Becoming Mona Lisa (9 page)

We made it to the porch, and stood staring at a scene straight out of the Wizard of Oz.

The only thing missing was Thurman riding by on a bicycle with the chihuahua crammed into a basket.

“The Taco Bell,” Tom said, and I groaned.

“It's in the Jeep, isn't it?” I asked, and he nodded. He shot me a look, and I shook my head. “No way.”

“Okay, get me an umbrella.”

“For what?” I asked.

“I need something to protect me from the shit.”

“Good God above,” I said, and although it should have been funny, it wasn't. I didn't have a clue what was happening, or how to make it stop.

He opened the umbrella, and I gasped as he pulled me to him. He pressed his lips to mine, and spoke softly into my hair. “If I don't come back, don't pine for me. I want you to go on with your life.”

“Will you write?” I asked, and although he smiled, I saw my fear reflected in his eyes.

“Every day.”

“Great. Now go get the food.”

Tom returned in less than two minutes. The umbrella was ruined. “We have a serious problem, Mona,” he announced.

“No kidding. What the hell do we do?”

“I have no idea,” he said.

Tom slammed the door between us and the air show, and I followed him into the kitchen.

“I don't think I can eat,” I whined.

“It's Taco Bell. You could eat Taco Bell during the apocalypse.”

“Good point,” I said.

We parked at the kitchen table, and ate the Taco Bell. It would have tasted better if there hadn't been crows flying past our window, but we did the best we could.

“I have bad news for you,” Tom said, and I stopped chewing and stared at him.

“Worse than that?” I asked, pointing out the window.

“Yeah. I think you have poop in your hair.”

“Oh, my God!!!” I said, standing up suddenly. “Do I?”

“It's supposed to be good luck,” he said, positioning me under the half-busted light fixture.

“Is there bird poop on me?” I whined.

“Yeah.”

“Gross, gross, gross!! I gotta get it out,” I said, running for the bathroom.

“Start the shower,” Tom yelled from down the hall.

“I think I'm okay,” I said, having found nothing in my hair resembling bird goo.

“I want to take a shower,” Tom said.

He was directly behind me and I faced him. “Right now?” I asked.

“Yes. Right now. With you, Mona. I'd like to take my naked wife into the shower with me.”

Sweet Jesus.

I'd taken care of the pedicure, but when had I last shaved my legs? Last week? Last month? Last summer?

Okay, I'm good. I shaved yesterday as part of my spectacular makeover.

Tom stood in the doorway in his boxer shorts. He was nicely built, with a trim body he sustained, despite his consumption of Little Debbie's in anything but moderation. I touched him, placing my hand on his chest, and he inhaled sharply. “Five years is a long time,” he whispered, and I sighed. “I'd like to make love to my wife.”

“In here?” I asked, and he looked around and chuckled.

“Sheesh. Care to accompany me to our bedroom?” he asked, and I felt myself wobble. There it was, the fear again. “Mona? Are you all right?”

“I'm scared, Tom.”

“Honey?” he said, in a soft voice.

“Yeah?” I whispered.

“I'm scared, too.” I relaxed almost instantly, and slid effortlessly into my husband's arms. There was none of the frantic haste of the night before, and we stood in the hallway, on the yellow shag carpeting, clinging to each other.

“I feel a little lost,” I admitted, and Tom pulled me closer.

“Maybe you're in the bedroom,” Tom said, and I smiled at him. He was so typically male. “Let's go look,” he said.

I hesitated. “Don't be afraid of me, Mona.”

He was so gentle, he took my breath away, and when he reached for me again, I fell against him. He led me to our bedroom. The shades were closed, the curtains drawn. A single candle burned on the nightstand.

I smelled roses, and as I followed him to the bed, something crunched beneath my feet.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Rose petals,” he said.

“Where did you get rose petals?”

“From a bag of Ida's potpourri,” he said, and I laughed until my sides ached. I had to give the man credit, he was trying.

Tom sat beside me. For a moment, we said nothing. The furnace hummed, the house creaked, but we remained silent as we considered the magnitude of the moment.

“
This is a new beginning, Mona.”

“
I know,” I whispered, feeling the tentacles of fear reach for me once more.

“
We have to start again. It's the only way.”

“
Okay.”

My husband stood and reached for my hand. I stood before him.

“
I'm Tom Siggs,” he said, and I smiled.

“
Mona Lisa Harrison,” I replied.

“
I love you,” my husband whispered.

“
We just met,” I said.

“
I know.”

“
I love you, too,” I whispered, sitting beside him on our bed. He leaned toward me, and I could almost see him in the flickering light. He pressed his lips to mine, and gently kissed me. I kissed him back, softly at first, then with a passion that made my heart race, reminiscent of the first time his lips had met mine.

From the first moment, I'd known.

We both had.

This was the boy who was made for me, the girl born to love only him. How had we forgotten?

His lips left mine and he gently pulled away.

“
Hi,” he whispered, and I felt electricity in the room, the powerful pull of uninhibited intimacy.

Tom reached for me again, and gently undressed me. It should have felt odd to be standing naked in the candlelight with this man I'd just met.

It didn't.

It felt familiar, and incredibly lonely, all at once.

It was like returning to a place you'd once been, a place you'd missed so much it left a
hole in your soul. Only you didn't know, until by some miracle, you found your way back.

“Make love to me, Tom,” I whispered in the dark.

“You're sure?” he asked.

“I'm sure.”

He stood and pulled me to him, and my breath caught when his bare skin touched mine. I remembered the contour of his shoulder, the scar that teenage stupidity had branded on his hip, the feel of his breath on my face. I shuddered as he hardened against me.

He inhaled sharply as my fingers brushed him, and his lips found mine. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle claiming, until his tongue touched mine. I gasped as his hand sought the most intimate parts of me, as he found the one location any man can without a map.

I moaned as a long-dead passion came alive inside me. My knees buckled, but Tom's stroking was unrelenting. He held me tight, as my heart raced and blood rushed to my head.

“Be careful,” I said through a gasp.

“Of what?”

“Cobwebs.”

Tom laughed and pulled me closer, and we fell onto the bed in each others' arms.

“You're crazy, Mona Lisa, and I love you.”

Tom gently positioned himself above me. We fit perfectly together, two halves of one mold.

“I love you, too,” I said breathlessly.

He smiled, and blew out the candle.

Nine

Wednesday

Having a friend is a wonderful thing

Being a friend is even greater.

Shards of sunlight crept through the rusty blinds on my bedroom window, and I woke to find myself in a game of horizontal Twister. I disengaged myself from my husband's lanky limbs, relaxed against him and listened to his even breathing. I turned slowly, and sat up, naked, save the wrinkled cotton sheet over my legs. I sat in silence, watching my husband sleep. I traced his jawline, touched his lips, as I became reacquainted with the man I loved.

He didn't stir.

I had made love to this man in the night hours, as the world slept. Afterward we'd whispered in the dark. We'd lost hours of sleep, but gained a lifetime, a fresh start, a rare chance to wipe the slate clean and forgive all that had come before the night we met again, and began anew.

I gazed at my husband like I had the first morning we'd woken up together, in the house he shared with four college buddies, the house that smelled like feet and Pop Tarts.

I had barely slept but I felt wonderful, like I wanted to call someone, maybe brag a little, like I used to do with Kat Kimble who'd been my best friend in high school. I bragged to Kat when I kissed Timothy Miller, not knowing that she had, too, that Timothy had kissed everyone. Now Timothy Miller was fat and angry, and no one wanted to kiss him. Served him right for taking advantage of the preteen estrogen at the Roller Dome.

I really wanted to call Kat, but no one knew what happened to her. At my ten-year high school reunion, someone said she was in Utah, in a polygamist colony, with seven kids, and six sister wives, but you couldn't trust a word out of the mouths of most of the idiots I'd gone to school with.

Kat had a history of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and seeing things she shouldn't see. I figured it was most likely she was in Witness Protection, and I added finding her to my mental list of things to do. I was deep in thought, fully immersed in my odd, nude reminiscing, when Tom stirred.

“Morning,” he whispered, covering his nakedness with the bedsheets.

I smiled, feeling the same shy embarrassment, and I fought the urge to cover myself, too.

He touched my breast, and I giggled.

“Morning.”

“I feel like I should go, but I just remembered I live here,” Tom said, and I laughed.

“Lucky you,” I said jokingly.

“Yes. Lucky me,” he said, his tone unmatched to mine. “Are we okay, Mona?”

“I think so. Are we?” I asked.

“I would have to say that's affirmative,” Tom said, sounding incredibly professional for one whose Mister Twinkie was flying at nearly full mast.

“Would you like to put that to use?” I said, and he laughed.

“I'd love to if there were no such things as used cars.”

“Oh, shit. We have jobs, don't we?”

“We do.”

“Can we skip them, like we used to skip Marion Robard's Intro to Psychology?”

“We cannot. We're adults now.”

“Damn the bad luck,” I said, feeling playful.

“I'm going to miss you today,” Tom said, sounding serious.

“Me too.”

Something screamed outside the window, and I felt my blood run cold. “The birds are back.”

“It does sound that way,” Tom said, and I groaned, and covered myself.

This romantic moment has been interrupted by reality.

“Why are they here, Tom?”

“I have no idea.”

“Will they leave on their own?” I asked, sounding desperate.

“You know, Mona, I'm just not sure,” Tom said. There was no sarcasm in his tone, so unlike the other Tom I'd lived with for five years. “I wish I was a crow expert, but I'm not. I'm not even a Saturn expert, and I sell the damn things.”

I smiled at him.

“I'll see what I can find out, honey. For now, let's try not to get too freaked out over them.”

“Okay.”

I headed for the kitchen, and while Tom showered, I figured out how to use the new coffeemaker - in seven languages - and brewed a pot. We met at the table about ten minutes later.

“You look nice.” Tom wore pinstriped gray trousers, paired with a blue dress shirt, and striped tie.

“I'm calling Princeton admissions today about my teaching certification. I dressed for the occasion.” He looked enormously proud of himself, and I was proud, too. “I want you to do something for me today. Or something for yourself, I guess I should say.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“I want you to think about what you'd like to do with the rest of your life.”

“Seriously, Tom? I'm not even sure what I want for breakfast.”

“Okay, I could have worded that differently. If you had the chance to do something else, other than working at WalMart, what would it be?”

“Jeez. I'm not sure,” I said. I'd worked at WalMart for so long I felt like a fixture. The store
was practically my second home. The idea of leaving filled me with a sudden sadness and I frowned.

“What's wrong?” Tom asked.

“I don't know. I think maybe I like my job more than I thought.”