Afraid of Her Shadow

by Carol Maloney Scott

  “That’s the spirit. And if you’re not able to adjust, and you’re unhappy, you can always kick that useless stud out of your condo and move back in. Tell me he didn’t sign a lease? Never mind, that would be too mature of him.”

  “Why do you hate Luke so much? I broke up with him.”

  “The boy is an idiot. One time he spent twenty minutes explaining to me how he styles his hair and what products he uses. I understand the sex was probably amazing, but after that you need to be able to hold a conversation. What did you have in common?”

  “Lots of things. We both like the water, and we are both from places that people get confused about. Everyone thinks Portugal is the same as Spain, and that they speak Spanish. And as you know, everyone confuses Rhode Island with every state in the northeast.”

  “Being victims of the geographically clueless is not romantically binding.”

  As the tough love gets tougher, I start to wind down this call. “It doesn’t matter. I am not with Luke anymore. I’m trying to make things work with Steve.”

  “You know, everyone your age has baggage. And if they don’t, that’s the baggage. It means they haven’t lived a normal adult life. You need to shit or get off the pot.”

  How old is a saying that refers to a toilet as a “pot?” When I was little, and heard people say this, I thought that people used to go to the bathroom in kitchen cookware. Those were the only pots I was familiar with. I was always afraid to eat at old people’s houses.

  I sigh and say, “Thanks, Mom. As always it’s been a colorful and enlightening conversation.” I’m not really angry at her. I know she means well. It’s just that her old lady bluntness is increasing exponentially every day.

  “Any time, Dear. And if all else fails, do what I did when my marriage got stale. Visit the sex toys shop. Now of course this was when your father could still—”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  I get her off the phone so abruptly that I forget to discuss the details of the surprise party planning I am avoiding. Megan might like to help me with that. Or is that lame for a kid? At least I know how to cook, but that would be more beneficial if she were a boy. Teenaged girls are usually weight conscious. And hormonal. And scary. Just what I need…more things to fear.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  “No one is allowed to eat Winston!” I eye my furry brood suspiciously as they circle the small cage in curiosity. Moving it to a table just causes the cats to jump up, and Elsa to whine. Elsa wants to play, since this rodent is an old friend, but Blue and Jewel see a tasty snack. I look into his beady little eyes and watch his weird mouth twitch. No one mentioned Megan’s hamster until I got home from work.

  It’s Friday night and Megan is in her old room getting things organized. When I got home Jeff had already left, so I didn’t get to meet him. Steve was running around with boxes, adjusting his glasses, and muttering to himself about how much stuff teenaged girls accumulate. I assume Megan is coming back with more than she left with.

  She came out of her room to meet me. I shook her hand, which was awkward, but I certainly wasn’t going to try to hug her. She was pleasant enough, but a little shy. I was going to tell her she was welcome here, but now I feel like she’s the one who belongs, and I’m the new person. After all, she spent a good part of her childhood in this house, and I’ve been here a matter of weeks.

  Instead I channeled my mother’s wisdom and attempted to act “normal.” I offered to help her with her room, but she said she knew where she wanted things so I didn’t push her.

  Elsa was beside herself with joy, and I couldn’t help but smile at that.

  It’s dinner time now, and I poke my head in Megan’s room and ask, “Hey, is pizza okay? Your…Steve is going to pick it up... I usually cook, but since we’re busy tonight…”

  “Yeah, pizza’s good. That was my mom’s favorite recipe.” She doesn’t turn around from the bookshelf she’s organizing. Elsa is right by her side, and she’s sporting that dog smile, looking at me as if to say “hey, look my girl is here!”

  “Thanks for taking care of Elsa.” Megan spoke these words with downcast eyes, while petting her beloved pet. “She seems happy.”

  “You’re welcome. I think she’s happy to see you. I’m not really a dog person, but she’s a sweetie. My cats, on the other hand, can be a little prickly.”

  “I’m allergic to cats.” She looks up and peers at me with her warm, brown eyes. She’s tiny like Noreen, with even smaller facial features, but her long, straight brown hair and dark eyes are a contrast to Noreen’s fair, red-headed Irish features.

  I blink hard before I respond. “You’re allergic to cats. Are you sure?”

  Before Megan can answer, Steve appears in the doorway. “Yeah, I forgot to mention that problem.” My eyes widen at him, as I work to control my sudden flash of anger. It is a good thing there are no stairs in this house.

  Steve looks between Megan and I, and his expression is one of a drowning man. “We’re going to the doctor next week to get more allergy medicine, but in the meantime the cats will need to be isolated from Megan. As much as possible. They can stay on the porch, right? It’s warm, and we can bring them in when we go to sleep. That will be okay, right Megan?”

  “Yeah, but the dander is all over the house. It isn’t the sterile environment it used to be.”

  I will hire a maid before I will lose to Noreen at housekeeping.

  “Is that okay, Love?” Steve pleads with me with his pained expression. What can I say? No, Megan needs to live on the porch?

  We agree to this arrangement, and I follow Steve to the kitchen where he is retrieving his car keys and wallet off the counter. I come up behind him. He turns around and jumps as he sees my face, and my arms folded across my chest.

  “I know, I know.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “If I told you, it wouldn’t have made it any better. She’s taking Zyrtec now, but there’s something the allergist gives her that works better. The cats are on the porch. I gave them a few toys and snacks. They don’t even like people. And the backyard is fenced in for them.”

  I dig my nails into the flesh of my upper arms to suppress my anger. Thank goodness I got rid of those stupid fake nails or I would be drawing blood. “Cats don’t need a fenced yard because they can jump over fences. Had you never seen a cat before you met me?”

  He pulls me to his chest, and I resist at first, but then allow myself to be awkwardly embraced with my arms defiantly across my chest.

  “We will work all of this out. Let’s try to have a peaceful night. We can watch a movie. Megan loves Disney movies.”

  He kisses my forehead and heads out the door.

  She’s seventeen and I highly doubt she wants to watch Aladdin or Beauty and the Beast.

  I check on the cats, and tell them I’m sorry they have been banned from the house. They don’t seem to mind and have taken up residence on the wicker couch in the corner. Wicker. Now there’s another comfortable furniture material. I love splinters in my back while I’m relaxing with a good book.

  I hear Megan in her room and I weigh my options. Tiptoe back in there and try to talk to her while Steve is out and can’t butt in? Leave her alone and hide like a coward? She’s just a kid, and I try to mentally put myself in her shoes. She’s a motherless child. And even though my own mother drives me insane at times, at least I have one to call when I have troubles. Who will Megan call? Who does she talk to now?

  I breathe deeply and slowly walk back to her door.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” I survey the boxes and all the items she’s placing on her desk and dresser. So far I don’t see any pictures of her mother.

  “No, I’m okay. Well, actually can I wash my sheets? Crystal isn’t very good with laundry, so I did my own, but these smell like my dad’s house and I’d like them to smell fresh.”

  “Sure, you can do whatever you want here. It’s your house, too.” Maybe not the best thing to say to a teenager. I wonder if Meg
an shares her mother’s relaxation habit, but her eyes look bright and clear to me.

  We walk down the hall to the laundry room and I help her carry her comforter and a few other things. “We might as well do a full load.” My voice is cheerful, but I am mindful of her judgment of me and of her observations of the house.

  “Is everything similar to how it was the last time you were here? Oh, wait, you’ve been here recently.”

  “Yeah, I came to see Elsa.”

  As we reach the laundry room, I get out of her way, after I show her where she can find the laundry supplies. I don’t want to take over. My mother always did that when I was a kid and I hated it. Megan is perfectly capable.

  “That’s right. I was busy working on getting my condo ready to rent, I think.” That sounds like a plausible excuse for my absence, and a better one than the truth.

  “The house looks mostly the same. Are you going to take down the pictures of my mom?”

  Pure panic sets in as if a mugger just grabbed me in an alley. This kid is direct. “Um, well…no, maybe some. Did you want any for your room?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I have photo albums, and lots on my computer, but I don’t display any pictures.”

  Does she want me to take the pictures down then? Is she worried that I am going to erase her mother’s memory? Is she just fucking with me like teenagers do? I know, it’s a test. Big fat zero for me because I don’t have the faintest idea what to do here.

  “Okay, well let me know if there’s anything you want. There are some cute ones with you.” I study her features and add, “You don’t look like your mom.” Why do I keep talking?

  “I bet that’s a bonus for you.” She returns my stare, but it’s more of a gaze than a glare. “I’m just fucking with you. I get what’s going on. I’ve been in therapy for years.” She walks out of the laundry room, back into the family room, again surveying the space. “It looks like maybe the wrong person was sent to the shrink.”

  She stares at me a moment too long and I flinch. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing, I was just wondering if you know that’s my mom’s necklace. The one around your neck.”

  My hand jumps up to the dragonfly necklace Steve gave me for Christmas. It came in a box from a jewelry store. I don’t remember which one now. It can’t be Noreen’s, but it is a bug themed item. Oh my God…

  “No, I didn’t know. Are you sure?”

  She moves in for closer inspection. “Yeah, it’s hers. It’s okay, I don’t want it. I was just wondering if you knew.” And with that she marches back to her room.

  Later on while eating pizza and watching The Little Mermaid (I was wrong about Disney), I ponder Megan’s words. Clearly she is wise beyond her years, but that probably happens when kids go through a lot of trauma at a young age. She was saying that Steve is a mess. Or is she truly just messing with my mind and testing the boundaries with a new, frazzled adult? And why is it that every conversation I have lately with anyone only leaves me more confused? I won’t ask him about the necklace today, but I took it off and put it in my jewelry box for now.

  Saturday night we head out to O’Malley’s to see Brandon’s band play. That’s the bar that Irene from The Wild Banshee accused of being an imposter Irish pub. She’s right. It’s more commercialized and the crowd is much younger. Already I have been bumped into and I can barely hear a word Claire is saying. Brandon invited Steve to come hang out with the band while they set up, which was nice. Luckily, Megan went out with her boyfriend, so we didn’t have to feel guilty leaving her home alone on her second night with us.

  Claire sways to the pre-show DJ music, and sips her pink cocktail. She is wearing flat boots. There is hope for her after all, however this is her second drink and the band hasn’t started playing yet.

  “Why are you so concerned with cleaning? Just hire someone. You can afford it.”

  “Noreen was a superior housekeeper, and I don’t want to do anything worse than her.”

  “Yes, seeing that she’s dead, that’s a real competition. What if you come home one day and she’s cleaned something better than you?” Claire’s eyes start rolling. I hope I’m around when she has a child who does that back to her.

  “Very funny. I also hate cleaning that house because I am always finding something creepy.”

  “What can you possibly find that is so terrible? It isn’t like she’s secretly buried in the house.”

  I almost spit my wine and reply, “Don’t even joke about things like that. You need to come over before we dismantle all the shrines.” I glimpse Steve out of the corner of my eye, talking enthusiastically with the drummer. I think his name is Max. He’s a huge, muscular guy, and his girlfriend is a little red-head. But not like Noreen. Bianca is a bit curvier, and her long red hair is clearly not the product of nature.

  “Bianca is pregnant.” Claire looks wistful, but quickly recovers. “But really, so am I, and I won’t have any of the morning sickness she’s complaining about.”

  “So you signed the contract for the private adoption?”

  Claire shakes her head yes, and I jump off the barstool to hug her. “That’s amazing news!”

  “Speaking of being a mommy, how’s Megan? I can’t believe you aren’t telling me teenager horror stories.”

  “She’s really…fine. I think she wanted to come back, and she’s very happy to be with Elsa, who is beside herself with joy. My cats are on the porch, which I am not happy about it, but supposedly we have a solution for Megan’s allergies.”

  “How was she with you?”

  “Not bad, but she did make a few sarcastic remarks. I keep trying to engage her in some kind of conversation, but it’s not easy. You and Brandon need to give me a crash course in modern music. She was listening to something this afternoon that sounded like someone was being stabbed.”

  “Hmm, it could have been the new Slipknot song. Brandon played it for me and I almost fell down the stairs with the laundry basket. But I agree, music is a good way to bond with young people.”

  “Yeah, I could ask her about that band you and Cecilia were talking about. My Romantic Drugs or something.”

  Claire laughs and puts her empty glass on the bar, grabbing a napkin to catch the spray caused by my inadvertent joke.

  “It’s My Chemical Romance. We have a lot of work to do with you, but that still isn’t new music. It would be elementary school listening for Megan.”

  We eventually leave the bar and join the boys near the stage. Brandon and Steve are talking about Noreen’s art again, or so I assume.

  “Thanks, but Tony solved my whole problem. He is going to feature some of Noreen’s paintings in a new gallery exhibit at the college, and he said he has plenty of room in his house to store whatever we don’t want to keep in our house. For Megan.” He looks at me. “And he really wants you to submit some paintings, too, Love.” He adjusts his glasses and puts his other arm around me protectively.

  Tony came through, and Steve apparently has no idea we cooked up this plot together. So why does this plan still feel unsettling? An image of my long buried art beside Noreen’s at a public exhibit flashes into my mind.

  “They’re having a show to open the gallery this coming Thursday, so it’s perfect timing.”

  For who? Why doesn’t anyone ever give me time to process anything?

  Brandon breaks away from our conversation, and the performance gets underway. We enjoy the band. Well, not really. It’s a lot of unfamiliar loud music, but Brandon is a good singer, and it’s fun to watch Claire, as well as all of the other girls, drool over him. Steve seems to enjoy himself, even though he is equally ignorant of this music. Megan will think we are old and boring. I wonder if Noreen listened to modern music, but then I remember the mysterious iPod I found the day I crashed on the energy drinks.

  Sunday rolls around and Megan is at the mall with her friends. I don’t know if she is avoiding us, or if it’s a good sign that she’s out and going about her normal l
ife. It’s better than if she were pouting in her room, writing about her misery on her Tumblr blog, and sexting her boyfriend. She actually could have been doing all of those things before she went out, but I’m trying to be positive.

  In the spirit of positive, I am once again helping Steve. Goodwill is going to think that one or both of us is planning suicide, since it appears we are giving away all of our worldly possessions.

  “Hey, I was thinking. Should you ask Noreen’s mother if she wants any of this stuff?” We’re sorting through the drawers in the dining room hutch, if you want to call it that. It looks more like a cabinet you would see in a science lab. I neglected to mention how horrible the beautiful china looks in this piece of furniture, even clean and bug free.

  Steve turns around and the color drains from his face. “Oh God, no. She hasn’t been here in a while, and we don’t need that.”

  “Won’t she want to see Megan? How bad can she be?” As I say this, I think of Eve and it hits me. A grieving mother would have to be the one with the biggest hole in her heart.

  “You have no idea. Why don’t you start on that drawer over there, in the side cabinet? I don’t think we’ve gotten in there yet.” He motions to a low side table with a glass top, and black lacquered drawers. At least the house has a theme. Ugly Outdated.

  As I begin to open the top drawer, my eyes rest on an object on top of the table. One I haven’t paid much attention to up until now. “Hey, what’s in this orange thing?”

  “Ashes.”

  Thank God I didn’t pick it up, or we would be vacuuming Noreen off the geometrically patterned area rug.

  My breath catches in my throat, but Steve does not look up, as he continues to sort through the junk in the hutch.

  “Ashes?” What did my mother say about ashes? “You still have her ashes?” He turns around and I attempt to read his expression, but it’s blank. “I mean, is that what people do with ashes? Don’t some people scatter them?”

  “Yes, they do. And I should have done it by now.” He smiles and says, “Noreen would be pissed that I haven’t gotten around to it.” Seriously, what has he gotten around to?