Becoming Mona Lisa (24 page)

“
Okay,” I whispered.

We ate quietly and smiled at each other from time to time. When we finished, Tom patted the blanket beside him. “Come here,” he said, and I moved closer to him. He didn't kiss me, he just pulled me close. We sat for a long time listening to the muted sounds beyond this abandoned place to which we'd brought new meaning.

“
We should go,” Tom said softly.

I paused for a moment, just long enough to memorize the gentle winking in the night sky, the smell of the wind, the security of Tom's embrace. “Thank you for this, and for loving me,” I whispered. “You're my Frederick, too.”

Twenty-One

Friday

Five o'clock in the morning, in an all-night diner,

after a great night, is amazing.

Under any other circumstances, it just sucks.

After two failed attempts, we finally had a successful romantic evening. I was reliving it in my mind as I sat at the kitchen table on Friday morning, which felt more like the middle of Thursday night. Beth had asked me to work the early shift, which meant I had to report to WalMart at six in the morning.

Upon returning home from our picnic, I modeled the teddy for my Tom. All thoughts of the floodlights and crows were abandoned, in favor or our reignited sex life. We broke in the rug as planned, and slept most of the night there. Tom shuffled to our bed just before five o'clock, and I sleepwalked to the spa for a shower.

Showered, dressed and half asleep, I landed back at the kitchen table where I sat sipping high test coffee from Aunt Ida's Myrtle Beach mug. When I was finished, I put my mug in the fridge, the milk in the sink, and staggered to the bedroom to plant a kiss on the cheek of my sleeping husband. I fought the urge to crawl in bed with him, and at just before six, I was waiting on the porch for Beth Mulpepper.

Although we celebrated the unexpected death of the deer car, it presented a new problem. With Robbie's Dodge Ram in long-term parking at the Philadelphia airport, we had become a one-car family. United in our problem-solving efforts, Tom offered to pick me up at WalMart at the end of my shift, and while he finished his at the Super Store, I'd select a new vehicle.

Beth was right on time, and I lumbered down the sidewalk with the telltale gait of someone who'd had too little sleep. I hopped into her late model Civic, and greeted her with another loud yawn.

“Morning,” she mumbled, sounding like she wasn't much of a morning person, either.

“Morning,” I repeated. The sky was not yet lit, and I felt a bit like I had jet lag, without the flying.

“I got us coffee,” Beth said, pointing to two large coffee cups in the center console.

“You rock,” I said, grabbing one greedily. “So, does anyone actually go to WalMart at six o'clock in the morning? Other than the two of us, of course.”

“You'd be surprised,” Beth said, and I was.

The parking lot was speckled with cars when we arrived, and I gazed at them in astonishment. Of all the things I'd entertained doing at six in the morning, shopping at WalMart had never been one of them. Normal people were asleep at this hour.

My entire shift passed uneventfully, and looking back, I expect it was because I slept through most of it. I was upright and my eyes were open, but I was certain the true essence of Mona, the parts that made me uniquely me, were in my bed, snoring up a storm.

Tom picked me up at ten past three, and I was already outside, chatting with Beth. He pulled in front of the giant doors, and rolled down the window. I blurted a quick goodbye to my boss, circled the Jeep and hopped in. Tom looked at me when he heard the passenger door.

“Uh, oh,” he said, and I shot him the death stare.

“What's 'uh oh?'” I asked.

“You're not holding a Fudge Round,” Tom said, and I arched a brow at him. My mind was fuzzy, and I was in no mood to play the Tom Siggs “find the hidden meaning in this sentence,” game.

“So?” I asked.

“Then you're sitting on it,” he explained, and I reached beneath my khaki-covered bottom, and came up with a handful of Fudge Round muck.

“What the hell?” I said, and Tom chuckled. “Why'd you leave it on the seat?”

“I'm trying to wean myself off them.”

“What?” I asked, feeling an inkling of disgust.

“You know how when people are trying to quit smoking, they go as long as they can without taking a puff?”

“I've never smoked, but I get what you mean.”

“I was seeing how long I could travel with the Fudge Round without actually eating it.”

“That's asinine,” I mumbled.

“I don't know. I think it's working pretty well. Now that it's plastered to your butt, I won't be eating it, will I?”

We drove the rest of the way in silence. Tom kept his eyes on the road, and I sat quietly in the Little Debbie chocolate quagmire. We pulled into the parking lot of the Super Store, and I looked at my husband.

“What are we doing?” I asked, as he pulled in front of the showroom. The deer car carcass was gone, although the parking lot was still scorched.

“I thought you were going to pick out a car.”

“Well, that was before I sat in your Little Debbie Cessation Project,” I growled.

“Hmm. Yeah, that's a problem. Can't very well have you wandering around the car lot in your knickers, can we?” he said, in a humorous tone. I wasn't amused, and I let him know it.

“This is why I used to lie awake thinking up ways to kill you,” I said, hating myself almost instantly. Tom laughed at this, which pissed me off more, but only fleetingly. Finally, I chuckled and relaxed, which didn't solve the problem of my chocolate-covered ass. “So, what are our options here?”

He reached into the back seat and extracted a large bag. “The drag queen clothes are all in here,” he said. “I'd planned to drop them at the theater at lunch time, but I forgot.”

He passed me the bag. “I'm going to shop for a car in this?”

And that's how it came to be that I picked out a Toyota Rav-4, while dressed in sequins.

Tom and I hatched a plan to tell everyone I was doing a theater production in a neighboring town, and I am pretty sure I got a few bucks off because of the plunging neckline.

At just past five o'clock, I'd signed a ton of paperwork, and my husband and I were in the Jeep heading home.

“You're really shiny,” Tom said, and although I was amused, I glared at him.

“Shut up, Rainman.”

“So, I tell all my customers that buying a new car is a memorable experience. Would you agree, Marilyn?” Tom asked, and I punched him.

“I'd agree, and incidentally, you owe me pizza for this,” I said. I was of the mindset that nearly every debt could be paid with pizza. Pizza was biblical, inarguable proof of God's love for mankind.

“Deal. I'll drop you off and you can call Joe's while I unload the floodlights. Or, we could just point you at the trees.”

“Let it go, Tom,” I demanded, as we pulled into the driveway.

Thurman Pippin was outside walking his dog, and I felt my stomach roll. We'd barely seen him since the night he'd murdered Marilyn, and this had worked out nicely for us. I didn't think we could live peacefully. It was best if we completely avoided each other.

I climbed out of the Jeep, and slammed the door without realizing I'd caught the dress's hem in the door jam. Before I could right myself, I tumbled to the driveway.

Thurman found this hysterical and I glared at him. I wondered if Miriam Pippin had dreamed up ways to kill her husband, and I wondered how much different my life would be if she had.

“You becoming a drag queen now, Missus?” Thurman yelled, as Tom extracted me from the Jeep.

“I'm doing theater!” I hollered, maintaining the lie we'd told at the Super Store.

“Sure hope you're not singin',” Thurman remarked.

I sulked and strolled up the sidewalk while Tom unloaded the floodlights. He hopped back into the Jeep, and I sashayed into the kitchen. I called Joe's, and headed toward the bathroom. I appraised myself in the mirror and decided I actually liked the dress.

I slipped out of the sequined garment, hung it in my closet, pulled on my sweats, and threw the chocolate-covered khakis in the washing machine.

Weaning himself off Little Debbie's by riding around in the car with them?

And I thought I was nuts.

I meandered into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I normally didn't drink anything but decaf in the evening, but I was so tired, I figured I could sleep through Bucks County being blown off the map.

I'd just sat down with a steaming mug when the phone rang. I was so spaced out, my body heaved as if I'd just been electrocuted, and the coffee erupted like a volcano.

“Dammit,” I mumbled. “What, Tom?” I rattled into the phone, pretty sure it would be my husband.

“I'm gonna shoot yer cat,” a voice growled, and I felt two sips of coffee rush to my bladder.

“What?” I asked with a trembling voice.

“Your damn cat is beating up my chihuahua. Come git it or I'm gonna shoot it.”

“Mr Pippin?” I guessed correctly.

“Is yer damn cat beatin' on someone else's chihuahua? Yeah, it's Pippin. Now, you come git this thing or I'm gonna shoot it.”

“The deputy warned you about this,” I reminded him, and he grunted.

“He said I couldn't shoot you. Didn't say nothin' about shooting this little bastard.”

“It's a kitten, Thurman. It's not hurting anything.” I hadn't seen Daisy or Duke since I got home, and I had no idea how either of them could have gotten out. “I'm on my way,” I said loudly.

Click.

I looked out the window, and sure enough, one of the kittens was literally beating the stuffing out of Thurman's dog. I laughed, then forced my feet into my sneakers without untying them.

I made quick work of collecting my “little bastard,” and at first glance I couldn't tell if it was Daisy or Duke. I picked up the cat, tucked it under my arm, and took off at a sprint for the safety of my house.

Once inside, I lifted the kitten's tail, determined it was Duke, and set out on a hunt for his sister. “Daisy?” I called, checking each room and finding no sign of the missing feline.

“Damn,” I whispered, half expecting the phone would ring again, and there would be another threat on another of my pet's lives. I passed through the kitchen, and the phone remained quiet. I grabbed my cell off the washing machine, and dialed Tom.

“How close are you?” I asked, the moment he answered.

“About halfway home. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Daisy's missing,” I said, sounding shaken.

“Who?” he asked.

“Our cat?”

“Right. Sorry, babe. I keep forgetting their names.”

“We have to find her. Duke beat up Princess, and Thurman threatened to shoot him.”

“Jeez, Mona. I can't leave you for thirty minutes.”

“I know. Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Okay, sit tight. We'll find her.” And he hung up.

I kept searching until I heard the Jeep in the driveway, followed by Tom's footsteps on the porch. Immediately, my cell rang. A photo of the deer car flashed on the display.

“Tom?” I said into the phone.

“Come to the front door. I found your cat.”

The phone clicked.

I walked to the foyer, and opened the door. Daisy was hanging on the screen door.

“Now that's something you don't see every day,” I said, and Tom chuckled.

I pried the kitten from the door, and tucked her under my arm. Duke was in the kitchen on the rug, licking his business, seemingly unaffected by the return of his sibling.

“I've often thought it was somewhat of a shame we couldn't do that,” Tom said, and I turned.

“What?”

“That,” he said, pointing at Duke, who was still busy grooming parts unknown.

I rolled my eyes, and grabbed some paper plates. “I'm hungry,” I said, and we both sat at the table. “You didn't want to do anything tonight, did you?” I was exhausted, and was content hanging out in the new living room and zoning in front of the television.

“I gotta set up the floodlights. After that, we can just hang out.”

“Good,” I said, and we proceeded to plow through the pizza like we'd just been voted off the Survivor island.

Once we had our fill, I shoved the box into the refrigerator, and followed Tom to the front yard. It was pitch black out, and although I carried a flashlight, I had no desire to use it.

I knew evil things lurked in the darkness. I didn't need to see them.

Tom had the lights laid out on the lawn. He knelt beside the first one, and I knelt beside him. Something crunched beneath my knees, and I turned on the flashlight.

“What's wrong?” he asked, as he fiddled with the first floodlight.

“I don't know,” I said, scanning the ground around me. “Holy shit!”