Afraid of Her Shadow

by Carol Maloney Scott

  Violet pauses in reflection, gesturing with her water bottle in hand. “You’re probably digging deeper than you need to, but it sounds like you are torn between wanting her erased and wanting to be respectful, right?”

  I nod my head. “The guilt is killing me.”

  Violet lowers her voice and gets closer to my lounge chair. “If you feel guilty, think how he must feel.”

  “I’m turning into the crazy, shrew girlfriend, aren’t I? See, this is what commitment does to people.”

  Violet leans back in her lounge chair. “Tell me about it. I’m a wedding planner. I specialize in helping crazy shrews marry their prince charmings.” She laughs and continues. “Claire is too much. I do feel badly about the kayaking incident, and I hope you don’t think I was flirting with Brandon.”

  “No, she’s just paranoid. If she doesn’t stop that, she’s going to push him away.”

  “True, and if she doesn’t stop asking me questions a hundred times a day, she’s going to push me away. Now she wants me to analyze the historical weather patterns for October in Richmond, so they can decide if the ceremony is going to be outside. Frankly, I wish Brandon would just tell her to knock it off.”

  I don’t share this with Violet, but what he needs to do is knock her up. And since that won’t work for his infertile little bride, he needs to tell her about the pending adoption. Then she can switch to buying baby clothes, and furnishing the…never mind. Mommyzilla.

  Later on, I get home and unpack more boxes. The cats and Elsa are still having a tough time adjusting, and now I notice that there are claw marks on the orange couch. Holy crap. I have to hide that, especially with Eve coming into town this weekend.

  Blue and Jewel are finally done taunting Elsa for the time being, and are curled up in our bed upstairs. Elsa follows me, as if she knows I can protect her from the kitty fiends. It’s too bad Elsa hasn’t figured out that she is way bigger, and these cats have never even killed a mouse.

  I begin unpacking my sexy, lacy nightwear, and I jump when I hear, “Well, I was wondering what happened to all of those slutty nighties.” Steve smiles broadly and comes in, grabbing me and knocking me onto the bed.

  His playful kisses make me forget about reality for a few minutes. Okay, for at least an hour as he picks out his favorite of my lingerie selections, I dress, undress and finally get some satisfaction. Maybe it was the lack of magic nighties causing the sexual frustration around here, and not the haunting vibe of the past.

  In bed with my head on Steve’s chest, I try to position myself so that his hair isn’t poking me in the eye or going up my nose. It’s funny how something can be so sexy one minute, and an annoying pricker bush the next.

  “So Luke is moving in this weekend? I think this is great, Love. I know just what you should do with some of the extra money.”

  I sit up a bit and rub the offending fur. “What’s that?” I imagine he is going to say that I should buy more lingerie, or save for a romantic getaway. Maybe we could go to Europe in the fall, after Claire’s wedding.

  “Art supplies.” I stiffen and he pulls me closer. “I know you don’t want to use Noreen’s studio, but this weekend I’m going to finish cleaning it out and make room for your stuff. You’re right, a lot of her materials are old and unusable. I want you to have your own place to work.”

  He kisses my forehead and as I sense him drifting off, I hug him tighter.

  He flinches and says, “And we’ll hang up some of your art, too. There’s room in the family room.” And he’s out again.

  There’s room. Next to Noreen’s paintings. If we are going to display everything from two lives, we are going to need a bigger house. And I need a bigger heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  “You two need to leave Mommy alone. Because of you I’m on my hands and knees in this closet trying to find something to hide your crime!” Blue and Jewel continue to rub against me as if I just told them I adore them, and I will feed them all the tuna in the house.

  People who talk to animals are nuts, and I refuse to be the crazy cat lady. “Right, Elsa?” She sits a comfortable distance away from the cats in the laundry room. Things have settled down a bit, but Elsa doesn’t seem too secure, as if a new battle could start up any second. I do adore my kitties, but I’m not liking their mean side.

  Off the laundry room there’s a huge closet that runs almost the whole length of the house. It’s great for storage, but kind of like a crawl space. A small child could go inside and walk around, but I am crawling, sifting through all sorts of crap, trying to find something to hide the scratches on the couch. Eve is coming for dinner tonight, and I left work a bit early to prepare. Fridays are usually quiet in the office anyway, and I have put off further investigation into Tim’s wrongdoing. However, I did set up meetings with both Amanda and Cecilia for Monday to get to the bottom of this.

  For now, I am focused on my domestic challenges. After emptying all of the bugs out of the china, and putting them in a huge bucket I found in the shed, I presented them to Steve. I was so proud of myself for not gagging!

  Well, actually I almost did, so I went to his study and asked him to move them to the backyard…or hell. I didn’t say that, but that’s how I felt. I finally got up the nerve to ask him what the hell was going on with this odd display/storage tactic. After all, his sister was coming and these are the only real dishes in the house, and I am not serving filet mignon on paper plates.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, and his face became flushed, as he followed me into the dining room. “Yeah, I know this is pretty weird if you don’t know the history.” He giggled nervously. Giggled. A fifty-year-old man does not normally giggle like a little girl. I almost felt sorry for him, but I needed to know the extent of the insanity I am dealing with here. I folded my hands, wringing them equally nervously. And waited.

  After a pause, Steve began. “All this china belonged to Jeff’s family. His grandmother’s. Noreen won it in the divorce.”

  “Just like the car.” I am seeing a theme, and its “steal Jeff’s prized possessions.” At least she didn’t take a baseball bat to the car. Jeff’s lawyer must have gotten his law degree out of a box of Cracker Jacks.

  “Yeah, I know it’s nuts. She was so angry when he left her, and she never got over it. I can’t explain it. It was a vendetta. I told her that maybe one day Megan would like to have the china, and she would just launch into a rant about why she won’t want anything from her no good, asshole, son of a bitch father.”

  He pulled out one of the dining room chairs and sat down slowly. Looking at the bucket of bugs, he said, “Then she would tell me how wonderful I was, and how good I was for Megan. It was hard to argue, so I let it go. She never cooked so it’s not like we needed to use the china. I was taught to pick my battles. I wanted peace, and for her to be happy. Plus I didn’t want Megan put in the middle of any more negativity.”

  That was probably the longest story Steve has ever told me about Noreen, and the first time he has given me any real insight into who she was. While it’s painful for me to deal with all of this, I know it is exponentially more painful for him. Every time I think of how he must have felt when the cops came to his door to tell him of Noreen’s accident, I want to throw up. I didn’t want to continue to rub it in, so I dropped the subject and hugged him in the chair, pulling his face to my stomach. Then I sat on his lap, straddling him, and we moved on to more enjoyable activities.

  If Noreen wanted to put multi-legged vermin in her ex-husband’s fine bone china handed down from his grandmother, then so be it. Steve wants me here, and he’s doing the best he can to work through all of this. Tomorrow he’s going to clean out Noreen’s art studio and he’s all excited about it. I may be willing to put up some of my art, but I would like to consolidate hers to one place. There’s a big wall in the family room that might be a good spot to showcase all of her stuff.

  I would like to get him to take down more of the pictures of them together,
but it’s a more sensitive subject. I keep hoping he’ll figure it out on his own.

  I know! I will start putting out some of my framed photos of us together. I have a ton of them from my place sitting in a box. I need to know where his loyalties lie, but it’s so touchy. The wedding picture has to go. Maybe I’ll ask him this week.

  Luke is right about one thing. I have always been confident in speaking my mind. Steve isn’t going to throw me out because I have a reasonable request. And if he did get that angry, I would have my answer. Patience, Rebecca.

  Things are looking up overall. Last night Jewel even hopped off the bed and laid down next to Elsa, until Blue got pissed off and came down to mess with his sister. We still have some kinks to work out, but we’re making progress. And Luke is moving into my condo tomorrow, and he already sent my rent check via PayPal. Very businesslike.

  I do despise that orange couch, but I also don’t want to be responsible for its destruction. Maybe I can use my first rent check towards a replacement. It isn’t Steve’s fault, or Noreen’s, that their furniture isn’t cat friendly. So I’m trying to locate something to put over it until I feel like breaking the news of its demise. I can’t just throw a bedroom blanket on it because that will be weird and too obvious. There must be something in this cavernous closet, like a throw blanket of Noreen’s. That way I’m not being a total bitch about her belong…oh my God.

  I jump and hit my head on the ceiling. “Goddammit.” All the animals look alarmed as they bear witness to my discovery. Behind the golf clubs and the Christmas decorations are all of the bags we packed up last weekend to take to Goodwill. I’m stunned, and foreign hot wetness forms in my eyes.

  I plop down on my butt and put my head in my hands. Why would he go through all the trouble of packing this stuff up if he was going to hide it? I live here, and obviously eventually I would find it. I was so quick to be understanding, and I thought we turned a corner.

  He kept the real jewelry in a box in the spare bedroom, for Megan to go through when she’s ready. He kept a few greeting cards they exchanged over the years, and put them in a box with other memorabilia. While it was hard to see tangible proof of the years of love between them, I tried to avert my eyes as he went through all of it. I wished that he had done it privately, but he said that having me there made it easier for him. So much for me trying to show compassion. Is he just hiding his real feelings?

  My heart jumps when I hear, “Love, where are you?” Elsa and the cats run to meet their deceptive Daddy, like the clueless creatures they are. My first instinct is to run out of here, put on Noreen’s apron, and be the good little housewife getting ready for the dinner party. Then I glance over at the bags of clothes, costume jewelry, and other personal things that no one in this house will ever use or want, and I keep my ass planted firmly to this spot.

  “Rebecca, where are you? Where’s Mommy, guys?” The fur pack leads him to me, as I knew they would.

  “What are you doing in here?” He bends down and sees the scene of his crime, and my tear stained face. “Oh.”

  “Oh? That’s what you have to say? Oh? Is this closet the new Goodwill site? Do the spiders in the corner give out your tax receipts?” I wipe my mascara smeared eyes and Elsa puts her fluffy white head in my lap.

  “I was looking for a blanket or something to throw on the orange couch to hide the scratches that my cats have made because they are second guessing their decision to live here, too. I was feeling guilty that they were ruining your ugly furniture, but you know what? I don’t care now, I hope they trash the place.”

  His voice is louder than usual. “I was going to bring this stuff to Goodwill, but then I thought about it.” He sits down on the floor beside me and takes my hand. I pull it back. He sighs and continues in a softer tone. “I got to thinking about Megan, and how we haven’t addressed her part in all of this. She was only fifteen when her mother died, and no one has taken the initiative to walk her through her mother’s things, to see what she wants. Noreen’s mother is still a grief stricken wreck. Eve didn’t live in this area, and she’s not good with this sort of thing, either. You should see her house if you think this place is bad.”

  “I don’t see how it could possibly be worse unless her husband is buried in the house.” I instantly wish I could take back those words, but right now I want to be angry. I have held all of this in long enough, and now he has lied to me.

  Steve leans back against the closet wall opposite me, takes off his glasses and rubs his face.

  “Do you still love her? I understand the Megan thing, and I know her father is useless and he and Noreen obviously had a huge feud going. But you aren’t keeping the house the way you do for Megan. She’s never here. We’ve been together for a year, and not once have I heard you mention that she was here.” I softly stroke Elsa’s soft head and look down. “So, are you still in love with her?” I keep my eyes down to steady myself for the answer.

  “Rebecca, it’s complicated.”

  With that I jump up, hit my head, scream in pain and run out of the laundry area towards the back door, with Steve, Elsa and the cats chasing me.

  I slam the patio door shut as I turn left and right in the yard, not quite sure where to go now that I have made this dramatic escape. And my dinner is going to be shit if I don’t get back in the house. His freaking sister will be here soon.

  Steve comes barreling out the door, almost tripping over the fur brigade. He grabs my arms and forces me to look at him.

  “Stop it, you’re hurting me.”

  “I am not hurting you. Come sit on the hammock with me.”

  I allow him to drag me over there so the neighbors don’t call the police. Old people live on both sides and they’re so nosy. We sit side by side, but I am not touching him.

  He peers out at the pond, and says, “Love is active. She isn’t here for me to love. That isn’t the issue. You don’t understand and I’m not sure I know how to explain it.”

  “Try.” I glare at him and fold my arms across my chest.

  “When Noreen died I was in shock. I avoided dealing with a lot of things because I could. It was just me and there was no one trying to push me into doing anything. So I let it go, and once I started to feel better and got out into the world, I didn’t feel like digging up all of the negative emotions by going through all of this stuff. There is so much and it’s overwhelming. So I told myself I was saving it for Megan.”

  “I’m not satisfied with your answer. Yes, love is active, but plenty of people are hooked on someone who is gone. And she isn’t here to do anything wrong, so you can only remember the good parts.”

  “You make a lot of assumptions. I remember the bad parts more. Isn’t that human nature? Mostly, I’m just sorry for her that her life was cut short, and sorry for Megan that her mother is gone. She was Kathleen’s only daughter. Those relationships are not replaceable. And I felt guilty for realizing that I could find someone better now. Not really better, but happier. Better for me, and that made me feel remorseful. And I couldn’t tell you any of this. But I also don’t want to be pressured, and I need your help. Does any of this make any sense?”

  I punch my lap in frustration. “Why do you have to have a wife who died? Why can’t you just be a normal, bitter divorced person like everyone else?”

  “How would that be better? Bitter people are terrible, and I could go back to a living ex.”

  “But you wouldn’t. And that woman would call or text or do something to piss you off and remind you why you didn’t want to be with her.”

  “I can’t change the fact that I’m a widower. And you have nothing to be jealous about. I love you. And you have plenty of living exes, especially one who has inserted himself back in your life very conveniently. I haven’t said a word about that.”

  “So now you’re going to turn the tables on me. I see how it is. I broke up with Luke. I didn’t want to be with him anymore. You didn’t leave Noreen. You didn’t choose for her to be gone. Would you
rather he was dead?”

  “No, but I would rather he not look the way he does, or have the effect on you that he does, or be such a forward, conniving asshole.”

  I guess Steve isn’t as clueless as we all thought.

  “And just because I didn’t leave her, it doesn’t mean we would have been together forever. And what is forever anyway?” Steve’s face is red and damp, and his brow is creased and pained. “I don’t tell you things because I would rather leave it all in the past, and you have put up a fortress against any discussion of Noreen.”

  I jump and yell, “What? A fortress? I shouldn’t have to question you. You’re the one who is…”

  “Who is what? Fucked up?”

  Steve rarely swears, and I as I recover from my shock and formulate my rebuttal, I hear the patio door slam, and Elsa barking with the cats behind her.

  “Yoo hoo, are you out here? There you are. Steve, my goodness, what language.” Eve makes her way to the hammock and stands in front of us. She takes in my black eye smudges and Steve’s red face. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, and there’s a timer going off in the kitchen.” She looks at me with pity, and I want to punch her in the face. She extends her hand. “I’m Eve. You must be Rebecca. Steve has told me so much about you. I’m thrilled that my little brother has found a companion.”

  Her hand is meaty and bigger than mine. Steve wasn’t kidding when he said she’s let herself go since her husband died. She’s about my height, but very round in her lime green capri pants, and striped scoop neck t-shirt. Her light brown hair is pulled back into a bun, and a few sweaty tendrils have escaped. She has a pretty face, but let’s just say my mother would definitely comment on her baked good’s consumption.

  I soften as I think about the poor woman’s grief, and I am hit with a fresh wave of guilt. However, the companion comment is challenging my goodwill, and I am not satisfied with Steve’s reasoning for his Goodwill deception. But that will have to wait as I now have to play happy hostess.