Becoming Mona Lisa (20 page)

I held up a bright yellow pair, and noticed one shoe was obviously much larger than the other. The left was a size nine, the right, a size six. “Good God,” I mumbled, wondering who in the world thought this was funny. I rifled through the remaining hundred-or-so pairs, and discovered each size six was paired with a size nine. Evidently the rocket scientists who'd put these together were standing opposite one another.

“God give me strength,” I complained, as I began cutting the security elastic. I expected an alarm would sound, or the FBI might close in on me, and relaxed when neither occurred. I spent the next hour correcting the six/nine debacle, then - realizing I had no time to spare - began stocking shoe shelves like a madwoman.

“Mona Siggs pick up on line one,” filled the store, and I groaned.

Now what had I done?

I found the nearest phone, and was surprised to discover my Tom was the caller.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just wanted to call you before you saw the news,” he said, and this worried me.
Had we made the news?

“What happened?”

“Somebody blew up the deer car,” he said, nearly squealing with delight.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I blurted.

“No. It was all over the noon news. I was so damned happy I had to call you myself. Can you pick me up after work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. We're just wrapping up with the police.”

“Do they think you did it?” I asked, and he chuckled.

“I wish I had. I was inside the showroom when it happened. I heard an explosion, looked out the window, and saw a deer head flying across the parking lot.”

I found this hysterical, and my outburst of laughter caught the attention of some sneaker shoppers. “Honey, I have to go,” I said.

“No problem. I just didn't want you to think I was in the car when it happened, just in case you saw the news.”

“Thanks. Oh, and Tom?”

“What's that?”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks, babe,” Tom said.

I hung the bat phone back up on the pole, and scowled. The shoppers had totally messed up the Feng Shui I'd spent the last two hours performing in the shoe department.

“Damn,” I whispered, as I righted the shoes that had been haphazardly tossed about.

Once I was done, I wandered to the next aisle to get the cart, checking each shoe rack as I passed. I didn't much care for stocking shelves, but I prided myself on a job well done. I wanted the place to look super before I left.

I rounded the corner, and the cart was gone. “Sonovabitch,” I whispered, wondering who the heck had stolen it.

I returned to the pole, picked up the phone and dialed the stockroom. Joe no-last-name answered, and I announced, with some self deprecation, I'd lost the cart.

“I came back for it,” Joe explained, and I didn't need to ask why.

“Um....., okay, Joe. See you in a bit.” I lumbered back to the stockroom. I had fifteen minutes and couldn't imagine what I could accomplish in that time.

As it turned out, Joe didn't have any further assignments for me, so I wandered back to check on the cat food aisle. All looked well, and I assumed whoever had foraged through the shoe department didn't own a cat.

Promptly at five, I clocked out and headed to the Bucks County Auto Super Store, which was a madhouse when I arrived. My Jeep quickly disappeared into a sea of emergency vehicles, which I found surprising. If this thing had made the noon news, I had to figure the emergency had pretty much passed.

I found Tom by the front door, where he stood talking to an attractive older man who wielded a microphone and camera crew. I heard a strong male voice behind me, and turned to find myself face to face with a police officer.

“Evenin', ma'am,” he said politely.

“Should I not be here?” I asked.

“Just don't stray into the crime scene.”

“Um, okay,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

A large area of the parking lot had been cordoned off by yellow police tape. Inside the radius, bite-sized bits of deer parts were indicated by plastic evidence markers. One intact deer leg protruded from the car's charred remains. The entire scene was macabre, and I felt my stomach jump. “You're not here to arrest my husband, are you?” I asked the deputy.

“Who's your husband?” he asked, and I pointed at my Tom, who had seemingly escalated to celebrity status. Now he was talking to a woman, with a matching camera crew.

Evidently things were slow in Oxford Valley. This “crime” was getting serious press.

“Mona Siggs?” the officer asked, and I squinted at him.

“Yeah?” I mumbled, wondering if I had some outstanding warrants or something. Had I recently broken the law? I may have. I didn't know the law that well. Maybe Denise had turned me in for crimes against humanity, but come on, I was looking a heck of a lot better these days!

“I'm Ed Mulpepper,” the cop said, and I relaxed. “You work with my mom.”

“Ed Mulpepper, how about that,” I said. Evidently Beth's kids were playing both sides of the law. One was in jail, and the other was responsible for putting people there. “I didn't know Beth had a son who was a cop.”

“There's six of us. All boys,” he said, and I suddenly understood why Beth dyed her hair. “Mom's in a bit of a snit about Ernie nowadays. He's always in trouble, but he's the reason I became a cop. I figured if there were more idiots out there like Ernie, this career had job security.”

“That's putting a positive spin on things,” I offered, wondering if Beth saw it that way.

Maybe she did. Seemed like Ernie was providing a public service, like some kind of career adviser.

I turned at the sound of another male voice, this one familiar. “You done with the paparazzi, babe?” I asked, and Tom smiled.

“Yeah. Things seem to be winding down.”

“Tom, this is Ed Mulpepper, Beth's son. You remember Beth,” I said with a sly smile.

Tom put his hand out, and shook the one the cop extended. “Don't leave town, Mr. Siggs,” Deputy Ed said, sounding official. Something momentarily tightened in my abdomen, until I realized Ed was smiling.

“Where would I go, and how would I get there?” my husband asked. “That was my car that exploded.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Ed said.

“You wouldn't be if you'd seen it before today,” Tom replied, and I chuckled.

We headed out, and I turned one last time to wave to the deputy. It was good to have the law on your side, especially if you were a Siggs, and more importantly, if you occasionally destroyed your neighbor's property, or pointed an unlicensed firearm at him.

Fifteen minutes later, we rounded the corner of our street, and I tensed when I heard my husband gasp. “Holy shit,” Tom whispered, and I sat up straighter in the passenger seat.

As promised, Robbie had completed the scarecrows, but they weren't quite what we expected. Instead of a plastic squad of flannel-clad scarecrows, our field was filled with drag queens in every imaginable manner of outrageous dress. A beautiful blond mannequin, in true Marilyn Monroe style, commandeered the pack. I stared at them, this intersection where
To Wong Fu,
met
Children of the Corn.

“Splendid,” I said, and Tom glared at me and practically growled. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

He flew out of the car, and stormed across the lawn. I followed. For once, we paid no attention to the crows. “Tom? Be gentle!” I demanded.

“Robbie!!” Tom yelled. “Get your ass out here!! Now!!”

Robbie skipped down the stairs. I braced myself for what I assumed would be pandemonium. Tom Siggs didn't often get angry, and the bathroom event held the number one spot for the most rage I'd ever seen in my husband.

“What the fuck did you do?” Tom yelled, and I tensed. There was the magic word, that four-letter, multi-functional, overused unit of language that suggested a Tom Siggs-style apocalypse was about to commence.

“Come on, man,” Robbie began, sounding defensive. “Lighten up!”

Tom twitched as his brother approached, and I swear to God, I thought he was going to deck him. No matter who he slept with, or what he might wear behind closed doors, Robbie was a construction worker by trade, and as such, could likely knock my husband flat.

“Tom, don't do it!” I begged, my voice rising toward hysteria. I cast a glance across the street, and felt my fanny start to sweat. I had no idea how this was gonna shake out, but I knew we didn't need an audience.

“THAT IS NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO!!” Tom screamed.

“You don't like it?” Robbie asked playfully, and Tom made a fist.

Sonovabitch!

“Robbie, come here!” I hollered from the safety of the driveway. I almost prayed for the avian firestorm to begin. At least we'd be driven indoors.

“Do you know what Dad would do if he saw this?” Tom asked, and my eyes filled with tears.

“Don't bring him into this,” Robbie said.

“Dad would die another death if he saw this, if he knew what you were!” Tom yelled, and I silently thanked God for the remote location in which we lived. We could keep our insanity pretty much to ourselves, and I'd have many acres to choose from when the time came to hide my husband's body.

“Bastard,” I intended to yell. Instead, the word came out in a ragged whisper.

“HE KNEW!” Robbie screamed, falling to his knees. “He knew, Tommy.”

I ran to my brother-in-law and took him in my arms. “Stop, Tom,” I said, and he sat beside me on the soft ground.

“He did?” Tom asked, and Robbie nodded.

I offered no support. It wasn't that I couldn't, or didn't want to. I'd been rendered incapable. I just sat there sobbing, and rocking Robbie back and forth.

I'd always thought my Tom had a pretty normal childhood. Marcus Siggs had been president of a local bank. He'd supported an upper, middle-class home. Doris Siggs stayed home, baked cookies, went to PTA meetings, chaperoned field trips, and helped out with the Drama Club. She was the closest thing to real maternal perfection I'd ever seen.

I swiped away any lingering tears, and sighed. “Can we go inside and talk?”

“I'm gonna go in my room and call Jason first,” Robbie said, as we walked. “Don't say anything, Tom. Just let me be for a while.”

I sat at the kitchen table for thirty minutes thinking about the dynamics of family.

I'd grown up, without pretension, in a little salt box house with few luxuries and no secrets. The Harrisons were an open book, and I was reminded not to judge one by its cover. I knew things were rarely, or never, what they seemed. The Siggs had lived inside a stately colonial, covered by white brick – regal stone that separated the outside world from the lies within.

I heard a low murmur down the hall. Robbie was holed up in his room, talking to his lover, someone who accepted him for exactly who he was. Tom had gone for a walk, in the opposite direction of the mannequins. Although they may not have been what we expected, they were working. I didn't see a crow anywhere.

Eventually I heard my husband's footsteps on the porch. I gave him a few minutes, then went to join him. We sat across from each other at the table. I looked at him; he looked away.

“I should have protected him,” Tom whispered, and I felt a sob in my throat.

“It's okay,” I said, reaching for his hand. He pulled away, and I inhaled sharply.

“Mona, look at me,” he asked, and I did. “You used to seem repulsed by me. Was there something in you who saw the monster in me?” I started to answer, but Tom went on before I could. “I should have helped him. He was just a confused kid.”

“You're not a monster,” Robbie said from the doorway. “Neither am I.”

Tom was crying, something he rarely did.

“We're just different, Tommy. You love Mona. I'm different because I love Jason, but I'm also the same, because I love you, and Mom, and I loved Dad, too.”

“When did Dad find out?” my husband asked, as Robbie took the seat between me and Tom.

“Senior year. Mom was at PTA, or something, and you were at college. Dad came home unexpectedly, and I had a friend at the house. Let's just say we weren't knitting when Dad interrupted us.”

“Holy shit,” I whispered. Tom groaned, but said nothing.

“That big check he gave me after graduation wasn't for college. It was so I'd leave.”

“I'm sorry, Rob,” Tom said softly, and I could hear the pain in his voice.

“I talked to him once while he was sick. He was so bad by then he didn't seem to know who I was. I think, in his mind, he only had one son. I decided that day to stay away for good.”

“He was so sick, Robbie. He may not have known what he was saying,” Tom said.

“I heard him loud and clear,” Robbie said through a whimper. “I stayed away as long as I could, but it's not fair to Mom, or to you. I still need you and Mom. I don't care if you accept this, but don't shut me out. Not like he did.”

Tom was unable to speak. “We accept you, and you're always welcome here,” I told Robbie. “Now, look. Sometimes things have to get really screwed up before they can get better, and that business in the field – that is pretty screwed up.” Tom laughed, and eventually, Robbie did, too. “I know you were mad when you saw it, Tom, but look at us now. We're talking about this, and it's important. It's important to Robbie, and me, and I know it's important to you, too,” I said, looking at my husband. This time when I reached for his hand, he didn't pull away.