Afraid of Her Shadow

by Carol Maloney Scott

  Surely some relative gave them some decent dishes for their wedding, and she was married twice. Maybe her mother gave them china with crosses on them.

  As I opened the doors I was grateful that Steve was watching a violent program in the family room, and didn’t hear my gasps. Someone did give them quality china. A beautiful rose pattern, I think it’s Royal Doulton’s Old Country Roses.

  I grabbed one of the tea cups to turn over for closer inspection and almost sent it crashing to the floor. Inside was a small jar holding a multiple legged red bug with beady eyes and tentacles!

  What the fuck? Who in the hell puts insect specimens in fine bone china? How can I now pretend I didn’t see this? They aren’t just loose in the china, but I peeked into several other bowls and serving pieces, and apparently Noreen thought this was a good place to keep her science experiments. I’m certain this wasn’t Steve’s doing, but I’m a dirty housekeeper?

  I glanced around and winced, as if Noreen’s spirit heard that and was getting ready to smite me. I tiptoed out of the room, back to the kitchen safely through the living room, and put my food on the nice, bug free Corelleware. I did root around in the cabinet for any other insect carcasses.

  As if that wasn’t enough, the real fun came at bedtime. After watching TV so late he could barely keep his eyes open, Steve announced his surprise. Yep, another surprise. Since Megan can’t come for lunch today, he announced that he fixed up Noreen’s mountain bike for me and he bought me cycling clothes! And a helmet!

  Apparently her mountain bike was always too big for her, and she hardly ever used it, which was a disappointment for Steve. I explained that I have very little biking experience, and zero mountain biking skills. He assured me that we aren’t going into any mountains, just to the state park on the easiest trails. I wanted to trust him, so I swallowed my fear and agreed to go. In the dark I’m sure I looked as white as a ghost.

  “I can do it, right, Elsa?” As I get the blow dryer out of my bag, she starts pawing my leg and jumping. I turn it on and quickly finger my hair, just to get it dry enough to stuff in a stupid helmet that will make me look like a freak.

  “Elsa, what do you want?” She is still urgently pawing my legs. I angle the blow dryer so the air hits her body as I use my other hand to question her. I look down and see the little, fuzzy nut is laying on her back. I run the flow of hot air all over her body and she looks like she was just given a pound of cheese and a big sausage.

  “So you like to be blow-dried? Too funny.” The fur is flying everywhere, but this could be a brushing alternative. I finish up my hair and Elsa’s hot air massage treatment, and head to the bedroom to try on my new cycling clothes. Apparently I needed a sports bra, too. The woman in the store must have asked Steve how big I am on top, and then if she guessed my age she surely knew she was dealing with the need for industrial strength exercise support.

  The shorts and the top are ridiculously tight, and I laugh at the silliness of it all. Do I need to be aerodynamic when I’ll be struggling to stay upright? My ass is monstrous in these shorts, but I still hope they provide enough padding. I have the urge to grab one of the cushions off the couch…oh, wait. We’re not at my house. Steve’s cushions are less comfortable than the average bike seat.

  “Ready to go, Love?” Steve looks cute in his cycling outfit, but I feel like an oompa loompa. “What’s wrong? You look sexy.” He walks into the bedroom and grabs me, kissing my neck and swinging me around. Elsa tries to get in on the action, and almost trips us in mid swing.

  “Stop that,” I say, only half meaning it. “My butt looks huge, but I know you’re smart enough to ignore that comment.” I pause and continue, “Or at least you used to be.” I smack him with my new cycling gloves and let him chase me downstairs.

  On the kitchen counter Steve has gathered water bottles and snacks for our ride, which worries me.

  “Aren’t we just going to the state park?”

  “Yes, but even a short bike ride requires proper hydration and nutrition.” Steve grabs the provisions and deposits all of it into the little bike bags. He hands me mine and my water bottle, which is pink. I count to ten in my head to keep from asking if this is new, or if it belonged to another cyclist. Seven, eight, nine, and ten. There we go…whew…

  Out in the driveway I see that Steve has secured the bike rack to his car and we are ready to go. I am once again speechless. Noreen’s bike is orange. Come on…was she trying to match her belongings to her hair? If so, she was way off. As an artist didn’t she comprehend complimentary colors? Now I look like an oompa loompa on a bright orange bike. At least there are no beads or bugs hanging from it.

  We load up the car and head off on our exciting journey. I have heard if you pretend to like something enough, sometimes it actually happens. So far this philosophy is not working for me, but it’s all I have. Thinking negative thoughts about Noreen is once again making me feel guilty and paranoid that she is going to throw me off her bike, hurling me to my death off a cliff. The fact that there are no cliffs at the state park is meaningless in my moment of panic.

  Up until a few weeks ago I was the most stable person I know. Everyone came to me for advice and…

  “Hello, Earth to sexy chick in the spandex!” Steve is waving his hands to indicate I am not listening to him.

  “I’m sorry, Honey. I was just thinking about…some stuff I have to do later.”

  “Well, I hope cooking isn’t one of them.”

  “What? I thought you liked my cooking?”

  “I do.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I just want to take you out for a nice dinner. After your day of wedding dress shopping I’m sure you’ll need a treat. Maybe I can find a band playing some good music somewhere, too. I’ll work on it while you’re out.”

  I squeeze Steve’s hand, and pull it to my lips, softly kissing every finger. I love him and I am not going to let my stupid fears get the best of me. This fear of ghosts is all my brother’s fault anyway. When I see Ryan tomorrow I am going to remind him of how many scary movies he made me watch when we were little.

  “Now please don’t be afraid of this ride. I would never lure you into something dangerous. We’re only going on the fire roads, and maybe one of the easiest trails.”

  I smile like an idiot. An idiot who has no clue what “fire road” means. Were they caused by a fire? When the Indians fought the pilgrims did they burn down parts of the woods to make trails?

  Even though I adore Steve, it’s times like these I long for time on Luke’s boat. I can swim like a fish, but as the saying goes, a fish doesn’t need a bicycle. Or is it a woman needs a man like a fish needs a…

  Steve proceeds to give me a bike safety lesson, especially long is the instruction on how to use my gears. I don’t understand most of what he’s saying and plan on leaving it in the same gear the whole time. He says he’ll show me on the bike when we arrive, and it will be simple. Yeah, right.

  “Sweetie, are you okay? Is there anything you want to talk about? You look like you’re a million miles away.” I glance over at Steve, and with his wrinkled brow and glasses he looks so sweet and genuinely caring. I am an evil woman. I silently apologize to Noreen and ask her to let me live today.

  “No. everything is fine. Really. Well, I am a little nervous. I don’t want to suck at this.” I look down at my clothes and shoes, not recognizing my body in them.

  He stops the car and takes both my hands. “This is just for fun. No pressure. I thought it was time I share my favorite activity with the woman I love. Okay? And if you hate it, I won’t ask you to go again. Just try for me?”

  Biking must be hard for him now, since his wife died in a cycling accident. I glance at Steve’s face, and imagine how it must have looked when he got the news about Noreen. He’s happy now, and Jack is right. It is, at least in part, because of me.

  “I won’t let you down,” I say a bit louder than necessary.

  Steve looks at me quizzically and pats my hand. He re
iterates his gear shifting speech and says, “Okay then, let’s roll.”

  The ride starts out pleasantly enough. I haven’t been on a bike in many years, but what’s the saying? It’s just like riding a bike? Steve is way ahead of me, and I’m sure it’s painful for him to ride this slow for me, and I am still struggling to keep up with his granny pace.

  So far the “fire roads” are just crushed gravel trails, which I have walked on here before, with the Meetup group. I don’t normally hike, but when this event is posted I go because it provides some exercise without driving all the way to the mountains and being left for dead with my tongue hanging out, while others valiantly climb to the majestic summit. At least this is how I picture it in my nightmares.

  The breeze feels good on my face and I’m beginning to enjoy the feeling of moving my legs, pedaling along, covering so much more ground than I could on foot. The woods are peaceful. We pass a few other cyclists and they wave and say hello, as if they believe I am one of them, and not a clueless, out of shape woman, lured out here by love and guilt.

  Steve slows down a bit and motions for me to ride up alongside him. “How are you feeling?” He looks over at me and continues, “Love, don’t lock your elbows like that. Leave them a little relaxed. Does your seat feel okay? We can stop and adjust it.”

  “It’s fine.” This is a lie, but I know that no amount of adjustment is going to make it cradle my ass in comfort. Thank God my tanning injuries are healing in time for this challenge to my lower region. And Harriet thought the toilet paper was problematic. I have to go wedding dress shopping with a freshly busted ass.

  “Okay, well make sure you tell me. I have all my tools with me.” He points up ahead. “Hey, let’s jump on this mountain bike trail over here. I promise this is the easiest one. Just a little more narrow, but still very manageable.”

  I ponder his definition of the term “manageable,” but before I can respond he is flying towards the entrance to the path. I follow him, trusting that he is correct and wants me to live.

  Wow, this is narrow, with trees on both sides. Obviously, Rebecca, you’re in the woods. What else would be on the sides of a mountain bike trail? Marshmallows?

  As I work hard to navigate the roots, leaves and other various debris in the path, I hear Steve up ahead, “You’re doing great! You’re a natural at this.” He’s so full of crap. I am barely hanging onto the bike, and the bumps are sending fresh waves of pain up my core. Good thing I don’t have a Pilates class tonight.

  So far the trail does appear to be fairly straight. We’ve turned a few times, but there isn’t much elevation… “AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  Suddenly, without warning from Steve or my eyeballs, the trail has abruptly turned and twisted. I narrowly escape smacking my skull into a tree, and keep myself on the path by a hair. Just when I think it’s safe to let out the breath I am holding, a steep hill appears out of nowhere, and my legs are peddling like my life depends on it, but with decreased velocity on every rotation. I fumble with the gears, trying to remember Steve’s lesson. Downshift to make it easier? The higher the gear, the more the…I’m not going to make it. This is excruciating. Steve is such an assh… “AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  As I fly down the other side of this fucking mountain, over more roots and loose dirt, I come to a screeching halt, narrowly missing a bigger tree, and end up on the other side of a “fire road,” presumably on another leg of this trail, aka…death march.

  As I attempt to fill my heaving lungs with air, I hear giggling. A little boy of about five years old is laughing hysterically. I overhear him telling his father, who looks like he is auditioning for the Tour de France, “Did you see that lady, Daddy? She almost went boom, right into the big tree.” He imitates the “boom” with a crashing sound and breaks out into a fresh fit of giggles.

  “You made it!! Great job!!” Steve is yelling as he sees my body inch over the hill, my leg muscles bursting with effort, a gallon of sweat dripping off my body. Somehow my undoubtedly beet red face and disheveled appearance excite Steve more than my lingerie collection. I reach for my water bottle, figure out how to open it, and pour the icy cold liquid down my throat in huge, greedy gulps.

  Steve is now off his bike, rushing over to hug me. “Are you okay? That little kid was laughing at you. How funny, but you did a great job. I forgot about that twist and hill, but you navigated it like a pro.”

  I roll my eyes and wince at the pain searing through my lower body. Apparently getting off the bike is more painful than staying on it. “I was just trying to stay upright and not die. That was my strategy.” I grimace in agony as I flex my burning leg muscles.

  He hugs me and I cringe due to my sweat. He doesn’t seem to mind, even though he’s perfectly dry. This provides further proof this ride poses zero challenge for him. Of course, we did just see a five-year-old on our trail.

  “Rebecca, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. Now smile and get back on that bike. We’re doing that again, and this time use your gears, Love.” He clips back into his pedals, and I shake my head. He and the bike would be hurled off a cliff together if he falls. Apparently it makes the rider faster and more efficient to clip in. I prefer living, but that’s just me. I don’t even want to see the trails he normally rides.

  Shit, he’s already taking off. I did kick that hill’s ass, and it was exhilarating after the fear subsided. Too bad that doesn’t work for other fears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I thought you’d be ready to go. I’m starving.” Mountain biking works up a voracious appetite, and for some reason the wedding dress lunch isn’t until two o’clock!

  “I just have to do my hair. Come in the living room and look at these bridal magazines. I can’t decide which ones to bring to the shop to see if they have these dresses.” Claire’s hair is wrapped in a huge pink towel and she’s high on wedding planning again.

  She grabs my hand and leads me to a stack of girly dreams strewn all over the coffee table, spilling onto the floor. Dixie is sitting on top of them and is she…yep, she’s peeing on a collage of bridesmaids’ dresses.

  “Dixie, stop that! Mommy needs to bring those to the lady.” She scoops up her little black and tan wiener dog and deposits her on the couch. Hopefully her bladder is now empty. “Here, sit on Aunt Rebecca.” As I sit down, she plops the little beast on my lap. Dixie says hello with a swift lick to my nose and curls up on my legs.

  I take the stack of magazine pages she has handed me and begin thumbing through them, while she does the same with another stack. I wish I could see without my reading glasses, but at least I don’t have to actually read anything. Before she goes upstairs, I share my triumphant biking experience.

  “So I went around two more times and I didn’t fly across the path into the woods or get laughed at by any more toddlers.”

  “Hmm…that’s nice. What?” Claire wakes from her bridal trance and says, “Oh, I’m sorry. This is all making me crazy.” I want to say, “You think?” She continues, “That’s awesome that you went biking and rode Noreen’s bike. See, there’s no reason to be jealous or upset. They’re all just things.”

  I resist the urge to tell her that she has been irrationally upset a time or two, but I restrain myself and reply, “It isn’t really jealousy. Well, I guess it sort of is, but I have two main problems. One, I am afraid that he is still in love with her and I am just filling his time until he can reunite with her in heaven…” Claire throws herself back onto her chair dramatically and smacks her forehead. “…wait, listen before you freak out. And the other thing is that I’m afraid of her spirit. What if she’s still around and she’s mad that he’s with me now? That happens sometimes when people meet with violent, early deaths. She may not be at rest, you know like in the movie, The Sixth Sense?”

  Claire leans forward and now holds her head in her hands. Looking back up she says, “I have no experience with this sort of thing, but I think you are over thinking. I hope you’ll tell Steve about th
ese two issues in a slightly more rational way.” She purses her lips and wrings her hands. “Like, don’t say I am afraid of your dead wife and I think you’re treating me like a Noreen substitute.”

  “You’re not funny!”

  “Oh, she’s funny alright.” Brandon emerges from the basement recreation room, presumably working in his music studio. “Hey, little bride, you need to get going. Your mother will have a flipping fit if you’re late for lunch.” He turns to me and comes over to give me a hug and kisses my cheek. I remain seated with the wiener girl on my lap. Brandon pats her head and she hops down to jump on his leg.

  “I just have to do my hair. Rebecca was helping me pick which of these dresses to show the woman at the shop, and we were talking about her situation. Rebecca, make sure you check to see what shops sell the dresses. It says on the sides in the fine print.” Great. Have the blind, old lady attempt to read the fine print.

  “Her situation?” He wrinkles his brow and bends down to scoop up little Dixie, who is wiggling with excitement to be in her daddy’s arms.

  “Yes, Rebecca has been spending a lot of time at Steve’s place, and I told you about…you know.” Claire widens her eyes.

  Brandon’s face registers a glimmer of recognition.

  Claire jumps up and hands me the rest of the magazine pages. She takes the towel off her head and begins shaking her damp, blonde hair. “I’m off to finish getting ready. Is Violet meeting us there? Why didn’t she come with you? Oh, never mind, you came from Steve’s.” She pauses to playfully smack Brandon, who is mimicking her behind her back. He laughs, and she kisses him and turns to walk towards the stairs. “Oh, and remind me to ask you if you have dealt with that other situation you have.” She winks to seal our secrecy.

  “Oh, yes I actually told Steve all about it. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Good girl. Okay, I’m going now. And don’t let him see any of those dresses.” She points at Brandon and flies up the stairs.