Redemption’s Child

 

When Mona met Nigel, she was sixteen years old and anxious to give up her virginity.  Nigel talked her out of it.  He was ten years older than her and had more sense.  Back then, my mother cleaned for the Ballentines, Mona’s family.  I was a couple years behind Mona in school, and she taught me all about boys and sex.

After Mona graduated high school, I’d sometimes catch her and Nigel in the back seat of his Volvo.  The glass would be all steamed up, but I could usually see through a space at the bottom of the window.  They did a lot of heavy petting, but I don’t think they ever did it before they got married.  She stopped talking to me about those things a long time ago.

After twenty years of a childless marriage, Mona and Nigel drifted apart.  Our lives intersected again, and now, I was cleaning for Mona.

“Mona, the bedroom’s ready.  Do you have the sheets?”

Mona pulled out of a plastic Macy’s bag two sets of single-bed sheets—one yellow, the other covered with bears and piglets.  She handed them to me without a word.

As I tucked the yellow sheet under one mattress, Mona sat on the        other bed fingering the bears and piglets.  Her eyes got all misty.  “A            child in the house.  And at my age,” she said.

She dropped the kid sheets on the bed and drifted out of the room like she was lost.  I stretched the fitted sheet over the mattress, tucked in the top sheet, plumped the pillows.  A bear with a red shirt topped it all off.  The doorbell rang, and Mona went to answer it.  I peaked through the doorway as I crumpled up cardboard and cellophane.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

A hefty black man in some kind of uniform stepped inside.  Four boxes containing some of Nigel’s clothing and books were stacked near the front door.  I’d helped Mona box everything up last night.  It wasn’t easy.

“This it?” the uniformed man asked.

“Yes.”  Mona stood there sliding her hand over the top box.

Nigel died two months ago, but he hadn’t lived here for almost three years.  They were still married though.  She wouldn’t give him a divorce.  Hoped he’d come back, I guess.

I joined Mona in the living room.  The edges of her eyes were reddening when she retreated to the kitchen.  The man loaded the boxes on a hand truck and pushed it down to the elevator.  I watched him go, closed the door, and walked toward the kitchen.

“Kathleen,” she called.  “Have a bite of lunch with me?”

“Thank you.  I will.”  Mona made the best lobster bisque I’d ever eaten.  As soon as I smelled it cooking, I hoped she’d invite me.

I sat on one of two chairs at an iron table in the cozy kitchen. Mona worked at the stove while I admired the ivy she had stenciled above the cupboards.  There was ivy on the dishes.  Ivy on the table cloth. Two pale green linen napkins lay folded in their places.  A small vase of silk violets occupied the center of the table.  All new.  Used to be Mona loved cherries.  Everything was red and white with cherries.  Now it was ivy.  I guess she needed the change.

Mona brought two steaming bowls full of soup to the table along with a plate of oyster crackers.

“We used to eat these when we were kids, Mona.”  I laughed.

When Mona looked up from her plate, her dark brown eyes were filled with fear.  Was she having doubts?

“Not too late to change your mind, you know,” I said weakly.

She shook her head.  Once Mona made a commitment, she stuck by it.

I swallowed some soup.  “I don’t know why you’re doing this.  Inviting strangers into your family.”

“What family?”

“None of this was your fault, Mona.  Not Nigel, and certainly not your inability to have kids.”

“Well, I guess we know that wasn’t Nigel’s fault either.”  She looked down at her soup as she stirred, her head propped up by her left arm.  Her breathing was shallow.

“Probably none of my business, but you should’ve divorced him years ago.”

Mona lifted her head and glared at me.  “Nigel was the love of my life.  You know that.”  She sighed, her voice softened.  “But more than that, we had vows.”

“Yeah.  Vows, schmows.  Didn’t mean a lick to him.”

“Eat your soup, Kathleen.”

So, I did.  We ate in silence.  She knew how I felt about her taking in this woman, this girl.  There wasn’t anything else to say.  I’d already said too much.  After lunch I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.

Mona was in the living room, looking through the drapes at the street below.  She knelt on the mauve wing chair, her arms folded on its back.  The warm yellow afternoon sun splashed in across her face.  She was biting her lip.  I withdrew to the master bedroom to fold her laundry.

Their wedding picture was still sitting on her vanity.  I picked it up.  As her maid of honor, I looked younger, thinner.  My hair was a natural red.  Mona’s was chocolate brown—matching her eyes.  She made a beautiful bride.  I never saw a happier one.  Nigel was his gorgeous green-eyed self—the scoundrel.  Who would have thought he’d die so young—so suddenly?