A Little Bit of Everything Lost (33 page)

“With you, anything,” he smiled back, his arms still around her. Marnie led Stuart to the back of the van where Trey and Jeremy tried to get a glimpse at the surprise.

Marnie opened the door. A black ball of fur bolted out of the van and Trey and Jeremy tumbled to the ground. The kids were tangled in a pile and the puppy licked their faces and jumped on the boys while they howled and screamed.

Stuart looked at Marnie.

“A puppy?” he asked.

“Our puppy.”

“A doggy!” Trey shrieked.

“You got us our dog!” Jeremy yelled as the pup licked his face and climbed onto his stomach.

“I got you
your
dog!” Marnie could barely contain her excitement. They had been wanting this for so long.

“Oh wow, Mom!” Jeremy screeched, “Can we name it Bast– ”

Marnie and Stuart, at the same time, yelled, “
No!
”

Stuart put his arm around Marnie and kissed her. She looked at her husband, then at her children, who were piled onto the frozen ground with their new puppy. Marnie laughed and leaned into Stuart, grateful for the chance to love him and her children the way they deserved to be loved. And Marnie was also grateful for understanding finally that she could also love herself, wholly and completely, despite the choices she had made in the past.

“I’ll go grab my camera,” she said to Stuart, but first she knelt down by the boys and they smothered her in kisses.

“
Thank you Mommy! We love our puppy!” Trey said, tangling his arms around Marnie’s neck.

“
You’re the best mommy in the world!” Jeremy yelled, and the puppy bounced onto Marnie and licked her face. She was trying, she was trying so very hard. She knew it would take some time, but they had plenty of that.

“
I’ll get the camera,” Stuart leaned down and kissed Marnie again, full on the lips. “You stay here and play with our boys.”

Marnie’s Playlist:

Take Me Home – Phil Co
llins

Love Song – The Cure

Add It Up – Violent Femmes

Sign Your Name – Terrence Trent D’Arby

Sweet Child O’ Mine – Guns N’ Roses

How Can I Fall – Breathe

Dead Man’s Party – Oingo Boingo

Pour Some Sugar on Me – Def Leppard

Faithfully – Journey

Bizarre Love Triangle – New Order

Groovy Kind of Love – Phil Collins

Say It Isn’t So – The Outfield

Any Way You Want It – Journey

A Murder of One – Counting Crows

Coming soon by Stephanie Elliot
 

W
elcome to Targetland

Siobhan O’Donovan opened the kitchen cabinet again, knowing full well that there would be nothing different inside. The crusty unused salt shaker was there, next to the half-empty peppermill. A box of stale lemon Girl Scout cookies, two boxes of Aunt Annie’s mac-n-cheese, a few cans of Campbell’s tomato soup, and some straggling fortune cookies took up residence in the almost bare cabinet.

Nothing to eat, ever.

She snatched a fortune cookie, tearing at the plastic wrap, cracked its shell and slid out the wisdom.

“
Good things come to those who wait.”

A muffled noise sprang from her lips, a mix between laughter and annoyance.

“As if.”

Siobhan crunched the cookie, then retrieved another from the cabinet. The Chinese delivery guy always gave her extras when she ordered chicken fried rice even though she never took the chain off the door and barely mumbled a thank you when he brought take-out.

This time, her cookie delivered a brighter message:
“Tomorrow will be a new day
.”

“
Oh really?” Siobhan walked toward the bird cage in the living room. “Listen to this one, Mr. Jones,” Siobhan said, “Tomorrow’s a freaking,
new day
.”

Siobhan’
s ebony bird squawked from inside the cage, and she rewarded him with a sunflower seed that he took from her fingers and broke open with his beak.

“
You get a seed, I get a stale cookie. Who’s getting the better deal here?” Mr. Jones squawked again, high-pitched and chattery.

Siobhan finished her cookie and wiped errant crumbs from her Counting Crows T-shirt. Then, she went back to the kitchen and grabbed the Lemon Joy from underneath the sink, popped the lid and took a big whiff of the citrus-scented soap. She turned the water to hot, plugged the sink and let it fill, steamy and warm.

In her head she counted one, two, three, four, four and a half as she squeezed squirts of the lemony soap into the water. Once the sink filled with foam, she lowered four clean dinner plates and two glasses that she had drunk water from into the suds. Each plate got exactly eight circular swipes of the sponge front and back. She scrubbed both glasses thoroughly and then Siobhan rinsed each item and placed them all into the dishwasher that she had never used so they could air-dry. Mr. Jones chattered in the other room, and busied himself by ringing his toy bell.

First thing in the morning, Siobhan would take all the plates and glasses out of the dishwasher and place them back into the cabinet where they’d remain until she felt compelled to either use a plate or glass, or wash them again, probably repeating the ritual the next evening.

She loathed the thought of dirty dishes, and if they sat through the day, they were sure to get dirty.

Siobhan glanced at her smartphone. Still no text from Martin and it was
ten-sixteen. She wasn’t quite tired, but she had a big day tomorrow, and her fortune had predicted accurately. She headed back into the living room, placed the paint-splotched night sheet over Mr. Jones’ cage and he immediately quieted down.

“Night, cackler.”

She made her way to the front door of her apartment and cracked it open slowly. She poked her head into the dim of the hallway. A quick look to the right indicated that all was quiet at Martin’s place, and she didn’t hear the elevator motors running. Another look to the left showed that the emergency door to the stairwell was shut tight and the window to the outside at the end of the hall was secured. Siobhan closed her door, locked the bolt and then put the chain on.

She leaned against the door and sighed.

Why were the simplest of things so exhausting?

In her bathroom, she selected a new green toothbrush from a family pack of five – because it was Sunday – and she almost rubbed her thumb across the sharp bristles, but then thought better of it. She spread an ample layer of cinnamon Close-Up onto the new brush, wet it under the stream of water, and began brushing, thirty-two times on the top left, thirty-two on the top right, while she stared straight ahead into the mirror, looking at herself, not blinking.

Right after it happened, and when she started brushing like this, she couldn’t stare for very long, but now, now she could go the whole time almost without blinking. Well, she would half-blink maybe once, because if she didn’t, her eyes would begin to tear up and blur the image in front of her. She was sure it was because of the cinnamon Close-Up burning her mouth.

That’
s what she told herself.

After brushing her top teeth, she did her bottoms, but brushed fifty-three back-and-forths on each side because she knew her bottom teeth were more susceptible to cavities and there was no way she was going to the dentist. She stopped at fifty-three because that’s when her mouth began to foam full of toothpaste, and her eyes really started to burn, and her mouth felt on-fire clean. She wasn’t a big fan of odd numbers, but that’s when she stopped counting the bottom strokes. Brushing her teeth took a total of seven minutes every night. But she had the most beautiful smile. Everyone told her so. Well, they used to.

Siobhan didn’t have to pee, but she knew if she didn’t go, she would get into bed and think about how she should have peed. Then her mind wouldn’t shut off and she’d lie there, thinking about how she should have gone, and it would consume her thoughts. Which, sometimes would be a good thing. It would give her something mundane to think about – how she should have gone to the bathroom.

And if she didn’t go now, she’d
wake in the middle of the night, look at the clock and the early hours might be glowing on odd figures, maybe at three-fifty-one a.m. or one-thirty-nine a.m. and she didn’t want to have to squish her eyes shut and not get out of bed because of odd timing. And then be up all night.

She knew however, with as much anxiety that was building about tomorrow, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, so pee now or not, she was going to be awake all night.

She untied her PINK sweats, yanked them down to her knees, and tried to go. Nothing happened. Not even a trickle or a drop. Still, she reached for the toilet paper, grabbed a wad, and wiped away nothing.

Her pants back up, and facing the mirror again, she pulled her long black curly hair into a pony tail, grabbed the elastic secured around her wrist and twisted her hair up into a high bun. Siobhan took one more look at her reflection, tried to simulate a cheerful and open smile, tried to be open-minded about what lay ahead tomorrow, then she stuck her tongue out. She walked down the hall into her bedroom.

On the edge of her bed, she lotioned the bottom of her feet, threw on some socks and grabbed her phone. She texted Martin:
u home?

Then she scrolled through some Facebook updates and checked Twitter. The Counting Crows were on tour and Adam had finally updated with a tweet – it had been more than eight hours since he last had something to say. There was an Instagram picture of him and his band members.

Siobhan hoped tomorrow would be a good day. Maybe her fortune would finally bring something good.

“
Tomorrow will be a new day.” She said out loud.

Her clock now read
ten-forty-two p.m. She had completely missed all odd numbers. A good sign of things to come. She hoped so anyway.

She reached over and turned out her light.

About The Author

Stephanie Elliot is an author, editor, book reviewer, and she currently runs Manic Mommy Reviews & Reads FB Fan page. She previously blogged for 10 years as Manic Mommy. She has written for a variety of newspapers, magazines and websites on topics such as parenting, pregnancy, family, marriage, sex, relationships and humor. She lives in Arizona with her husband of 20-plus years and her three children. For more information, please visit
www.stephanieelliot.com
, or email
[email protected].