Becoming Mona Lisa (16 page)

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“May I help you?” the clerk asked.

“I need some information on crows,” my husband said, and the girl smiled at him.

Again, I felt like choking her. “Anchor,” I said, and Tom threw me another concerned glance.

“Mona, are you all right?” he asked, and I shrugged. He turned back to the counter.

“So, back to the business of crows,” he said. I stuck the middle finger of my left hand in my mouth and began gnawing, primarily to keep the sudden onset of Tourette's from recurring.

“What exactly are you looking for?” the young woman asked.

“I'm not sure,” Tom said, as she stepped to the computer. He took my hand from my mouth and closed it in his. “Stop,” he whispered.

“Let's see what I have,” she said. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, while I willed those on my right hand to stay away from my mouth.

“There's
A Murder of Crows
,” she said, and I perked up a bit, “but that may not be what you're looking for.”

“Do crows actually die in it?” my husband asked, and I laughed loudly. I had forgotten how much enjoyment the library afforded.

“Um............, no, sir. I don't believe so,” the clerk replied, a distinct tremble in her voice.

“Not interested,” Tom said.

“Sir, why don't you give me an idea of what you're doing. Are you researching crows for a particular reason?” she asked, looking at my husband as if she were standing face to face with a serial killer.

Shoulda seen him in the bathroom on Monday!

“We have a bit of a crow infestation,” I offered. I closed my eyes and could see the birds spinning around me. I felt faint with fear and disgust, and willed myself back to the conversation.

“
Americans?” she asked, without looking up from the keyboard.

“
We live in Oxford Valley, but my Aunt Ida's grandmother was born in Poland,” I said, and Tom chuckled.

Uh oh, now what did I do?

“
She was asking if we knew what kind of crows we had,” Tom said.

“
Oh,” I mumbled.

“
Americans are a type of crow,” the librarian said, and I could tell she was trying not to laugh. Tom wasn't as successful. I glared at him.

“
Gotcha,” I said, and Tom put his arm around his idiot wife.

“
Let me print this list of titles. You might also find some valuable information on the Internet,” she suggested, and I kept my mouth shut.

“
Is there a computer here we could use?” Tom asked.

“
I have one available in five minutes. Here's the sign-up sheet.” She slid a clipboard across the counter.

Tom filled out the form, and passed it back to her. She handed my husband a single sheet of paper, and pointed us in the direction of the appropriate shelves.

Tom selected a huge hard cover, and opened to the first page. I stood quietly, with my hands in my pockets. I was nearing the point of needing handcuffs to keep my fingers out of my mouth.

“
Crows are beautiful and intelligent creatures,” he read from the book, and I groaned, and forced myself not to grab the book and hurl it at someone.

“
Obviously written by someone who isn't surrounded by them,” I growled.

“
I like this one. Pick one, honey,” he suggested, so I did. I didn't even look at it, I just grabbed it from the shelf.

“
Okay,” I mumbled.

“
What'd you get?” he asked, and I showed him.

“
Hmm,” he said, and I glanced at the book.

“
Crowned. The Evolution of the Miss America Pageant,” I read out loud. “I guess this isn't what you had in mind.”

“
Not really, Mona,” Tom remarked.

I put the book back, grabbed one about crows, and stuck it under my arm. “Done,” I announced.

Tom was leafing through his book, and I looked over his shoulder. “This one suggests brightly colored balloons with frightening faces.”

“
Well, it's Halloween, we could probably get away with that,” I commented.

We lived in a fairly rural area, and usually didn't get many kids, which would bode well for the trick-or-treaters. I loved children, and hated to send them away with a bite-sized Snickers bar, and costumes splattered with bird shit.

“
All right. Let's get these checked out and I'm gonna get on the computer and order that CD. If you're up to it, we could get some balloons at WalMart. I'd also like to get a laptop. I've been thinking about it for a while now,” Tom said.

“
You're going to scare the birds off with a laptop?” I asked, and he smiled.

“
No, honey. I'm going to do more research, and I'll need it for school.”

“
Right,” I replied, wondering what the hell had happened to my brain. I figured I'd better lay off the booze, and as I considered that, my stomach lurched violently. I groaned in response, and Tom reached for me.

“
You okay?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“I need to find a bathroom,” I said, as the need grew in intensity. “Now.”

“Okay,” Tom said, rushing back to the desk where we'd started our library experience.

“It's over there in the back corner,” he said, pointing. “Second door on the left.”

“Thanks,” I said, wasting no time getting there. The bathroom was a single stall; I locked the door, turned the water on, headed to the commode, and vomited until I thought I would die. “Oh, my God,” I mumbled, as I rinsed my face.

Tom was waiting outside when I emerged. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I just quit drinking,” I said, and he smiled.

“We're all set. Let's go.”

“Did you order the CD?” I asked.

“No. Ray found his. He's dropping it off tomorrow.”

“Cool,” I managed to say.

We headed to WalMart to pick up balloons, a laptop, and Pepto Bismol, and I barfed again almost as soon as we arrived.

“What is up with you?” Tom asked, when I emerged from the ladies room looking shaken and deathly pale.

“I don't know. Let's get our stuff and go home.”

“Is there anything else you need?” Tom asked, as I staggered along beside him.

“Maybe a body bag,” I suggested.

We made quick work of the shopping, and Tom decided to wait on the laptop. I spotted Beth on our way to the checkout. She waved, and I smiled, although I felt like I was going to die.

“Thanks for yesterday,” she said.

“You're welcome. Beth, this is my husband. Tom, this is Beth Mulpepper,” I said, waiting for my husband's reaction.

He fumbled, but only slightly. I told Beth I'd see her on Monday.

Unless I'm dead.

Tom paid for our purchases, while I tried to remain conscious.

Once we were back in the Jeep, I slammed half the Pepto, which turned out to be a huge mistake. We had to pull over halfway home, and I ended up yacking it all up on the side of the road.

“Honey, do you need a doctor?” Tom asked, as I lay reclined in the passenger seat.

“No. I need to go home.”

“Okay.”

He obliged, and took me home. Fifteen minutes later, I was settled on the couch, where I spent the entire afternoon. I read every story in the folder, watched Lifetime movies, and snuggled with the kittens. Tom blew up balloons and I drew frightening faces which, in my altered state, turned out more terrifying than either of us could have expected.

“Okay, I'm going to go put them out there,” he said, and I opened my eyes with a start. I couldn't believe how weak I felt, and I wondered if I should have taken Tom up on his offer to get me to a doctor.

“Honey, I hate to say this, because I know how hard you tried last week, but you look positively awful,” he said.

“I look like I feel. Maybe it's Bird Flu,” I said weakly, and Tom chuckled. We'd sufficiently recovered a part of our youth, at least the part where I said ridiculous things, and Tom failed to hide his amusement.

“Honey?” he said, and I opened my eyes, unaware I'd closed them.

“Hmm,” I replied, lazily.

“I'm going to the store to get you some soup. I'll be back long before any kids might come.” He picked up the cordless phone and laid it by my side. “In case you need anything.”

Like 911?

I wasn't sure how long Tom was gone, as I was positively comatose in his absence. I remained that way until late in the night, and vaguely recall him carrying me to our bed. I was asleep again almost immediately.

Mandy Patinkin stood in the middle of my yard in the moonlight. The ghoulish balloons bobbed in the wind.

“
What are you doing here?” I asked.

“
I was in the neighborhood.”

“
Seriously?”

“
You find this odd?” he asked.

“
Not so much. My neighbor might be a serial killer. I'd bet the farm there are bodies in his basement.”

“
I wouldn't know. I'm not here for him. I'm here for you.”

“
Are you going to profile me?”

“
Have you killed anyone?”

“
I think about it now and then,” I admitted.

“Mona? What are you doing in the road in your pajamas?” Tom asked from the porch.

“Mandy stopped by.”

“Who?” he asked, coming toward me.

“Mandy,” I said, pointing to the spot where my guest had just stood. “Where did he go?”

“Where did who go, honey?” Tom asked, just before I fainted.

Fourteen

Monday

A couple of days with a stomach bug makes

all other problems seem trivial.

As it turned out, I did not have Bird Flu. I had a stomach bug, was severely dehydrated, and spent an entire night in the hospital with a frightened husband by my side. If I'd been remotely conscious, I am confident this would have ticked me off tremendously. Six days after my fabulous makeover, there I was, deathly pale, wearing a green hospital gown, a red hospital bracelet, and yellow tape on my IV. I was like a half-dead rainbow.

Twenty-four hours later, I was on the mend and able to stand, but didn't feel well enough to stand at the express line for seven hours. I milked the hospital thing for all it was worth, and managed to buy myself two extra days off from my blue-aproned responsibilities.

It was Monday, so I saw Tom off, and crashed on the couch, where I remained until noon. By mid-afternoon I felt pretty good. I attributed this to a number of things. Tom had purchased some lovely breakfast tea, of which I'd consumed two cups. I'd successfully kept down an entire piece of toast, crust included, and had enjoyed two full hours of People's Court, reminding me I was far less screwed up than I thought.

My worried husband checked on me numerous times with text messages. Every time the phone vibrated, a kitten pounced on it. I felt positively adored, and the cats were having a blast.

The most recent text message had come in ten minutes ago, and this one peaked my interest. It differed from the others, and I thought it over as I sipped tea while Duke climbed the curtain behind me.

“Get down, buddy,” I reprimanded with so little force the cat didn't even blink. I read the text one more time.

I'll be home around five or so. I forgot to tell you about the stuff in the garage. It may seem strange, but I think this could work for us. Love you.

“Hmm, I said, calculating the distance between the couch and the garage. I decided to check it out.

There was nothing stopping me, save my appearance. I couldn't imagine walking out the front door in the state I was in, so I took a quick shower and rinsed away the crud from my bout with a forty-eight hour flu. I didn't wash my hair, and figured I'd worry about that later when Tom would be on hand, in case anyone had to call for an EMT.

I dressed in my worn jeans, and Tom's old college sweatshirt. I added a baseball hat just in case the mailman came, Thurman was skulking about, or it was pouring crap.

I picked up a half-masticated yarn ball and chucked it down the basement stairs. The kittens followed it like two teenage girls chasing Justin Bieber, and I closed the door. I headed outside and took a deep breath of cool autumn air. It was great to be outdoors, and I found myself feeling almost human again.

I carefully descended the stairs, and headed toward the garage. The yard was free of birds, and I wondered if maybe they'd left for good. I didn't think so, but at the moment, I just didn't care.
Out of sight, out of mind!

I reached the garage and once inside, hit the light switch. Nothing.