Becoming Mona Lisa (29 page)

“You need to work on your compliments,” I said, and he kissed me again.

“I'd rather work on my kissing,” he replied, so we did. We worked on our kissing for a long time until I pulled away and started to cry.

“What's wrong?” Tom asked, and I wiped my face on my sleeve.

“It hurts.”

“What does?”

“Knowing you went through that.”

“I'm okay,” Tom assured.

“I know. That's not why I'm crying. It feels good to hurt, Tom. It feels good to feel something, anything but the numbness I felt for all those years.”

Tom pulled me to him and I sobbed into his shoulder. “It's all right, baby,” he soothed, as I clung to him.

“I was numb, Tom. We both were,” I whispered. “We couldn't take the disappointment, so we just went numb. I think we were like a couple of robots. No matter what happens to us, we can't let that happen again. I don't care how battered we get by this life, we have to feel.”

“I think you're right.”

“Promise me, Tom. Promise me we won't let it happen again.”

“I promise,” he said softly, leaning his face toward mine. He kissed me again, and I held tightly to his hand.

“It's very late,” I whispered.

“I know. Mona?” he said, looking into my eyes.

“What?”

“I want you to promise me something, too. If you ever feel yourself becoming invisible again, promise you'll tell me. I'll come find you, and I'll do everything I can to help you find your way back, and remind you that you're amazing.”

“You think I'm amazing?”

“You're hopelessly flawed, but I don't see that. To me, you're perfect. You're beautiful. I would do anything for you,” Tom said, reassuringly.

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take a shower, Tom? You must have sweat like a gladiator in jail, and it hurts me to say this, but you smell awful.” We laughed for a long time, and I let him kiss me, but for only a moment, since I was holding my breath.

“Only if we both go, and we can pick up where we left off earlier,” Tom whispered.

We did.

Twenty
-
Six

Sunday

There is not a light at the end of every tunnel.

At the end of some tunnels, there are very bad things.

The smell of rich coffee roused me from sleep. I stumbled to the kitchen and found Robbie there, dressed in a yellow rain slicker.

“Morning,” I mumbled, heading for the coffee pot.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Exhausted,” I said, noticing Robbie this time. “I thought it was supposed to be nice today,” I said, looking out the window. “It is nice today. What's with the outfit?”

“It will protect us from the shit,” Robbie said.

“Who's
us
?”
I asked.

“Me and Rob,” my husband said. I turned, and there was Tom “Paddington Bear” Siggs, in a matching yellow slicker.

“What are you doing, Tom?” I asked.

“I'm gonna help Robbie,” Tom said, refilling his coffee cup.

I groaned. “What are you going to help him with?” I asked, wondering how much health, life, and home owner's insurance we had.

“The roof. I can pound a nail.”

“Have you ever pounded a nail, Tom?” I asked, and he laughed.

“No, but how hard could it be?” I tried to roll my eyes, but my body was too tired to function properly.

“Ready?” Robbie asked my husband, and I shook my head.

“Try not to die out there, okay?” I asked Tom, who smiled and kissed me.

“I'll do my best.”

Tom went outside with his brother, and I plopped down at the kitchen table with my coffee. I read the morning paper, checked the obituaries to see if Thurman was listed, and ate some cereal.

I was assigned to kitchen demolition, since everybody else was on the roof. I tied my hair back, donned some enormous plastic goggles and a paper mask, grabbed the sledgehammer Robbie had brought in, and got to work.

I'd gotten one wall pretty much done when I saw Robbie and Tom pass by the window. It was hard to miss them in their yellow slickers, each one splattered generously with bird shit.

I heard the front door open, and I set the sledgehammer down on the floor. If the Brothers Siggs brushed against anything in my newly-remodeled living room, I was afraid I might hit them.

“What's for lunch?” Robbie said, strolling into the kitchen, and I peered at him through my goggles.

“You're kidding, right?” I asked.

“There's pizza,” Tom said, with his head in the refrigerator. “We could have that or we could have........., ketchup, mustard, or some ranch dressing that expired, in, um.......July. We should toss this, honey,” he added, and I stuck my tongue out, which was stupid, since he didn't see it, and all I got out of it was a taste of mask.

“You'll have to eat it cold,” I said, and Tom arched a brow. “You blew up the oven, sweetheart.”

“Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten I did that. I seem to have reverse amnesia. I can't remember anything that happened before jail.”

“You don't remember the oven in the tree?” I asked, and Tom laughed.

“Now that you mention it, yes. I do recall that,” Tom said, emerging from the fridge with Joe's pizza, and two beers.

“Do you think you should be drinking and roofing?” I asked, and Robbie shrugged as Tom took a long pull on his beer.

I was starting to feel like I was married to Jeckyl & Hyde. Doctor Jeckyl wrote me love letters. Mr. Hyde was trying to put me in my grave.

“What about the microwave?” Tom asked.

That had been my doing. “I killed that when I pulled the cupboards off the wall. It was ancient anyhow.”

“Hmm, maybe when Thurman dies we can write to Taco Bell and see if they want to open up a place across the street,” Tom suggested.

“Maybe. For now you get cold pizza,” I offered.

“Pizza's good cold,” Tom said, as a small stream of beer slid down his chin and dripped onto the floor. I rolled my eyes and took a whack at the second wall. The sledgehammer hit wall, then air, and I fell through the hole I'd made. I let out a string of bad words, which were muffled by the mask.

“What the hell?” Robbie said, as I got to my feet. “What's back there?”

“Jimmy Hoffa?” my husband asked, and his brother laughed.

“It's a little room,” I said, as both Siggs brothers looked over my shoulders.

“There's a secret room?” Tom asked. “What's in there? A bunch of collectibles?”

“That's mean,” I whined, although I chuckled.

I pulled my head out of the hole I'd made. Robbie and Tom had each donned a paper mask. “What's this?” I asked, through the mask I still wore.

“We're going in, and it's hard to say what might be in there,” Robbie cautioned. I couldn't imagine how much protection we'd get from paper masks, and thought Hazmat suits might be of more use, but I was excited to get into the room, so I kept my mouth shut.

One by one, we crawled through the hole, looking like three doctors turned archaeologists, and Robbie flipped on the flashlight. “Doesn't look like much,” Robbie remarked.

The room was nondescript, and covered in cobwebs. The walls were wood, and the floor was dirt covered. There were various artifacts, covered in filth, but at first glance it was impossible to tell what they were. “Doesn't look like Fangerhouse stuff,” I said.

“I'll bet Ida had no idea this was even here,” Tom said.

“Obviously not, or it would be filled to the ceiling,” I replied, and my husband chuckled.

“Hey, there's something in the floor,” Robbie said. “I'll get a broom. Remember when you said you wished the kitchen was bigger, Mona?”

“Yeah, it was yesterday, Rob, and jail amnesia doesn't appear to be a sexually transmitted ailment,” I quipped, and Robbie laughed, and clapped his brother on the back.

“Good one, Mona,” Robbie commented, and Tom looked like he was blushing around the mask. “Well, you could have that bigger kitchen. No reason we can't expand back here.”

“Woo hoo!” I started jumping up and down, which in retrospect might not have been wise, and the floor splintered, and I fell down the stairs.

Stairs?

“Robbie, Mona fell through the floor!” Tom yelled, as I surveyed my injuries, which thankfully, were minimal.

“I broke a nail,” I whined.

“Hey, Mona,” Robbie said casually, as if it wasn't surprising to see a Siggs had fallen through the floor. “Man, Mrs. Siggs, when you go on a demolition spree, you really go on a demolition spree.”

“It was wood, and it was rotten,” I complained. “I think it was hiding the staircase.”

“There's a staircase? Where does it lead?” Tom asked. He shined the flashlight into my eyes, and momentarily blinded, I managed to fall the rest of the way down the old staircase.

“Mona's checkin' it out,” Robbie said, and I blurted out of a few more choice words.

“Throw me the flashlight!” I yelled as a
thunk
sounded overhead. “What's going on up there?”

“I dropped the flashlight, and I can't seem to find it without a flashlight,” Tom hollered back.

“Dear God give me strength,” I mumbled. I'd only waited in the dark for a few moments when something hit me in the head. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

“I found the flashlight!!” Tom announced.

“You could have warned me it was coming!” I yelled back. I shined the light around me, and was astounded by what I saw. The entire room was made of stone, with the exception of a wooden door.

“Hey, there's an old door.”

“There is?” Tom said, and I could hear him descending the staircase. Robbie quickly followed, and suddenly, we were all crammed into the small space.

“It smells bad down here,” I said.

“Yeah, you're right,” Robbie said, wrinkling his nose around the mask.

“Where do you think this door goes?” Tom asked.

“Well, it's facing the wrong direction to go into the basement. Maybe a root cellar?” I suggested.

“Hmm. It does kind of smell like rotten food,” Robbie said, triggering my gag reflex.

“Gross,” I mumbled.

Robbie started wrestling with the door. “Wow. The whole world is falling to pieces and this damn lock won't give. I need a bolt cutter,” Robbie said, turning to look at Tom.

“Don't look at him,” I said.

“What's a bolt cutter?” Tom asked.

“Told ya,” I said to Robbie.

“Why don't we get out of here for a few minutes. It's damp as hell,” Robbie suggested, so we plodded back up the stairs into the kitchen, and took up residence at the table.

“So, do we just forget about the door for now?” Tom asked.

“Who, us?” I said.

“Good point,” he replied. “Okay, let's regroup. We need groceries desperately. Now we need a bolt cutter, and we need roofing nails.”

“So, what's the plan?” Robbie said.

“Well, Mona can go to the grocery store and we can go to Lowe's. We'll meet back here and go exploring,” Tom said.

“I have to go to the grocery store? That's sexist,” I complained.

“Do you wanna go pick out nails?” Robbie asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then you can do the shopping,” Tom said.

“All right,” I groaned. “But if you get back first, do not go down there without me. It's my find,” I demanded.

“We're gonna check on Mom. You'll definitely be back first,” Tom said, as Robbie laid a dollar on the table.

“What's that for?” I asked.

“It's your 'finders fee,'” Robbie offered.

Tom lifted my mask and kissed me. “Stay the hell out of there if you get back before we do. It could be very dangerous.”

“There is no way I'm going down there alone,” I assured him.

Famous last words.

Tom and Robbie left, and I surveyed the contents of the refrigerator, which were pathetic. I didn't need a list. I'd just buy everything.

“
I'm going,” I said to an empty house. The kittens stared at me from the doorway.

“
I know. You don't like dry food,” I said, and I would swear, under oath, that Daisy smiled.

I headed out to my new Toyota, hopped in, and checked my appearance in the rear view mirror.

“
Nice,” I muttered. The part of my face that had been left exposed was filthy, and the elastic from the mask had left indentations from my cheeks to my ears. I cleaned myself up with a baby wipe from the glove box, and ran my fingers through my hair. I looked like hell, which was okay for grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon.

I returned an hour later with a truckload of groceries, and a seriously depleted checking account. No one else was home, so I lugged the payload into the house by myself.