That’s what I use in my meatloaf recipe.”

  Neil’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, why don’t you try that Maggie? We never did have lunch and I’m starving.”

  But it won’t be the same as Grandma Irma’s, I wanted to whine. I held my tongue though, since Neil’s missing lunch was due to my need to investigate the dead bird and my brother’s appearance.

  “It’s good to try new things.” My face felt stiff as I said the words.

  “How ‘bout I cook and you take a break?” Penny said and my spine stiffened. There were three things in life that I was proprietary about to the point of hoarding. My husband, my romance novels and my kitchen. Leo was the only person I allowed to cook in my kitchen because he respected my system.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Neil said and smiled at Penny, who smiled back. I looked at my brother’s pregnant girlfriend and felt our string of friendship snap like worn out dental floss.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  The ringing telephone jarred me awake the next morning. I rolled off the air mattress and my knees hit the living room carpet eight inches below. Neil groaned, the motion had jostled the bed, and then rolled over. It had been a lousy night for both of us. I’d been in a mood before dinner and the fact that Penny’s meatloaf was truly fabulous, only soured it further. Josh, the little wisenheimer, had indeed made me a Playlist for my exercise regime, dubbed Mom’s Old Fogy Music. Dire Straights is not fogy music.