Becoming Mona Lisa (8 page)

“What?” he said.

“We used to laugh together,” I whispered, and he took my hand.

“I know.”

I followed him onto the porch which, I couldn't help but notice, smelled like a frat house.

“Mr. Siggs?” I wasn't sure if the guy was Bathman or Robin, but I waved and Tom spoke.

“That's me,” Tom replied.

“Be right with ya,” the man said, flashing a smile at us. I tried to smile, but I had cottonmouth and my lips wouldn't move.

“No problem,” my husband said, and I stepped back inside the foyer. “We should have cleaned this porch,” Tom said, with a wrinkled nose.

“Yeah. I guess.” I returned to the kitchen to wait, and poured myself another cup of coffee. My stomach was churning, and I rifled through the cupboard for the Tums.

“This is my wife Mona,” Tom said, and I jumped a mile. I hadn't heard anyone come into the room.

“Martin Kellerman,” the man said, introducing himself.

“Hi,” I said, taking the hand Martin offered, and shaking it courteously. “Coffee?” I asked.

“No thanks. Drank a gallon of it already today,” Martin said, and since I'd unglued my mouth, I managed a smile with teeth. “May I see the bathroom?” he asked, and I stayed in the kitchen and let Tom do the honors. They returned a moment later, and we all hunkered down at the kitchen table, where we spent the next hour going over options and pricing.

At just past noon, we saw Martin to the door, and followed him onto the porch.

Martin stopped suddenly, as did Tom, and I was so spaced out, I didn't notice. I slammed into both of them.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Well, I'll be darned,” Martin said, and I found a peephole between the two men and gasped.

“Jeez,” Tom hissed. “Guess that answers our question about last night.”

A massive number of crows covered our front lawn. One was perched on the mailbox, and the cars were covered with them.

“Got yourselves a bird problem, eh?” Martin said.

“I guess we do,” Tom replied.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Thurman Pippin chose that moment to walk his wife's dog. He stepped out of his house, and glared at Tom.

“Now what the hell are you up to, Siggs?” Thurman yelled, and the birds took flight. “Sign of the devil,” he added, and I momentarily regretted not shooting him.

“What in the name of all that's holy?” I whispered. Martin headed down the porch steps with Tom and I following.

“I don't know,” Tom said.

“Well, I'm gonna be on my way before those pesky critters come back,” Martin said, as he loaded his pile of Bathman & Robin paraphernalia back into the car. “We'll be in touch in a couple of days to make all the arrangements.”

“You don't have Stephen King in that car, do you?” I asked, and Tom chuckled.

“No, it's just me. Mr. King doesn't come out on these visits, and his name is actually Pete,” Martin said. “You know Pete?”

I shook my head
.
“Nope.”

“Nice fella. Owns three stores now.”

“That's terrific,” I said.

“Well, alrighty then. I really appreciate your business, folks. You both have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You do the same,” Tom said, turning to look at me.

“What?” I said.

“There's no wormhole.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because that's the Mona I remember. What you said about Stephen King, that's what my Mona would have said.”

“Hmm. Maybe those crows brought the old Mona back. Maybe they took the evil Mona back to hell.”

Tom laughed, as a single crow returned to perch on the mailbox. “That one must have missed the bus,” I said, pointing at our winged visitor.

“Must be. Okay, I'm gonna grab something to eat, clean up the mess on this porch, and hit the shower. Then we'll go to Lowe's, and in the meantime, let's hope the rest of them don't come back,” Tom said.

Fat chance of that.

Eight

If you get a chance to start over, take it.

There may not be another chance.

I hunkered down for a nap while Tom cleaned the porch. I slept for three hours, dreaming of when I was younger, of when I met Tom. It was familiar, except in my dream, we were smurfs.

I dragged myself to the bathroom upon waking, and was pleased to discover I was still human. I found Tom at the kitchen table, surrounded by Little Debbie brownie wrappers.

“You wanna head out?” he asked, and I nodded. He dumped the wrappers into the trash, and I followed him to the Jeep. “That was weird, wasn't it?” Tom asked, as we backed out of the driveway.

“I had a dream we were smurfs, Tom. If you're gonna refer to something weird, you need to be more specific.”

“Smurfs?”

“Yeah.”

“That is weird. Was I cute?” Tom asked.

“Adorable, but you were naked, and blue.”

Tom grinned at me. “I was actually talking about the crows.”

“Oh, them. Yeah, that was pretty weird.” There had been no sign of the blackbirds when we left the house, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“You all right about this bathroom business?” Tom asked as we drove.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too. I have to admit, the condition of that house makes me really frustrated, but I don't want you to feel like we're dishonoring Ida if we make changes.”

“We'd be dishonoring Aunt Ida if we let the house get condemned.”

“Good point,” Tom said, as the Lowe's compound appeared in front of us.

I fell silent for a moment, as I recalled the sweet woman who'd had such passion for collectibles, and mail-order shopping. “Tom?” I asked, as we pulled into the parking lot.

“What?”

“Can we get a new toaster while we're here?”

“Is there something wrong with ours?” he asked.

“It caught on fire yesterday.”

“Wow. That doesn't sound good. Let's add it to the list.”

“What's on the list now?”

“Carpet, paint, and new furniture for the porch. It's so late in the season it might be on sale,” Tom said.

“What happened to our porch furniture?”

“We took the arm off the love seat last night when we were fooling around,” he said timidly.

“You don't say. Jeepers, maybe we should try having sex more often. We could end up with a whole bunch of new stuff,” I said, after I'd gotten out of the Jeep.

“No arguments here,” he said, looking at me strangely. He held out his hand and I took it. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“It's good,” I said, squeezing his hand.

Tom and I wandered around Lowe's for about an hour, sneaking glances at one another and testing the newness of our second chance.

We replaced our fire-hazard toaster, bought a matching coffee maker, and found a floor model patio set for half price.

“Okay, let's pick out some paint, and get that carpet ordered, and I was wondering how you felt about Taco Bell,” Tom said, as we sat at the patio set in the middle of the Garden Center.

“You wanna buy a Taco Bell?”

“No, silly. I'd like to get some dinner there.”

“Taco Bell sounds good,” I said, feeling dimwitted.

We ordered the carpet, and got a great deal on tile for the bathroom. Lowe's knocked off a few bucks for installation, and agreed to lay it all down on the same day.

“When did you want this laid?” the carpet guy said, and Tom blushed.

“I might be off next Tuesday,” I said.

“So, Tuesday, then?” the carpet guy asked, and my husband looked at me.

“When did you want to get laid, hon?” Tom asked, and I nearly fainted. Tom's face was ashen.

“What did you say?” I asked, as Wally the carpet guy watched curiously.

“I don't know where that came from,” Tom admitted.

“Did you guys need a minute?” Wally asked.

“I think we're okay. Are we okay, Tom?”

“I'm good,” Tom mumbled.

We wrapped up the whole carpet business, and I promised to call the store when I had my schedule for the coming week.

“What got into you back there?” I asked my husband.

“I started thinking about making love to you on that soft rug,” he said, and while it could have been nasty, it wasn't. It was touching as hell, and I found myself fighting back tears in the paintbrush aisle. “You all right?” he asked.

“It's the paint stuff.”

“Liar,” he whispered, touching my cheek. We strolled to the checkout and Tom whipped out a credit card I'd never seen.

“Where did that come from?” I asked, and he looked at me.

“Stole it from the carpet guy,” Tom said, and the woman behind the cash register took a step back. “I'm kidding,” my husband said. “See, there's my name right there.”

“How do I know that's your name?” the young girl asked.

“Would you like to see ID?”

“Normally, no. From you, Mr. Siggs, I think that would be a good idea.”

I stood there while Tom pulled out his license, paid with the credit card, and piled the stuff back into the cart.

“You all right, Tom?” I asked, once we'd made it outside without being detained.

“I think so.”

“What happened back there?”

“Honestly....,” Tom began, and we both stopped. Neither of us was holding the cart, and we stood there staring at one another while our home improvement shit rolled away.

“The cart!” I yelled, and Tom went after it. “Wanna try that again?” I said, catching up to him.

“I never thought I'd be able to find my way back to you. I know this is only the beginning, but I've missed you so much. I've missed how crazy you are, how crazy you make me. I can't believe I almost lost you.”

“Me, either.”

“I'm not letting you go again.”

He piled the stuff into the Jeep, and I couldn't stop looking at him, this man - so like a boy I once loved.

“You coming?” Tom asked, and I hopped into the Jeep.

We maneuvered the truck toward the Garden center, picked up the patio set, did a Taco Bell run, and headed home.

Once there, Tom backed the Jeep into the driveway and popped the hatch. We both stepped out of the truck at the same time, and stopped dead in our tracks.

“What is that?” Tom whispered, and I shrugged, which was ridiculous since I was pretty sure I knew what it was. It was still daylight, and I walked toward the end of the driveway, and looked beyond the tree cover. The crows were back, and reenacting the attack on Pearl Harbor. The blackbirds ascended and plummeted, like living warplanes, and I made a sign of the cross, something I hadn't done in years.

“Look!” I yelled to Tom, as I pointed toward the sky.

“Good grief,” my husband said, taking me into his arms. “What happened?”

“Someone forgot to close the gate to hell?” I said, and Tom chuckled weakly.

“Jeez. I guess,” he said.

Suddenly, I felt something hit me – something wet and slimy. “Ewwww!!!!” I screamed, trying to beat it off my arm.

“Mona?” Tom asked, and I looked at him.

“What?”

“You all right?”

“I guess,” I said.

“Good. You wanna help me with this stuff?” he asked from alongside the Jeep. I turned, and suddenly it was pouring crow shit.

“OH, MY GOD!!!” I screamed, and Tom and I both took off at a sprint.

“What about the stuff?” he yelled.

“Leave it!” I hollered, trying to protect myself from the incoming assault.