Becoming Mona Lisa

by Holden Robinson

  Tom rolled his eyes. “I'm calling Ray. The web site didn't say anything about Celine.”

  Tom dialed Ray Cunningham, while Robbie and I danced, although I was careful not to get too close to him.

  “Celine doesn't scare crows,” Tom said, from the porch, “but Ray's wife is happy to know her favorite CD has been located.”

  “Glad we could be of service,” Robbie said.

  Tom popped the CD out of the player. “It says Celine Dion on it, Rob. Didn't you see that?”

  “The sun was in my eyes. I couldn't read it. I'd have played it if it said 'if you listen to this your head will explode.'”

  I laughed so hard mine nearly did. “Good one,” I said, once I'd recovered.

  “God give me strength,” Tom muttered. “All right, the guy who installs the Internet isn't coming until next week, so I'm gonna drive over to the coffee shop and use their WiFi so I can order the CD. Ray insists it would work if anyone could find it. Do you think you two idiots can behave while I'm gone?”

  Robbie and I tried to look wounded. “I guess,” I said.

  “Rob?” Tom said.

  “I'll try.”

  “You're a mess,” I said to my brother-in-law.

  “It was worth it,” he admitted. I totally understood.

  Robbie pulled off his old sweatshirt and threw it in the trash. “Where'd the bandage go?” I asked him.

  “I had to take it off. It was so tight my hand was starting to die.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “What the hell happened to the roof?” my husband asked, seemingly noticing the tarp for the first time.

  “Um......,” Robbie stammered.

  “Well....,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “Let's just say Robbie was assessing the structural integrity of the roof. One minute he was on the roof, and the next thing I knew, he was lying on the kitchen floor.”

  “Jeez, Mona. Okay, I'll be back in a little bit. Try to stay out of trouble. I think you guys are giving me an ulcer.”

  Tom planted a kiss on my lips. He held his stomach dramatically, but failed to hide the amusement in his eyes. I knew my recaptured spirit and silliness were driving him mad, but I knew he appreciated the return of his crazy wife.

  “Behave yourself,” Tom chastised with a wink, before heading out.

  I stayed in the yard until my Jeep disappeared from sight. Robbie made a bee line for the guest room, which now contained a twin bed, and a quarter of the Fangerhouse shit it once did. Anything salvageable was stacked in the garage, ten feet from the resin cavalry.

  The remainder was in the dumpster that had been delivered earlier in the day, and was already half-filled with moldy collectibles.

  I was standing in front of the open freezer when Tom returned.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to decide what to make for dinner.”

  “What are our choices?” Tom asked.

  “Freezer-burned fish sticks or ice.”

  Tom laughed.

  Robbie appeared in the doorway wearing an attractive gray v-neck sweater and jeans that looked like they cost more than my Jeep. “If you guys have a decent place around here, I could go for Chinese. I'll buy us dinner, and then I'm gonna get out of your hair for a while.”

  I couldn't possibly turn down Robbie's offer, so I chucked the fish sticks in the trash, and began pulling menus from a drawer next to the sink.

  “Here,” I said, shoving the mess at Robbie.

  We placed our order, waited the customary ten minutes, paid the delivery guy, and proceeded to stuff ourselves. Robbie headed out to a party around seven, leaving Tom and I alone in the house for the first time in forty-eight hours.

  “I'm gonna take a bath,” I announced. “Tom?” I called.

  I found him asleep on the couch, and I pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.

  He didn't stir.

  I tiptoed toward my spa with a glass of wine, stepped through the rabbit hole and closed the door. I'd brought in a radio, and found an easy-listening station. Robbie had installed the new tile and it was cool beneath my feet. The room was magnificent, and I decided if it had a bed and a television, I'd move in permanently.

  The water was still slow to warm, but the tub filled in record time. I slid into the bath and brought the wine glass to my lips. I took a few sips and set the glass on the edge of the tub. I felt bubbles tickle my chin, and the music nearly lulled me to sleep. I wasn't sure how long I'd simmered when I heard a knock on the door.

  “Mona?” Tom said.

  “Yeah?”

  “May I come in?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “Of course,” I said. He stepped into the room with a familiar notebook in his hand.

  Shit.

  I thought I'd put it away.

  He sat on the toilet seat and looked at me. I said nothing. “This is your bucket list?” he asked, and I nodded. “This is all you want to do?” He smiled at me, and I felt myself shiver in the warm water. “You're easy to please. Most women would want to travel to some exotic place, or jump out of an airplane.”

  “My pen ran out of ink,” I said, and he chuckled.

  “Liar,” he whispered. He knelt on the floor, and laid the notebook on top of the new vanity. He crawled toward me, and sat beside the tub. “You want to have a baby with me, Mona?”

  “Yes,” I replied in a voice so soft I wasn't sure I'd said the word at all. “I want a family, Tom. I've always wanted that.”

  “Me, too.” He leaned into the tub and kissed me. His touch was so gentle, it took my breath away. “You're sure about this?”

  “Yes. I've fallen in love with you again, Tom. I want to have a baby with you,” I admitted with raw honesty.

  Tom laid his head on his arm, and touched my nose with his finger. He smiled at me, and I forced myself not to cry. The room was lit by a dozen candles, and had become the romantic spa of my dreams.

  Tom undressed. When he was done, he slipped into the warm water and sat facing me. “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  “Let's make a baby,” I said softly, and as long as I live, I will never forget his expression as he moved toward me.

  “Let's.”

  Eighteen

  Thursday

  The ripple effect of trying to live a lie is very long lasting.

  By Thursday afternoon, things were looking better. Our Bye Bye Birds CD order was being processed and I had survived one-half of my first day back at WalMart.

  The cash registers were overstaffed, so I'd been shipped off to the stockroom. I devoted the morning to lining up individual cans of cat food, and by noon my back was killing me. I took my lunch break, heated up some leftover Chinese food, ate it like someone was chasing me, and returned to the stockroom. I'd decided if someone handed me a can of cat food, I would find a way to kill myself with it.

  “Can you put these out?” Joe, the manager, asked. I wasn't sure what Joe's last name was, and before today, I'd only seen him in passing. I was fine with it staying that way. I had a whole new respect for the stock people. Plain and simple, the job wasn't for me.

  Joe loaded a rolling cart with six boxes destined for the Shoe Department, and I stepped behind it with some hesitation. I wasn't the most coordinated thing to ever walk the earth, but I was all about trying new things.

  Joe hit a switch, and the doors to the stockroom hissed and opened wide. “Here we go,” I whispered, pushing the cart through the door. I made it half way without issue, then took out an entire DVD display.

  “Electronics pick up on line two,” sounded over the store's loudspeaker, and I had a sneaking suspicion this had something to do with my driving skills.

  A crowd of blue-aproned personnel gathered around the mess I'd made, and I got a few dirty looks from the first responders.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed, looking sympathetic. I reminded myself to keep my eyes forward, as I narrowly avoided a pregnant woman pushing a cart
full of diapers, and microwave dinners.

  I arrived in the Shoe Department without any other disasters, and carefully began opening cartons. The boxes were filled with Converse knock-offs of every color, tied together as part of some bizarre security system.

  I began unloading the sneakers, placing them on the floor in the first aisle. I'd only removed two or three pair when I knew something wasn't right.

  I held up a bright yellow pair, and noticed one shoe was obviously much larger than the other. The left was a size nine, the right, a size six. “Good God,” I mumbled, wondering who in the world thought this was funny. I rifled through the remaining hundred-or-so pairs, and discovered each size six was paired with a size nine. Evidently the rocket scientists who'd put these together were standing opposite one another.

  “God give me strength,” I complained, as I began cutting the security elastic. I expected an alarm would sound, or the FBI might close in on me, and relaxed when neither occurred. I spent the next hour correcting the six/nine debacle, then - realizing I had no time to spare - began stocking shoe shelves like a madwoman.

  “Mona Siggs pick up on line one,” filled the store, and I groaned.

  Now what had I done?

  I found the nearest phone, and was surprised to discover my Tom was the caller.

  “What's wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to call you before you saw the news,” he said, and this worried me. Had we made the news?

  “What happened?”

  “Somebody blew up the deer car,” he said, nearly squealing with delight.

  “You've got to be kidding me,” I blurted.

  “No. It was all over the noon news. I was so damned happy I had to call you myself. Can you pick me up after work?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great. We're just wrapping up with the police.”

  “Do they think you did it?” I asked, and he chuckled.

  “I wish I had. I was inside the showroom when it happened. I heard an explosion, looked out the window, and saw a deer head flying across the parking lot.”

  I found this hysterical, and my outburst of laughter caught the attention of some sneaker shoppers. “Honey, I have to go,” I said.

  “No problem. I just didn't want you to think I was in the car when it happened, just in case you saw the news.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and Tom?”

  “What's that?”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, babe,” Tom said.

  I hung the bat phone back up on the pole, and scowled. The shoppers had totally messed up the Feng Shui I'd spent the last two hours performing in the shoe department.

  “Damn,” I whispered, as I righted the shoes that had been haphazardly tossed about.

  Once I was done, I wandered to the next aisle to get the cart, checking each shoe rack as I passed. I didn't much care for stocking shelves, but I prided myself on a job well done. I wanted the place to look super before I left.

  I rounded the corner, and the cart was gone. “Sonovabitch,” I whispered, wondering who the heck had stolen it.

  I returned to the pole, picked up the phone and dialed the stockroom. Joe no-last-name answered, and I announced, with some self deprecation, I'd lost the cart.

  “I came back for it,” Joe explained, and I didn't need to ask why.

  “Um....., okay, Joe. See you in a bit.” I lumbered back to the stockroom. I had fifteen minutes and couldn't imagine what I could accomplish in that time.

  As it turned out, Joe didn't have any further assignments for me, so I wandered back to check on the cat food aisle. All looked well, and I assumed whoever had foraged through the shoe department didn't own a cat.

  Promptly at five, I clocked out and headed to the Bucks County Auto Super Store, which was a madhouse when I arrived. My Jeep quickly disappeared into a sea of emergency vehicles, which I found surprising. If this thing had made the noon news, I had to figure the emergency had pretty much passed.

  I found Tom by the front door, where he stood talking to an attractive older man who wielded a microphone and camera crew. I heard a strong male voice behind me, and turned to find myself face to face with a police officer.

  “Evenin', ma'am,” he said politely.

  “Should I not be here?” I asked.

  “Just don't stray into the crime scene.”

  “Um, okay,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

  A large area of the parking lot had been cordoned off by yellow police tape. Inside the radius, bite-sized bits of deer parts were indicated by plastic evidence markers. One intact deer leg protruded from the car's charred remains. The entire scene was macabre, and I felt my stomach jump. “You're not here to arrest my husband, are you?” I asked the deputy.

  “Who's your husband?” he asked, and I pointed at my Tom, who had seemingly escalated to celebrity status. Now he was talking to a woman, with a matching camera crew.

  Evidently things were slow in Oxford Valley. This “crime” was getting serious press.

  “Mona Siggs?” the officer asked, and I squinted at him.

  “Yeah?” I mumbled, wondering if I had some outstanding warrants or something. Had I recently broken the law? I may have. I didn't know the law that well. Maybe Denise had turned me in for crimes against humanity, but come on, I was looking a heck of a lot better these days!

  “I'm Ed Mulpepper,” the cop said, and I relaxed. “You work with my mom.”

  “Ed Mulpepper, how about that,” I said. Evidently Beth's kids were playing both sides of the law. One was in jail, and the other was responsible for putting people there. “I didn't know Beth had a son who was a cop.”

  “There's six of us. All boys,” he said, and I suddenly understood why Beth dyed her hair. “Mom's in a bit of a snit about Ernie nowadays. He's always in trouble, but he's the reason I became a cop. I figured if there were more idiots out there like Ernie, this career had job security.”

  “That's putting a positive spin on things,” I offered, wondering if Beth saw it that way.

  Maybe she did. Seemed like Ernie was providing a public service, like some kind of career adviser.

  I turned at the sound of another male voice, this one familiar. “You done with the paparazzi, babe?” I asked, and Tom smiled.

  “Yeah. Things seem to be winding down.”

  “Tom, this is Ed Mulpepper, Beth's son. You remember Beth,” I said with a sly smile.

  Tom put his hand out, and shook the one the cop extended. “Don't leave town, Mr. Siggs,” Deputy Ed said, sounding official. Something momentarily tightened in my abdomen, until I realized Ed was smiling.

  “Where would I go, and how would I get there?” my husband asked. “That was my car that exploded.”

  “I'm sorry about that,” Ed said.

  “You wouldn't be if you'd seen it before today,” Tom replied, and I chuckled.

  We headed out, and I turned one last time to wave to the deputy. It was good to have the law on your side, especially if you were a Siggs, and more importantly, if you occasionally destroyed your neighbor's property, or pointed an unlicensed firearm at him.

  Fifteen minutes later, we rounded the corner of our street, and I tensed when I heard my husband gasp. “Holy shit,” Tom whispered, and I sat up straighter in the passenger seat.

  As promised, Robbie had completed the scarecrows, but they weren't quite what we expected. Instead of a plastic squad of flannel-clad scarecrows, our field was filled with drag queens in every imaginable manner of outrageous dress. A beautiful blond mannequin, in true Marilyn Monroe style, commandeered the pack. I stared at them, this intersection where To Wong Fu, met Children of the Corn.

  “Splendid,” I said, and Tom glared at me and practically growled. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  He flew out of the car, and stormed across the lawn. I followed. For once, we paid no attention to the crows. “Tom? Be gentle!” I demanded.

  “Robbie!!” Tom yelled. “Get your ass out here!! Now
!!”

  Robbie skipped down the stairs. I braced myself for what I assumed would be pandemonium. Tom Siggs didn't often get angry, and the bathroom event held the number one spot for the most rage I'd ever seen in my husband.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Tom yelled, and I tensed. There was the magic word, that four-letter, multi-functional, overused unit of language that suggested a Tom Siggs-style apocalypse was about to commence.

  “Come on, man,” Robbie began, sounding defensive. “Lighten up!”

  Tom twitched as his brother approached, and I swear to God, I thought he was going to deck him. No matter who he slept with, or what he might wear behind closed doors, Robbie was a construction worker by trade, and as such, could likely knock my husband flat.

  “Tom, don't do it!” I begged, my voice rising toward hysteria. I cast a glance across the street, and felt my fanny start to sweat. I had no idea how this was gonna shake out, but I knew we didn't need an audience.

  “THAT IS NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO!!” Tom screamed.

  “You don't like it?” Robbie asked playfully, and Tom made a fist.

  Sonovabitch!

  “Robbie, come here!” I hollered from the safety of the driveway. I almost prayed for the avian firestorm to begin. At least we'd be driven indoors.

  “Do you know what Dad would do if he saw this?” Tom asked, and my eyes filled with tears.

  “Don't bring him into this,” Robbie said.

  “Dad would die another death if he saw this, if he knew what you were!” Tom yelled, and I silently thanked God for the remote location in which we lived. We could keep our insanity pretty much to ourselves, and I'd have many acres to choose from when the time came to hide my husband's body.

  “Bastard,” I intended to yell. Instead, the word came out in a ragged whisper.

  “HE KNEW!” Robbie screamed, falling to his knees. “He knew, Tommy.”

  I ran to my brother-in-law and took him in my arms. “Stop, Tom,” I said, and he sat beside me on the soft ground.

  “He did?” Tom asked, and Robbie nodded.