The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag (12 page)

“Uncle Scrooge, have you seen my blue shirt?” Neil stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his hips. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed his phone in my palm.

Quickly, I set his phone down and plowed past him to the laundry room. “In here. I moved most of your work clothes onto the drying line last night. More efficient with Marty and Penny sleeping in our room, don’t ya think?” I babbled while rummaging through the hangers then came up with the button-down in question and offered it to him. He didn’t take it. One hand secured his towel and the other pointed his phone at me.

“What was that all about? You’re being secretive and sneaky and I want to know why.” His mouth was set in a grim line.

My lips parted, but only a breath of air came out. What to say?

“Please talk to me, I’m worried about you.” Setting his phone down on the dryer he shut the door and we were plunged into darkness. I reached for a light switch, but he grasped my hand in his own.

“You are the most difficult person to have a discussion with, you know that?” His breath whispered along my left ear, sending chills down my spine. “Splitting an atom involves less effort than getting some info out of you.”

“Better get out the water board, slick, because I’ve got nothing for you.”

“Is that so?” A faint fluttering sound and Neil’s towel pooled at my feet. He kissed me and proved that I did in fact have something for him. Smart man and one helluva a multi-tasker.

* * * *

“That was so wrong,” I mumbled gazing at my poor, violated washing machine with a satisfied smile. Bet the manufacturer didn’t have that in mind when they offered a five year extended warranty. Were outside vibrations covered under normal wear and tear?

“What’s wrong is we’re sneaking around like a couple of teenagers in our own house.” Neil bent over to step into his pants and then hissed out a breath.

“Your shoulder?” I asked. Neil had made a mess of his rotator cuff—during a classified mission he couldn’t tell me about—which was the reason he was no longer part of the SEAL teams.

Wincing, he straightened and reached around to massage the area. “The cold makes it worse.”

That and hefting his not-so-dainty wife against a major appliance for a solid ten minutes. Guilt made my cheeks burn. No more excuses, I needed to get into shape, for Neil’s sake.

I helped him ease his shoulder into the blue shirt and did the buttons.

“Crap, I’m going to be late.” Neil opened the door to the laundry room and gazed at me for a minute. “How about you meet me for dinner tonight? We might well take advantage of the built-in babysitters. Wherever you want to go.”

“What time?” I smiled, thinking it had been awhile since we had a date night.

He shoved his feet into steel-toed boots. “I’ll give you a call later, after I see what my day is shaping up to be.”

“Sounds great. Call my cell; I’ll be all over the place today.” Sighing, I watched him stride to the car. What a man.

“You look like a cat that tipped over a milk carton.” Sylvia said from the living room, a note of sadness in her voice.

“How are you feeling?” I closed the door on Neil and turned to face my friend. The air mattress squeaked as Sylvia scooted forward in an effort to dismount.

“Like death on a cracker.” Shifting her weight, she rolled off the inflate-a-bed. “What time is it?”

“Almost six. I’ll drive you over to the electric company’s office as soon as I drop the boys off.”

Sylvia stood up and teetered a bit. Having no idea how much she’d imbibed the night before, I couldn’t tell if she was hung-over or just tired. “Thanks for the offer, but I can handle it. And thank you for putting me up last night.”

“Anytime, Sylvie. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. And I’ll advise you to get a shower in before the rest of the house comes alive.”

She nodded, and winced, as if the small movement pained her. I watched her shuffle off to the bathroom, sorrow curdling in my throat. Seeing her all discombobulated was almost worse than seeing her drunk. Typically, Sylvia was all grace and poise and I didn’t know if Eric or her unemployment was to blame for her current state.

My mind still churning, I dressed in sweats and retrieved Josh’s iPod, settling it in the little case that strapped onto my arm. I layered in a coat, gloves and earmuffs, which I discard after realizing I wouldn’t be able to use the ear buds while wearing them. The little case didn’t fit over my goose-down jacket, so I abandoned the coat as well. Maybe I’d run faster in order to keep warm.

Scanning the playlist, I selected
Money for Nothing
as my warm-up song. The drum beat blared in my ears, as I stretched my calves, hamstrings and rolled my shoulders a bit like the way Neil always did before he hit the treadmill. Proud that I’d picked up a few things whilst ogling, I strode to the front door full of purpose.

Oh, holy Mary, mother of God, it was cold! I shot a longing glance at my coat, but between jogging and fiddling with the portable music player, I had enough coordination issues to deal with. I carefully made my way down the steps, avoiding icy patches. Thankfully the street was clear and the sand/salt combo spread by the town kept the ice at bay. I headed down the hill in the opposite direction from the last time, wanting to start fresh.

Without any conscious effort, my footfalls seemed to sync with the tempo of the song. The sun was still below the horizon but the sky grew lighter as I made my way around a bend. Breathing was a challenge and the sensation I was sucking down little daggers with each inhale had me gasping, even though my muscles were raring to go. In through the nose, which seemed to have frozen shut, and out through the mouth. Cripes, how long was this song?

Slowing to a walk, I unsheathed the iPod and thumbed the little wheel thingy, hoping to find something inspirational. Choosing Better Than Ezra’s
A Lifetime
, I doggedly stumbled onward. My pace was slower, but the band was right, three and a half minutes really did feel like a lifetime.

I made it through most of the song before the wheezing grew too insistent to ignore. The song finished and I sought the player again, stopping at the bottom of the hill by the intersection leading out of the neighborhood. Moving off the road in case a car drove by, I thumbed through the list again. What now? Robert Palmer maybe? Or no, that kick-ass Billy Squire song they used on the commercials for
Burn Notice.
What was it called again?

Shit, Josh had shown me how to search by artist, but I’d forgotten. I made a few requests from a menu button and spotted an artist menu. I was so busy fiddling that I didn’t notice the car at first. After all, there were plenty of nine year old blue Ford Escorts in the area and some of them even had a
Support the Troops
magnet on the left rear panel. But it was the other decal, with the Laundry Hag Cleaning Services and my cell phone number that nearly stopped my heart.

No, this couldn’t be right. Neil had left our house ten minutes ago. His car should be at least eight miles away by now. He’d said he was late, had hustled off without giving me a kiss goodbye because he was late, damn it. What would he be doing, not even a mile from our house…?

My vision clouded over and I bent at the waist, struggling with the urge to vomit. He’d just left me, after we’d had so much fun sullying the washing machine, and now he was parked in someone else’s driveway? The double entendre made me gag.

“Move,” I muttered under my breath. Standing and gawking wouldn’t get me anywhere and the sweat I’d accumulated from my exertion was solidifying on my skin, the cool morning air chilling me to the core. Unfortunately my feet took the command in the wrong direction. Without intent, I made my way to a copse of evergreens in the adjacent lot and leaned against a pine for support. Without my electric blue parka, I blended in with the Spartan landscape and I hunkered in to watch for Neil.

In the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. Neil’s typical shift started at nine, which roughly translated into ninety minutes from now. I’d be a hag-popsicle by then, plus kinda late getting Josh and Kenny off to school. The thoughts buzzed around like disgruntled bees, but I didn’t budge from my bird’seye view of the front door.

The house was a fixer-upper Cape Cod with a tiny screened-in back porch tagged on an afterthought. A small building, probably a garage, squatted perpendicular to the main house. Both sported aluminum siding in a Robin’s egg blue and were trimmed in white. The gutters needed to be cleaned, the house was surrounded by leafless elms and oaks, and there was a big sheet of plywood over one of the upstairs windows.

My hands were numb inside my dollar store knit gloves when the front door opened and Neil stepped out onto the porch. He smiled at someone who remained out of sight and spoke softly, too far away for me to hear. Frozen fingers gripped the tree as I leaned closer, hoping to catch a vibe from the scene, but it was over quickly and Neil trotted down the steps and backed his car out onto the road. Counting to fifty, I unglued my hands from the poor pine and scooted across the open area to the house. No way was I leaving until I knew who lived inside.

Chapter Eleven

“Does this look all right?” Dressing for a society luncheon was not on my list of top ten favorite pastimes and neither Marty nor Penny had been any help, so I accosted Leo as he answered the door.

Standing in the foyer of my in-laws estate in Cambridge was like entering a new world. The floor was Italian marble, the statuary classic Roman design and the curtains were thick, allowing only the softest glimmer of light in to illuminate the interior. I’d only been to the house a handful of times, but on every visit I couldn’t help but hum that ditty from Sesame Street.
One of these things is not like the other…
My Gap pants and faux Prada purse certainly didn’t belong.

Leo ushered me into one of the many sitting rooms and turned me around for a 360-degree inspection. “I like the pearl color of the blouse on you, very new money in combo with the black slacks, if you get my drift, but those shoes—”

I held up a hand to his lips. “I know they’re awful but I didn’t want my feet to freeze.”

“How many times do I need to tell you, invest in a pair of classic black pumps and you won’t go wrong.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’ve told you I can’t walk in heels,” I shuffled my gray winter boots, adjusting the pants so they hid more of my footwear. “Picture me in heels, walking across an icy parking lot. Now look me in the eye and tell me the vision doesn’t include an ambulance.”

“Darling, where you’re going, you won’t have to walk farther than the valet drop off in front of the building.”

I cringed. “Yikes. This doesn’t sound good for me. Got any tips, oh czar of haute couture?”

Leo leaned in and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “You look great and unfortunately it’s too late to do much about the shoes, but your manner needs some work.” He had the grace to shift his weight and glance away.

“Hit me,” I sighed.

“Well, you need to remember not to exhibit fear. Show no weakness. They can smell the stink of apprehension like bears emerging from hibernation. So whatever you do, don’t limp or you’re done for.”

I glared at him as he fiddled with my diamond necklace. “Way to pep me up before the big game there, coach. Now that you’ve filled my head with that lovely comparison, how do you suggest I cage the fear?”

He winked at me. “You could go with the classic ‘picture them in their underwear’.”

Gack. Not if I didn’t want to gauge out my own eyeballs.

“Seriously Maggie, You’re a hard working self-employed woman with a hotty of a hubby who comes from money. Do you really feel inferior to Laura’s gaggle of persnickety geese?”

Yeah, I did, but I wasn’t about to reveal that to Leo, who was a God, but his resume said otherwise and he might take offence. “Speaking of my self-employment, I made a few calls this morning and I have some leads for night cleaning gigs. Tell Richard to call me and we’ll try to meet up for the interviews.”

Leo kissed my forehead. “Bless you and your efficient attitude. I told him we could count on you.”

“I meant what I said; you’re pairing up with Marty whenever you’re free.”

“Why don’t you just ask Neil to help? “

I swallowed around the tennis ball lodged in my esophagus. “Neil’s been…busy. Lots to do, at work I mean.” The loathsome quiver in my voice slipped out. After seeing the pretty mid-thirties mom preparing her two sons for school inside the run-down house, I didn’t know what to make of Neil’s stopover. Like any true Southern Belle, I’d decided not to think about what I’d seen, at least until tomorrow.

Leo spun me around, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. “What’s going on?” he whispered. I opened my mouth to answer, but Laura chose that moment to breeze in, full steam ahead. I imagined if a female Preying Mantis wore designer suits she would dress like my mother-in-law. Laura sported an expensive and masterfully cut black suit which accentuated her lean frame, the skirt stopping above her knees. A celery green mandarin collar wrapped around her graceful throat and added to the image of predatory hunger. She was a beautiful, deadly force of nature. Just like her son.