Hear Me Roar

by Katie Cross

  “Sure.”

  He waited, the edges of his lips twitching. My mouth paused halfway open, then snapped shut with a growl. I hadn’t expected him to call me out on it.

  “I don’t have time for this,” I said. “Just do what I said, and it’ll work. Trust me. I’m a maid.”

  “I’ll stick with window cleaner, thanks.” He turned back to the couch with a wave of his toilet brush. “High alcohol content. Alcohol cleans almost anything.”

  “Looks like it’s really worked for you the last thirty minutes.”

  He hesitated, tapered his gaze, then snatched the blue upholstery cleaner from me. He scrubbed hard and fast. White froth built up around the scrubber, morphing into a light gray, and then vomit green. It flicked onto his tanned hand, but he ignored it.

  “Tip the couch back,” I said. “Then the water will run into the grass and remove some of the stain instead of spreading it.”

  “You’re kind of bossy, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a damn good cleaner, too.”

  Jim’s lips twitched as he followed my command. In the meantime, I picked the hose up, tossing it away from the couch and the puddle that had formed near it, then removed the other clean—yet still sopping wet—cushions. Whatever it was had colored not only the middle pillow but the back of the couch as well.

  “What happened?” I asked, tossing the cushions into the sun. “This looks like ink. Or paint. Please tell me you didn’t put a paint can on your couch.”

  He grumbled something about paint cans and a box appearing out of nowhere near his feet and not getting enough sleep. I swallowed back a laugh. His furrowed brow and the intensity of his concentration told me he wouldn’t appreciate humor this early.

  “You might have to get a different couch,” I said.

  “A new couch?” He stopped to stare at me, incredulous. “You gotta be kidding. I’m not getting a new couch. It’s fine.”

  “It’s hideous.”

  “I’m only worried it’ll stink when I sit down. I don’t care what it looks like.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  He grunted and motioned for the hose. I used a thumb to control the water and sprayed off the dark foam. The stain remained, albeit a shade lighter. He attacked it again, more foam billowing under his fast-moving arm. Three more rinses and treatments later, only a dark shadow with a defined edge remained.

  Jim stepped back. “Looks great.”

  I laughed, then stopped when he glowered at me. “That’s going to show up darker once it dries.”

  He grabbed one arm of the couch. “Take that side,” he said. “Let’s move it onto the driveway.”

  Look who’s bossy now, I wanted to say. We finagled it across his lawn—which looked like a parched, dying desert thanks to two months of sitting on the housing market—and onto his driveway. Then we turned it onto its back so the water drained onto the pavement. A dark trail of water ballooned out and trickled toward the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t have to soak the whole thing with the hose,” I said. “It’ll probably smell like mildew now.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think so…”

  He jogged over to his garage, reached for something just inside, and produced a heater with a long extension cord. “Got this. Figured it would help.”

  I pressed my lips together. It wouldn’t, but he’d have to find that out on his own.

  He handed the upholstery cleaner back to me after inspecting the label. “I think I used the whole thing,” he said. “I’ll get you another one at the store.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He set his hands on his hips, eyebrows raised high. “Well, thanks for your help. You can go now. I have this situation under control.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Did he just dismiss me? We stared at each other, locked in a hard gaze. I didn’t want to leave on his terms, of course. But then, I was standing on his lawn while the minutes of my workout drained into the sewer.

  “Have a good day,” I said with a fixed smile. He disappeared into his garage with a wave. I strode onto the road, moving fast.

  What an incorrigible man.

  Later that night, I found a new can of upholstery cleaner perched on my porch.

  “Groceries,” I muttered, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. “Drop off the rent payment … clean the yoga studio … log my calories…”

  My mental list whirred through my mind as I sat outside the girls’ school the next week, waiting for them to work their way across the playground. Lizzy walked arm and arm with a friend, giggling. No doubt they were discussing Jonny Troy, the cute new boy from out of town. Lana, on the other hand, was using both fingers as guns as she darted her way across the school grounds, alternately rolling in the dust and shooting three other boys.

  I sighed.

  Once they slid into the car, Lana dropped her head back against her seat with a dramatic groan and slid her seatbelt on. “I hate the girls in my grade!” she cried. “They’re such babies.”

  “Ready to go?” I asked.

  “Get me outta here,” she muttered.

  “Hi, Mom,” Lizzy said.

  “Hey, Lizzy.”

  Lana clutched her stomach. “I think Shelley poisoned me at lunch after I beat her in kickball at recess.”

  “I’m sure you’re fine. I think—”

  A tap on my window made me jump. Mr. Mortenson, the school principal, stood just outside my car. I pasted on a smile as my window rolled down.

  “Mr. Mortenson,” I said through my teeth. “How are you?”

  He lowered his thin, twiggy body—which took a while to fold in half—so his face appeared in the open window. “Hello, Mrs. Walker. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yes, so sorry. I’ve been very busy with—”

  “The PTA is suffering greatly in your absence, particularly with the school play coming up soon. Do you think you could find time to come back? We certainly need a leader like you!”

  The thought made my toes curl. Last year, the PTA had turned into a parental drama hour instead of an organization to assist the students, teachers, and school. My gradual ducking out had been mostly purposeful, though also somewhat necessary. Work really had gotten busy, and spring always generated more cleaning projects.

  “Er … possibly?”

  He smiled, his crooked teeth yellowed with coffee stains. The smell of pipe tobacco drifted off him in waves.

  “Wonderful. If you ever want to get together to discuss your role, I’d be happy to have you in my office. How about next week?”

  I hid a grimace. The other part of my motivation to get away from the PTA had been Mr. Mortenson’s single status—and his determination to get rid of it as quickly as possible. My phone rang. Lana moaned again from the back seat.

  “Oh, listen to that!” I cried. “A client is calling. I better go. I’ll be in touch about the PTA!”

  He clung to my window. “I’d really like a firm commitment on this. How about this Friday?”

  “I’m—”

  “It’ll just be an hour.”

  “Childcare is—”

  “No need. The classroom will be open for them. Please, Mrs. Walker. I’ll do anything to get some more help.”

  “Fine. I’ll figure something out and let you know.”

  Just before I punched the gas, he cried out. “Wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “Good news!” His eyes darted to Lizzy with a wide smile. She sucked in a sharp breath. I held my own.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Lizzy, would you like to be the lead in the upcoming play, A Mermaid’s Whisper?”

  Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. My jaw dropped. Lana was the first to respond.

  “Yes!” she screamed. “Lizzy accepts! Mr. Mortenson, do I still get to be a crab?”

  “Yes!” Lizzy said, finally finding her voice. Tears
filled her eyes. “Really? Really? You want me to be the…”

  She trailed off, as if she couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

  “The committee was most impressed with the way you carried yourself and your sweet personality. They think you’ll be perfect. I’m sure you already know this, but accepting the lead comes with a guaranteed television interview, a special scholarship from local business donors, and a picture in the local newspaper.”

  “Yes!”

  She squealed into her fists, her cheeks blossoming into a bright pink.

  Mr. Mortenson smiled. “Wonderful. I’ll inform the committee immediately. Thank you so much.” He turned to me with a little wink. “I’m sure they’ll call you with details soon.”

  “That would be very appreciated.”

  “PTA,” he said, knocking on the top of my car with his hand. “Please do let me know soon.”

  “Of course.”

  I ignored the call—which was Mira, who wouldn’t care if I called back later—and quickly left. The last thing I wanted to do was go to a PTA meeting or help organize the school play. The production scale of which I had vastly underestimated the first year the girls started school here at Westside, when I’d undertaken it myself. But I’d go on Friday. I already knew I would.

  I just couldn’t say no.

  Lana reached over to give Lizzy a high five. “Just wait till you tell Dad,” she said. “He’s going to freak out.”

  Lizzy beamed. “I know! I can’t wait to see his face.”

  “Congrats, Lizzy!” I said. “I’m very proud of you.”

  She sank further into her seat with a giddy grin.

  New THHS Check-In Conversation Opened in WonderFriendApp

  Opened by: BITSY

  Bitsy: Just a friendly text message reminder that we meet again for our weekly call tomorrow at 7:00 p.m. EST.

  Lexie: I got your Google Calendar announcement.

  Megan: And your email.

  Lexie: And still have your text from last week.

  Megan: And the calendar you physically mailed out at the beginning of the month.

  Bitsy: I’m glad to hear you’re paying attention.

  Megan: You’re nothing if not thorough, Bitsy.

  Mira: Sorry! Have to miss. I’m heading out to see Jerry. He’s having some heart issues, and my sister-in-law needs the support.

  Rachelle: I’ll be ten minutes late, but I’ll be there.

  Lexie: I guess this isn’t a good time to announce that I had a run-in with fudge cookies this week?

  Bitsy: There is never a good time to announce that.

  Lexie: Nothing to see here. Move on.

  Megan: I read the article on The Myth of Counting Calories Debunked Again, Bitsy. I still hold that counting calories isn’t ideal.

  Bitsy: It’s extremely individual.

  Rachelle: I think I’ll just keep marathon training again. Then I burn enough I don’t have to worry about counting calories.

  Mira: If I didn’t have to do all that running to train for a marathon, I’d do the same, Rachelle.

  Megan: I feel calorie counting breeds a need for control and a propensity for eating disorders.

  Bitsy: You’re entitled to your opinion.

  Megan: :D

  Lexie: Why does control get such a bad rap anyway?

  Rachelle: Because so few have it.

  Mira: If you know where to find some, Pepsi has been creeping back into my life lately…

  Bitsy: Control is often taken to extremes instead of used to create a balanced, healthy lifestyle. It’s not an easy balance. See you tomorrow.

  Conversation CLOSED by BITSY

  Daniel messaged late Thursday night.

  Bitsy, may I request an audience with the two royal highnesses for tomorrow and Saturday? Early pick-up and late drop-offs, if that’s okay.

  I gritted my teeth. Before I could respond, another message came through with a ding.

  Please? Then we’ll be falling into an every-other-weekend schedule. It’s just that getting settled in has been …

  He let it trail off, the way he usually did. A plethora of possibilities swirled in his wake. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, considering letting him have them only because I had two clients who needed me. The extra money would cover the additional expenses that Lizzy’s second costume would require…

  He could have just shown up tomorrow. The fact that I had over twelve hours advance notice was an improvement. I’d celebrate whatever wins I could.

  Thank you for texting me in advance, I said. Yes. You can have them.

  Rock on, he replied.

  My heart burned when I thought of how excited they would be. I set the phone aside.

  “Girls,” I called. “I have news from your father.”

  The next evening, I answered the door while sweating through a baggy shirt and my oldest pair of workout pants. Gillian Jones was paused on the television, her face contorted in a manic scream.

  “You’re right on time. That—”

  The sight of a short woman with burnished copper hair cut me short. Her front teeth were slightly bigger than the rest, and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. For a moment, I stood there, mouth half open. Her smile faltered. Daniel stepped out from behind her.

  “Hey, Bits.” He tilted his head toward her, then squinted at his phone before tucking it into his pocket. “This is Jade.”

  “Oh.”

  Jade.

  “Hi,” she said, sticking out a hand. “It’s really good to meet you. I—”

  “Jade!”

  Lana barreled past me and threw herself against the woman’s legs, nearly knocking her over. Jade’s eyes widened. Daniel grinned.

  “Oh, hi there, Lana!” Jade said, tentatively resting one hand on her back. “It’s … it’s so good to meet you.”

  Before I could utter a word, Lizzy appeared with a wide smile.

  “Hi, Jade,” she said, but stopped a few steps short, her lips pushed to one side of her face. Her eyes flickered briefly to mine.

  “Hello, Lizzy!” Jade said. “I’m so excited to have you over this weekend. You ready to go?”

  “Yep.”

  “Coming!” Lana shrieked as she streaked by again. “Forgot my shoes!”

  Jade’s words, have you over this weekend, rang in my ears. Daniel stepped forward before I could ask what that meant.

  “Ah, Bitsy, can we talk? In the other room?”

  Jade motioned toward the car with a thumb. “I’ll just…”

  “Yeah.” Daniel nodded. “Yeah.”

  Lana sprinted past us again, a pair of blue underwear clutched in her hand. She wouldn’t let me buy her underwear with any adornment or even a sign of pink. Daniel shut the door behind him, then took up space in the entryway.

  “So,” I said, clearing my throat. “New girlfriend?”

  “Fiancée.”

  I almost choked. “What?”

  “Jade and I are getting married in a few weeks.” His lips tilted in a reluctant half smile that had once captured all my wits and carried me off to an altar.

  “A few weeks?”

  “We met in Hawaii a few years ago and have been together ever since. Since we’re buying the house here, figured it was a good time.” He shrugged. “No big deal. We’re not inviting anyone. We’re just going to go somewhere tropical and get married on the beach.”

  Yes, let’s discuss your happily-ever-after, I almost snapped.

  “Daniel, who is this woman? I didn’t know you were dating anyone. You’re supposed to tell me what kind of people are around my daughters when you have them.”

  “Our daughters.”

  “Who is she? I have the right to refuse to send my daughters with you if you’re lying, or exposing them to dangerous people, or—”

  “Dangerous people?” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Bitsy. She won’t even kill a spider. We had to set one free last night. Seriously.”

  “You never told me you
were dating.”

  “Do you really care?”

  “No! It’s just … when my daughters are around her, I get to know those details.”

  “Jade isn’t going to eat them, and this is the first she’s met the girls. I thought I was doing the right thing by bringing her over right away to meet you and them. I knew you’d flip out.”

  I let his final statement go.

  “The first time?” I asked. “Then why…”

  Lana had launched herself into Jade’s arms like a grenade. He looked down, scuffing a foot along the floor. “I’ve had them video chat with her several times. And she sent them some gifts. And ordered them some stuff online for their rooms.”

  “They never mentioned it.”

  “You’ll have to bring that up with them.”

  Deeper implications ran in his statements. He’d cheated on me with a woman with raven black hair, flashing emerald eyes, and lips that couldn’t have been entirely her own. Jade was utterly normal—almost boring in comparison. Was he trying to show me this was a different woman? That she almost seemed … maternal?

  My eyes tapered.

  “What you do is your business,” I heard myself say, even though part of me curled up in a ball at the thought. It used to be my business, my heart whispered. Before you gave up on us. “But I would appreciate meeting the people that my daughters are going to be around.”

  “Sure.”

  Before I could say another word, he left, disappearing into the darkness of the yard. I shut the door—a bit more forcefully than was needed—and whirled around.

  Daniel would get married. What did that matter to me? Nothing. He made it abundantly clear years ago that our relationship didn’t mean anything to him.

  At least, not more than his secretary.

  With a deep breath, I wheeled around and stalked into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Then I realized the girls hadn’t even said goodbye. With a growl, I turned the kickboxing workout video back on, rewound all the way to the beginning, and imagined Daniel’s head floating in front of me.

  By the time the girls returned that evening, my frustration had mostly faded.

  Jade whirled through my mind, however. I attempted to ignore her while I organized the back pantry—so much easier when the girls weren’t asking questions every ten minutes.