Chapter Twenty-One

They pulled into the gas station, and Tim climbed out to pump the gas. Monica tried not to act annoyed, but couldn’t wait to get away from him. She looked around the car, wondering what Tim did for work that afforded him a car like this.

He peeked his head in the window and told her he was going to grab some snacks and a couple cold drinks while the tank was filling.

“Do you want or need anything?” he asked.

“No. I’m fine.” Monica answered somewhat curtly. She turned her face back to the window.

Tim left, and Monica looked around the car. It was neat as a pin. She couldn’t resist nosing around his stuff, and opened the glove box. There were a couple CDs, the registration and insurance papers, and a travel pack of tissues.

How boring. Tim was an extremely organized person. A place for everything and everything in its place. Her own car was littered with so much garbage. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cleaned it. Just one more thing he did right and she did wrong.

Tim came back to the car then. As they were pulling out of the lot, his cell phone rang. “Hey Mark. Is everything still on for this afternoon?” he paused, listening to the caller. “Oh, really?” His eyes narrowed in concern. “Hmm, that kind of puts me in a bad spot.” He glanced at Monica. “You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out.” He paused again, listening. “Yeah, sure. I can do that, no problem. Take care buddy.”

Tim hung up his phone and looked at Monica again. “My friend needs a favor. I know it looks inappropriate, and I don’t normally do this, but it’s an emergency. Do you mind if we go to my place so I can change and grab some stuff I need for a friend? It won’t take more than ten minutes, I promise. I could take you home first, but then I’d be backtracking. Going to my place first will save me at least half an hour. Are you comfortable with that?” He looked at her with concern.

“Sure, I guess.” Monica tried to sound casual, but was inwardly annoyed. Why should she do him any favors? A curiosity filled her and she wanted to see if his house was as neat as his car. “That’s fine.” She managed to reply, then turned to the window and allowed herself a smile.

**********************

They pulled up to Tim's house a short while later. It was a small, square one story white house with black shutters. The garage was detached and sat twenty feet or so from the house.

"Come on in while I change. No need for you to sit out here alone. I promise I won't bite." Tim said laughing.

I doubt that. Monica thought to herself. But she followed Tim. She had to admit she was curious as to what this tiny house looked like on the inside.

They entered by what Monica assumed must be the den. It was larger than she expected, and looked to be an add-on from a previous generation. Tim ran up the two small steps leading to the galley kitchen. "Have a seat, I’ll be right back." He called over his shoulder.

Monica took the opportunity to look around. His house was meticulously clean. A far cry from how her house usually looked. There was a display case near the bay window that housed a baseball collection. Some were new, others looked very old. They were probably collector's items, worth a lot of money. Money? Hmm...

Glancing into the kitchen to make sure Tim was still out of sight, Monica selected a ball near the back and slipped it into her purse. She would take it as Tim's way of helping her let go of the past by paying her debt to Joe. Surely he wouldn't miss one baseball, especially one so hidden in the back.

Monica moved to the opposite side of the room. No use in lingering around the case and causing suspicion. She settled onto the reclining end of a soft brown couch. She leaned her head back and ignored the voice pleading with her to replace the ball before Tim returned.

He startled her by bounding down the steps carrying a small duffel bag. "Ready?" he asked, turning around to find her.

"Yep." Monica stood and threw her purse over her shoulder. She looked Tim over as if checking him out for the first time. He had muscular legs, and she could see the outline of his trim body beneath his t-shirt. She smiled a fake smile. He was unknowingly helping two friends with this short detour. "Ready when you are." She said.

**********************

It took a while to convince Tim that everything was alright, but he finally left Monica to herself. She had also informed him she wouldn’t be attending the service that evening. She had a lot to think about and needed some time alone. Tim seemed to think she had taken his earlier words to heart, and said something encouraging that Monica ignored. She walked into the house, relieved to find everything was indeed fine.

After changing into comfortable clothes, she couldn’t help but notice the mess in her room. The downstairs looked good, clean. Her room, however was a complete disaster. She decided to use her newfound frustration with Tim as energy to tackle the grime in her attached bath.

When that was finished and in order, she picked up load after load of clothing in her arms and crammed them down the laundry chute in the hallway. Much of her time this evening would be spent in the basement, it seemed.

Monica walked to the hallway closet and brought out the vacuum. Now that she could see the floor of her room, she wanted it clean. It was littered with crumbs, pieces of paper, lint and string. Not to mention food wrappers and tissues. She started in her room and worked her way down the hall. She vacuumed the other upstairs bedroom Brad had turned into an office long ago. She stopped when she came to Sarah’s room.

Monica hadn’t been in this room much since Sarah had left. She’d slept in the bed a few times when her own was too filthy, but she hadn’t even opened the door in months.

Deciding she needed to deal with her feelings, Monica went inside. The room smelled musty, so Monica moved to the window to let in some fresh air.

She looked around, surprised at how few things decorated the room. No books or toys to clutter the floor and built in shelves. No TV or other things you’d expect to see in a pre-teen’s room. Not even any posters decorated the walls. Just a bed, a small table with a lamp, and a dresser near the window.

For the first time Monica thought how sad Sarah’s life must have been. How lonely and miserable. An overwhelming sense of regret swept over Monica, and she sat on the bed and wept. Her tears turned to anger. Anger at what her life could have been like, of the relationship she could’ve had with Sarah. The mother she should have been. But she’d given all that up for a temporary high. An alternate reality. She was disgusted with herself.

Monica walked to the dresser and jerked the drawers out. She dumped the clothes in a pile, threw the others from the closet onto it, then stripped the bed. A small notebook landed on the floor. Monica threw the bed covers onto the pile of clothes, then stooped to read the cover of the little book.

Sarah’s Diary

The words were written in a neat, girly script. Monica’s hands shook. Dare she open it and face her daughter’s thoughts? Monica didn’t know if she could handle it. She stared at it for a long while, wondering what kind of child Sarah had really been.

After a few minutes, she took the notebook to her own now-clean room and placed it on her nightstand. She backed away from it, as though she didn’t trust it not to follow her.

Monica went quickly down to the kitchen and brought two large garbage bags up to Sarah’s room. She stuffed all the clothes and bedding into them. Then she marched to the garage and threw them into the garbage bins. She was breathing heavily, overcome with memories of the past. She hoped ridding the house of the items would help erase the pain.

Monica ran back up to her room, threw herself on the bed, and burst into tears for the second time that day.

*********************

The room was shrouded in shadow when Monica finally opened her eyes. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have cried herself out. Her mind quickly replayed the events of the afternoon for her. She glanced at her bedside table. There lay the diary.

She ignored it and went to the kitchen to get some food. All the while she prepared her sandwich, her thoughts drifted to what she might find written in that little book. Maybe she should just throw it out with the rest of the garbage. Maybe she should burn it. She definitely should not read it. She couldn’t bring herself to even crack open the cover. She wouldn’t.

The kitchen table felt lonely, so Monica sat in the living room. She turned on the TV for noise, and found the stupid show where people send in videos of their ‘amazing’ pets. She changed the channel. She couldn’t take any more remarks from an obnoxious man today.

She settled for the weather channel and watched as people recorded tornadoes. Those people should have been safely tucked away in their homes, but they were drawn in by the storm, wanting to catch it on film. The wind whipped around them, the funnel cloud came ever closer; still they didn’t move. Not until the last possible second for escape came did they turn tail.

Monica took her dish to the sink and thought about the book upstairs. She would be facing the violent storm of her past, seeing it through Sarah’s eyes. Finding that diary was like spotting a funnel cloud.

Instead of getting rid of it like she should have, she held on for dear life, wondering when it would be too late to let go. What would happen if she read it? Should she put herself through that? What good could possibly come from it? Could dredging up the past serve any purpose other than to punish herself?

She couldn’t stay in the house any longer. The book was tugging at her curiosity. Maybe she should take a walk around the neighborhood. Better yet, she could go for a drive. She’d crank up the radio and sing to her heart’s content. That always helped her feel better in the past. Then she could swing through somewhere and get an ice cream cone. Yes, that was what she would do.

As she dug through her purse to see if she had any cash, she spotted the baseball. For a moment a sense of guilt washed over her. She quickly shook it off, reminding herself how rude Tim had been. She justified her feelings and her sin of stealing by saying Tim wanted her to move on from the past.

Well, the sooner she paid off her debt to Joe, the sooner she could breathe easier, and Tim's baseball would help her do just that. Then she could forget about him and move on with her life. She could think about selling the house and moving on to Tennessee where she’d never have to see Joe or Tim again. The thought brought a smile to her face.

Monica headed upstairs, brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair. She checked her makeup and ran a finger under each eye. When she was satisfied, she put on some of her clubbing clothes, and went back downstairs.

On the way back through the kitchen to the garage, she grabbed her purse, pushed away the knocking on her heart to return the ball to Tim, and went to the car. She knew someone who would take the baseball off her hands at a good price. She just didn’t know if she’d come back sober.

Before she could remind herself why she wanted to leave that part of her life in the past, before she could talk herself out of it, she climbed in the car and headed toward the city, never noticing the car that followed.