“This is a new beginning, Mona.”
“I know,” I whispered, feeling the tentacles of fear reach for me once more.
“We have to start again. It's the only way.”
“Okay.”
My husband stood and reached for my hand. I stood before him.
“I'm Tom Siggs,” he said, and I smiled.
“Mona Lisa Harrison,” I replied.
“I love you,” my husband whispered.
“We just met,” I said.
“I know.”
“I love you, too,” I whispered, sitting beside him on our bed. He leaned toward me, and I could almost see him in the flickering light. He pressed his lips to mine, and gently kissed me. I kissed him back, softly at first, then with a passion that made my heart race, reminiscent of the first time his lips had met mine.
From the first moment, I'd known.
We both had.
This was the boy who was made for me, the girl born to love only him. How had we forgotten?
His lips left mine and he gently pulled away.
“Hi,” he whispered, and I felt electricity in the room, the powerful pull of uninhibited intimacy.
Tom reached for me again, and gently undressed me. It should have felt odd to be standing naked in the candlelight with this man I'd just met.
It didn't.
It felt familiar, and incredibly lonely, all at once.
It was like returning to a place you'd once been, a place you'd missed so much it left a hole in your soul. Only you didn't know, until by some miracle, you found your way back.
“Make love to me, Tom,” I whispered in the dark.
“You're sure?” he asked.
“I'm sure.”
He stood and pulled me to him, and my breath caught when his bare skin touched mine. I remembered the contour of his shoulder, the scar that teenage stupidity had branded on his hip, the feel of his breath on my face. I shuddered as he hardened against me.
He inhaled sharply as my fingers brushed him, and his lips found mine. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle claiming, until his tongue touched mine. I gasped as his hand sought the most intimate parts of me, as he found the one location any man can without a map.
I moaned as a long-dead passion came alive inside me. My knees buckled, but Tom's stroking was unrelenting. He held me tight, as my heart raced and blood rushed to my head.
“Be careful,” I said through a gasp.
“Of what?”
“Cobwebs.”
Tom laughed and pulled me closer, and we fell onto the bed in each others' arms.
“You're crazy, Mona Lisa, and I love you.”
Tom gently positioned himself above me. We fit perfectly together, two halves of one mold.
“I love you, too,” I said breathlessly.
He smiled, and blew out the candle.
Nine
Wednesday
Having a friend is a wonderful thing
Being a friend is even greater.
Shards of sunlight crept through the rusty blinds on my bedroom window, and I woke to find myself in a game of horizontal Twister. I disengaged myself from my husband's lanky limbs, relaxed against him and listened to his even breathing. I turned slowly, and sat up, naked, save the wrinkled cotton sheet over my legs. I sat in silence, watching my husband sleep. I traced his jawline, touched his lips, as I became reacquainted with the man I loved.
He didn't stir.
I had made love to this man in the night hours, as the world slept. Afterward we'd whispered in the dark. We'd lost hours of sleep, but gained a lifetime, a fresh start, a rare chance to wipe the slate clean and forgive all that had come before the night we met again, and began anew.
I gazed at my husband like I had the first morning we'd woken up together, in the house he shared with four college buddies, the house that smelled like feet and Pop Tarts.
I had barely slept but I felt wonderful, like I wanted to call someone, maybe brag a little, like I used to do with Kat Kimble who'd been my best friend in high school. I bragged to Kat when I kissed Timothy Miller, not knowing that she had, too, that Timothy had kissed everyone. Now Timothy Miller was fat and angry, and no one wanted to kiss him. Served him right for taking advantage of the preteen estrogen at the Roller Dome.
I really wanted to call Kat, but no one knew what happened to her. At my ten-year high school reunion, someone said she was in Utah, in a polygamist colony, with seven kids, and six sister wives, but you couldn't trust a word out of the mouths of most of the idiots I'd gone to school with.
Kat had a history of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and seeing things she shouldn't see. I figured it was most likely she was in Witness Protection, and I added finding her to my mental list of things to do. I was deep in thought, fully immersed in my odd, nude reminiscing, when Tom stirred.
“Morning,” he whispered, covering his nakedness with the bedsheets.
I smiled, feeling the same shy embarrassment, and I fought the urge to cover myself, too.
He touched my breast, and I giggled.
“Morning.”
“I feel like I should go, but I just remembered I live here,” Tom said, and I laughed.
“Lucky you,” I said jokingly.
“Yes. Lucky me,” he said, his tone unmatched to mine. “Are we okay, Mona?”
“I think so. Are we?” I asked.
“I would have to say that's affirmative,” Tom said, sounding incredibly professional for one whose Mister Twinkie was flying at nearly full mast.
“Would you like to put that to use?” I said, and he laughed.
“I'd love to if there were no such things as used cars.”
“Oh, shit. We have jobs, don't we?”
“We do.”
“Can we skip them, like we used to skip Marion Robard's Intro to Psychology?”
“We cannot. We're adults now.”
“Damn the bad luck,” I said, feeling playful.
“I'm going to miss you today,” Tom said, sounding serious.
“Me too.”
Something screamed outside the window, and I felt my blood run cold. “The birds are back.”
“It does sound that way,” Tom said, and I groaned, and covered myself.
This romantic moment has been interrupted by reality.
“Why are they here, Tom?”
“I have no idea.”
“Will they leave on their own?” I asked, sounding desperate.
“You know, Mona, I'm just not sure,” Tom said. There was no sarcasm in his tone, so unlike the other Tom I'd lived with for five years. “I wish I was a crow expert, but I'm not. I'm not even a Saturn expert, and I sell the damn things.”
I smiled at him.
“I'll see what I can find out, honey. For now, let's try not to get too freaked out over them.”
“Okay.”
I headed for the kitchen, and while Tom showered, I figured out how to use the new coffeemaker - in seven languages - and brewed a pot. We met at the table about ten minutes later.
“You look nice.” Tom wore pinstriped gray trousers, paired with a blue dress shirt, and striped tie.
“I'm calling Princeton admissions today about my teaching certification. I dressed for the occasion.” He looked enormously proud of himself, and I was proud, too. “I want you to do something for me today. Or something for yourself, I guess I should say.”
“What's that?” I asked.
“I want you to think about what you'd like to do with the rest of your life.”
“Seriously, Tom? I'm not even sure what I want for breakfast.”
“Okay, I could have worded that differently. If you had the chance to do something else, other than working at WalMart, what would it be?”
“Jeez. I'm not sure,” I said. I'd worked at WalMart for so long I felt like a fixture. The store was practically my second home. The idea of leaving filled me with a sudden sadness and I frowned.
“What's wrong?” Tom a
sked.
“I don't know. I think maybe I like my job more than I thought.”
“Okay. You don't have to leave WalMart. It was only a suggestion.”
“Maybe I could stay there while you take your classes. That way I wouldn't have to decide right away.”
Role call! The ever-procrastinating Mona Lisa Siggs, reporting for duty!
“Whatever you want, Mona. I mean that.”
“I want us to stay like this, to never go back to how we were.”
“We will,” he said, crossing the room to kiss me. “Anything for you, my crazy Mona Lisa.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. Will you research crows for me?”
“I will do that. Let me talk to Ray Cunningham. He's a retired farmer, used to have a huge farm about an hour's drive from here. I think if anyone would know anything about crows it would be Ray Cunningham.
Or, Stephen King?
“Thanks, honey,” I said.
“Well, I'm out of here.” Tom rinsed his coffee mug, and I walked him to the door. I held my breath when he opened it. “Looks pretty clear,” he said. “Ah, they've been here, though.” The deer car was covered with crow shit.
“Great God,” I said. “Look at that thing. I never imagined it could look worse than it did yesterday.”
“Me, either,” Tom said, wrinkling his nose.
He kissed me one last time, and lingered for a moment. He tasted like coffee, and hope. “I'm gonna get the patio set out of the Jeep. Leave the rest of the stuff and I'll get it later.”
“Okay,” I said. He unloaded the table and chairs, carried them to the porch, and reached for my hand.
“I love you,” I said softly.
“I love you, too.”
I stood on the porch until I could no longer see his car, then returned to the kitchen. I thought of him for a long time as I sat drinking a second cup of coffee. I couldn't believe how far we'd come in forty-eight hours. I grabbed my cell phone and sent him a quick text message.
Good luck with Princeton. I love you.
It had been thirteen minutes since I told him that. I didn't want him to forget.
I finished my coffee, boxed up the entire set of Ida's eclectic coffee mugs and set them by the back door. I imagined myself taking them to the dumpster, my pulse quickened, and I panicked. They belonged to someone I loved. How could I throw them out as if they were nothing?
As comical an approach as I took to the hand-me-downs, Henry may have meant something to Ida, enough that she'd hung onto his coffee mug, and once upon a time her friends had gone to Myrtle Beach. They'd thought enough of Ida to think of her while they were hundreds of miles away, and enough to remind her each morning as she drank her Sanka.
I ripped the tape off the box, grabbed the Myrtle Beach mug and set it on the counter.
I'd loved Aunt Ida enough to think of her over coffee. That one had to stay. The rest could go. I stood in the kitchen crying over a coffee mug, and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. The sex must have gotten things going again, and I found myself an orgasm away from a total hormonal meltdown.
I scrubbed out Aunt Ida's mug, filled it with coffee, and took it into the bathroom with me.
I followed Denise's Eighteen Steps to a Beautiful Me, and was almost late for work.
“Hey, Beth,” I said, when we met in her office so I could retrieve my cash drawer.
“Morning, Mona,” she said softly, without looking at me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked before I could stop myself. If there was, I knew I'd be hearing about it for a month.
“Edith Purnell died Monday,” she said, and when she looked at me, I could see she'd been crying.
“What?” I asked, taking the chair across from Beth's desk.
“Her nephew found her Monday night. The coroner said she'd been dead about twelve hours.”
“She missed the whole damned Criminal Minds marathon,” I said, without thinking. “I'm sorry, Beth. That was a horrible thing to say.”
“I said the same thing,” she said with a weak smile, and all of a sudden, Beth and I became friends. “Mona, I'm not real friendly with a lot of the people here. I was wondering if you'd go to the funeral with me. I'll give you the time off, of course.”
I started to cry, softly at first – then with a ferocity reserved for the moment you find your dead kitty under the porch. I couldn't stop myself. I cried for five full minutes, three minutes into my shift. “She was my aunt's friend,” I said, pausing for a moment to blow my nose.
“She was my only friend,” Beth said, and I felt so sorry for her, I started blubbering again. I collected myself, blew my nose, and cleared my throat.
“I need to get out there,” I said, motioning toward the door separating the mourners from the world of low-priced shopping.
“Take your time, Mona. It's a bit slow today.”
“Thanks, Beth. I'm sorry about Edith. I'm sorry you lost your friend.”
“My only friend,” Beth reminded me.
“No, not your only friend,” I said, pulling Beth into a friendly, and I stress FRIENDLY, hug. “When is the funeral?” I asked. I hated funerals, and hadn't been to one since Aunt Ida died.
“It's Friday morning. It's at ten o'clock at the Presbyterian church right up the road.”
“I work Friday night. I'll pick you up here at quarter to ten,” I offered.
“You're off Friday night. You've been here forever, Mona, and I don't think you've ever taken a vacation, a sick day, or a personal day. You're not going to a funeral, and coming back here. You could spend the evening with your husband.”
“Thanks, Beth. I'd like that.”
“Thank you, Mona. Oh, there's one more thing. Edith's nephew is staying at her house, but he can only stay a week. There are fourteen cats that need good homes if you know anyone.”
Did I want a cat? I didn't think so.
“I'd like to take one. It's the least I could do for Edith.”
What is with me today?
I turned toward the door, and almost didn't hear Beth speak behind me. “Mona?” she whispered, and I turned.
“Yeah?”
“You look really pretty today.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I got a makeover.”
“I noticed on Monday, but didn't get a chance to say anything.”
“Thanks, Beth,” I said.
I spent the next three hours manning the ship at aisle fourteen. My heart was heavy, because I knew it was the last place Edith had worked. She'd left her name tag under the counter, and I glanced at it from time to time, recalling the attractive woman with the neatly- styled gray hair, and Home Is Where The Cat Is sweatshirt. I wondered if Edith and Aunt Ida were somewhere far away, getting reacquainted. This thought gave me comfort.
At one o'clock, Annette Lasky, came to relieve me. “Shame about Edith,” she said, as we passed the WalMart baton.
“Yes, it is,” I said.
“You're off at four, right?” Annette asked.
“Yup,” I said.
“Me, too. Edith's nephew said I could stop and see the cats. You wanna go with me? Beth said you might take one,” Annette said, flashing me a very white smile. It was obvious she was using her employee discount on Crest White Strips, and suddenly self conscious, I smiled back without parting my lips.
“Sure!” I said, a bit surprised.
I got a makeover and suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend. How about that!
“Cool. You seem different today, Mona,” Annette said, after we'd squared up her temporary takeover of my station.
“I am.”
“Whatever you're doing, keep it up, because you look terrific.”
On my way to the break room, I passed Beth, and I lifted my hand in greeting. She turned and followed me.
What had I done?
I considered myself a nice person, but I hoped I hadn't acquired a stalker with my momentary selflessness.
&nb
sp; “Mona?” Beth called from just behind my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I said, without turning.
“A woman dropped off a card for you. It's on the table in back,” she said, and I turned. She wasn't as close as she sounded, and I relaxed a little.
“Thanks, Beth.”
I made my way to the kitchen area, grabbed my frozen lunch, and popped it into the microwave. While I waited the six-or-so minutes, I looked at the card. A puppy and kitten adorned the front. The message inside was simple.
Your kindness has not gone unnoticed. Wishing you a nice day. The card was signed, Carla, and it took me a moment to place her. She was the young woman I'd helped out two days ago, but a lot had happened since then.
I slid the card back into the envelope, and it hit something hard. A twenty-dollar gift card.
Groovy!
There was also a folded piece of paper in the envelope and I pulled it free. It was a note.
Dear Mona. I figured this was a nice way of paying you back. I want to thank you for making a rotten day more tolerable. I thought I was invisible, but you saw me, and not as someone who didn't have enough money, but as someone who needed a break. You made me look hard at myself, and I expect things will be better for me in the future. If you ever see that nice gentleman again, please tell him I will never forget what he did for me, nor will I forget you. Your friend, Carla.
Jeez, I was making friends all over the place!
I checked the microwave, which still had two minutes remaining, and crossed the room to the full length mirror.
You made me look hard at myself.
I met my own gaze. I was the same person I'd been two days ago, so how was it I felt so different?
Had I felt invisible?
Yes.
It hadn't happened overnight. I had slowly disappeared, over time, like a dying star, or an abandoned garden. The star winked out. The flower died. Mona disappeared.
This realization made me want to write something.
I hadn't written much since college, other than grocery lists, nasty notes to Tom about the mess he made with the coffee pot, and a shitload of checks for household bills.
I grabbed my purse from my locker, and dug for my pen.
Could I still write? A paragraph? A sentence? Anything?
Becoming Mona Lisa Page 7