Afraid of Her Shadow

by Carol Maloney Scott

  As I begin to defend myself and my part in his meltdown, the front door opens.

  Megan surveys the scene. Me in my bathrobe with a towel on my head. Steve sweating and shaking. Her gaze rests on the coffee table and she says, “Grandma Kathleen was here.”

  Steve sits down and motions for Megan to join him. “Yes, she brought some…things of your mother’s…and the Catholic…stuff. Rebecca and I were just discussing—”

  “Steve, I’m not five. You’re fighting because Grandma Kathleen won’t let my mother’s memory rest. I’m sure she was really nice to Rebecca.” She rolls her eyes, as she turns to me and says, “If I were you, I’d run, but I hope you don’t. This guy is pretty good under better circumstances. Plus I haven’t sampled all of your dessert recipes yet.”

  “Thanks, Megan. I’m sorry you’re being drawn into more drama.” The towel on my head slips, and I take it off and gently rub my hair dry.

  “Hey, at least no one is pooping in their pants or crying, like at my dad’s house. And I’m not even talking about the triplets.”

  We all burst out laughing at the thought of Jeff and Crystal pooping in their pants. Crap, I didn’t clean the poop out of the closet. “Megan, speaking of poop…”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  It’s all well and good that Steve thinks Kathleen is mental, but nothing has changed. As usual. He scooped up all of the stuff she brought, and put it back in the bag. Now the bag is on the kitchen counter. After this party, I will assert myself and start making changes. Megan is clearly stable and not freaked out by her mother’s memory. Perhaps it would make the most sense to ask her what she thinks about how the house should be decorated, and follow her lead. I hate to hang the responsibility on a kid, but as I said, she’s the only rational one in this bunch.

  I skipped bowling tonight because I need to finish shopping for Steve’s party. Violet is doing lots of the work, but I do have to make the cake. I love baking. I pull into the grocery store parking lot with a smile on my face.

  My phone beeps as I get out of the car.

  “I need you to come over to the condo. The association people need you to sign something. Apparently you were supposed to inform them you had a tenant.”

  “How would they know that?”

  “I guess you have some nosy neighbors.”

  That damn woman. She’s probably still mad at me over the pool incidents. And almost running her child over in the parking lot.

  “Fine, I’m grocery shopping and I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  I’ll have groceries with me, so I won’t be able to stay. No problem.

  After a short drive, I ring the bell at my condo, but then notice a note on the door. “Just come in.”

  As soon as I open the door, I hear it. The guitar. I’ve always loved hearing Luke play. It brings me back to a simpler time, before dog hair, ashes, teenagers, and delusional old ladies. I could stay for a song or two. That wouldn’t hurt.

  I slowly open the door and peer into the darkened space. With the blinds shut, it stays dark in here, even on a sunny day. A candle glow flickers and I follow the light to the living room. I used to light candles all the time, but at Steve’s I’ve stop doing it. There is so much there that I prefer to keep in the dark.

  Candles make my condo warm and inviting. I love the way the glow illuminates my soothing pool blue walls, accented by my cream colored couches. My seashell patterned afghan from my childhood room in Rhode Island is still draped over the pale purple side chair. The pillows on the sofa tie all the colors together.

  I sigh and run my hands along the light oak sofa table. Steve would probably be fine with redecorating, especially if I approach him in a way that has nothing to do with Noreen. I’ve been going about this all the wrong way by focusing on my dislike of Noreen’s taste. I frown and my chest tightens. He’s so argumentative though, whenever I bring up any change.

  I’m glad Luke is here for now, preserving my style. He always liked how I made my house a home. I snap out of my daydream. I must sign these papers and get the hell out of here. Why didn’t I just e-mail the association and ask them to send the papers electronically? I’m sure they would have accepted a scanned transmission. The lady that runs the association is ancient, though. She may not be very computer savvy.

  “Luke,” I call out. “Where are you?”

  I tiptoe to the guest room, thinking he has turned the guest bedroom into a music studio. I don’t know why I’m trying to be quiet, since it’s my house and he asked me to come in. For some reason, this visit feels forbidden.

  I poke my head into the guest room, but he’s not in there and nothing has changed. The bed looks untouched, and the small white dresser has a thin film of dust.

  The master suite is upstairs. That’s one of the reasons I liked this layout in the first place. The master suite is private, which is great if you have a guest visiting, or you want to go to bed while someone else is downstairs watching TV.

  My heart beats faster as I climb the stairs, but I don’t know why. Luke isn’t like my brother, and he isn’t going to pop out to scare me as Ryan would do when my parents were out. I can hear the guitar, so I know he’s in one spot, playing, and now singing?

  My, now Luke’s, bedroom door is slightly ajar, and I gently push it with my hand. It’s dark in here, too, with even more candles.

  “Luke, what are you doing?” I shriek, even though I can see damn well what he’s doing. It takes a few moments to take in the full scene. The candles, the wine glasses set up on the bedside table. My red nightgown laid out on one side of the bed. Luke laid out on the other side, completely nude, with the guitar covering his strategic areas. At least I assume he’s completely nude. Underwear would ruin his perfectly crafted scene.

  Why I don’t just turn and leave, I’ll never know. In the few accounts of this story that I will likely share in the future, I will say that my feet felt stapled to the floor. It’s a cliché, but I can’t will myself to move backwards, or thank goodness, forwards.

  Luke finishes his song and motions to put the guitar aside. I hold up my hand and shout, “No, stop it.” However, while my words are conveying one message, the heat is rising to my face, and to other parts that betray me whenever Luke is involved.

  He leaves the guitar where it is, as if he thinks better of pushing the seduction. “Come sit next to me, Rebecca. Don’t you like this? I thought you could use a little romance in a safe and happy place.”

  Oh my God! Safe? Happy? I don’t even know what those words mean anymore. Every time I walk into Steve’s house, my chest tightens, my gaze rests on an instant reminder of Noreen, and the unsettled feeling returns at my core. The animals are there, and that comforts me. And I do like Megan, but she adds a huge additional layer of stress and responsibility. Before me now is just delicious, uncomplicated pleasure.

  I delicately walk over to the bed—my beautiful four poster bed, and sit on the very edge, closer to Luke’s calves than the mid-region. He shifts over slightly to accommodate my presence, but I don’t budge.

  “Luke, this is not a good idea. I’m very confused right now, and under a lot of stress.” I rub my neck and upper shoulders, and grimace. He reaches for my shoulders and I place his hand back on his leg, feeling the searing heat of him.

  “I know you are, minha querida. That’s why I’m here for you. I know you think you should settle down with Mr. Stable Professor, but isn’t he boring? He looks so boring and tedious. And all that stuff with the wife? How can you tolerate that? I thought you were a strong woman.” He rubs the back of his knuckles along my bare arm, and the goose bumps shoot through me, followed by a warm sensation.

  I begin to speak, but I’m silenced by his finger on my slightly parted lips.

  “I never wanted to tie you down. I only moved in here towards the end of our relationship to be closer to you. You panicked, plain and simple. I didn’t come in here asking for babies and a trip down the aisle. I wanted us to be free, but togeth
er. Living in the moment, jumping at the chances to travel and seek adventure, for as long as we could.”

  He takes my hand and traces the lines of my palm with his finger. “Our time was cut short, and here I am. I came back to see if we could start over.”

  What is he talking about? He came back to hide and lick his wounds after getting fired and caught in yet another indiscretion. Although, he never was a cheater with me. Like he said, he respects love. He must know that I question my love for Steve. But do I? Question it? Or has everything just gotten so fucked up I don’t even know how to identify the problems anymore, much less fix them?

  I hear my mother’s voice in my head, telling me I need to commit and settle down, accept that life with one man isn’t always rosy and easy. Steve’s a good man. I keep hearing all of these statements, and repeating them like a freaking parrot, but are they true? Would a good man, or at least a well-adjusted, healed man, behave the way Steve does? As I said from the very beginning, your home is a reflection of who you are, and Steve’s home says “grieving widower.” However, the beautiful naked Adonis before me hasn’t even got a home. What does that say about him?

  Luke leans forward, as if he’s reading my mind, and senses my defenses weakening. He grazes my chin with his thumb, and I close the distance between us, drawn in by the warmth of his breath and the heat in my own body.

  The kiss is quick, fleeting, and soft. He pulls me closer, but the guitar is gone now and the reality of what I am about to do hits me.

  I pull back and cover my mouth, touching my lips and blinking hard. “Luke, I can’t do this.” I jump up and almost fall to the floor on my wobbly legs. I grab the side of the bed to steady myself, blaming my flimsy flip flops, instead of my equally flimsy morals.

  I run down the stairs, as fast as my weakened legs can carry me, and grab my keys, which I discarded on the table by the front door. Luke is right behind me.

  “Rebecca, don’t leave. You’re making a big mistake. Think of what you’re giving up. And for what?”

  I stare at his gloriously sexy, hard body, and moan inwardly. “For real life, Luke. Real, messy, complicated grownup life.”

  He reaches his arms out one more time, but then lets them drop to his side. I have never seen Luke look foolish, but standing naked in my foyer, he comes close. Rejection is not familiar to him, and he looks away, averting my eyes.

  “You’ll regret this.”

  “I already do, but not the leaving part.”

  I walk out without looking back.

  I get in my car, and start the engine, laying my head on the steering wheel. I see a person in my mirror, and for a second I think it’s naked Luke, having lost all dignity and sense of reason. But it’s the neighbor lady with the little kid. Great, luckily she doesn’t know Steve’s last name or I’m sure he would get a full report of my visit. She could use the distraction of a hot naked guy. Hmm…come to think of it, I’ve never seen her husband. If she fixed up a little, she could be attractive.

  What am I doing? Drive, Rebecca. All I am doing is giving Luke time to get dressed and follow me out to the parking lot, assuming I still haven’t made up my mind.

  I drive away calmly, so as to not draw any further attention to this ill-advised visit.

  I turn the music up loud, and grip the steering wheel with my fidgety hands. Lots of things are wrong at home, but one thing I know for sure. Steve would not try to naked serenade another man’s woman, even though according to Cecilia his old junk wouldn’t be very alluring.

  I lean back in my seat, relaxing my tense shoulders. I can’t keep chasing younger junk or I’m going to end up an old lady buried in the rubble.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  “You know the ashes aren’t loose in there, right?”

  I jump and steady the urn as Megan scares the crap out of me. I wish that child had louder footsteps. She’s as sneaky as her twitchy-eyed hamster.

  “Of course I know.” I had no idea. I am cleaning tonight, since every surface in the house seems to be coated with dust just a few days after I wipe them down. Cleaning is starting to become therapeutic for me, and I need to stay busy to forget about what happened last night. Blue and Jewel, however, are not cooperating, and insist upon jumping up on the table and slithering around the precarious orange urn.

  Megan smirks and tilts her head. “Really, because you looked a little worried about knocking it over.” She sees my tense expression and says, “I’m just teasing you. I can’t believe Steve still has those just sitting here. I love him like a dad, but he sure can be a douchebag sometimes. Not like my actual dad, though. He’s like the king of douchebags.” She studies her finger nails, which are painted bright green. “I forgot about how much it sucks that this neighborhood doesn’t have a pool. Does your condo development have one?”

  I gulp and fake a smile. “Yep, it does, but it’s way on the other side of town. Maybe we could look into joining a community pool. Let’s look that up online later.”

  Megan smirks again. What is it with these teenagers? What does she know? I shake my head and reason with my paranoid brain. She couldn’t possibly know anything. Maybe she overheard us talking about Luke renting my condo, but kids don’t care about that kind of thing. And even though Luke is a perfect specimen of a man, even he would seem old to Megan.

  Megan appears satisfied with that plan, and agrees to come down when dinner is ready. I am making lasagna, and she is “stoked.”

  The food won’t be ready for another half an hour, so I decide to tackle the hall closet. It’s jam packed with coats no one wears, and I’m sure I will find lots of Noreen’s outerwear in there. This time unless something seems to have a lot of value, like a leather coat or a fur, I am packing them up for Goodwill. Discussing every last item with Steve is becoming torture for both of us.

  Of course as always, there are boxes in here. I have never seen anyone with more hidden treasures than Noreen. If this was a murder mystery, these secret boxes and chests would lead to a body.

  Although I hate to stumble upon personal things, Steve made it very clear that he is fine with me going through anything else I find. He assured me that any personal things of theirs, such as cards and letters, wedding stuff, are all secured in boxes in the main storage area, properly labeled.

  I pull out a pretty floral chest, which is wedged in the back of the deep closet. I sigh in doubt as I pop open the top. It’s likely that this will contain more personal artifacts that I shouldn’t view, and that Steve has forgotten about.

  Sure enough, there are all sorts of handwritten pages in this box. Noreen had beautiful handwriting, if this is her writing. I can only assume so because all of the pages are also adorned with high quality sketches. These don’t look like letters, so I pick one up and read.

  There's too many thorns on you, dear rose

  But I will not bleed for nothing

  I guess it's time to leave, dear rose

  Since I will not bleed for nothing

  A scent that draws me in

  And fingers tracings in the thorn, the piercing spines

  A steady flow of wine

  The flow of pain divine

  Thorns out

  I shout

  “This is Heaven!”

  Your petals, brown and dead

  I cannot watch you die

  The blooms no longer

  I cannot watch you die

  Wow, this is where Megan gets it from, except these words are darker and more heart wrenching. Is this a poem? Wait, no. I think it’s a song. I leaf through the pages of paper in the chest, and they all appear to be songs. These aren’t written for Steve. He never hurt her, did he?

  It hits me and I sit down next to the chest, which I slam shut as I hear Megan’s footsteps. I’m not technically snooping, since I have Steve’s permission, but I don’t want her to see this discovery of her mother’s personal thoughts. As I dig deeper into this chest, I see that everything in here is memorabilia from her life with Jeff.
Steve alluded to her not being over Jeff. It makes sense now that she wanted to punish him so deeply.

  I place the pages back in the chest and close the clasp. “Who were you, Noreen?” I whisper into the closet.

  I am going to pretend I never saw all of that, and move on. A box carefully labeled, Megan—baby, is wedged into the other back corner of the closet. That one should be safer. I open the plastic tub and find all sorts of adorable baby booties, her christening gown, toys, favorite stuffed animals and a beautifully designed baby book. Why didn’t Steve give these to Megan? Did he really think this would upset her? Noreen’s love for her daughter is oozing out of every crevice of this carefully packed and preserved collection of memories.

  The oven timer dings and I call Megan down for dinner. After we eat, I am going to share her mother’s gifts.

  “Oh my God, these are so cute.” Megan sorts through the box of her baby memories, and for once in a very long time I feel like I did something right. Megan is a good kid and no matter what my opinion of her mother, it’s important for her to have good memories.

  “Hey, I think I would like to take a picture of my mom for my room.” Megan sits on the floor with her legs crossed and the contents of the box spread all around her.

  “Of course,” I say a little too brightly, feeling guilty as usual that I wish she would move all 274 of them to her room.

  She stands up and walks into the living room and comes back with the framed photo of Noreen, Steve and Megan making teapots at the pottery store.

  “This was a fun day.” She holds the picture to her chest and says, “Thanks for showing me this stuff. I do want to look at it more, but not right now. Can we pack it up and put it in my closet?”

  “Yeah, I think that should be safe. I don’t think Mighty Mouse can chew through plastic.”

  We laugh at Winston’s shenanigans, and place everything back in the storage tub, carting it to Megan’s room. I leave her alone and go back to the kitchen to clean up the dinner dishes.