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Authors: Sandy DeLuca
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pancake makeup. The shades
were drawn. Her desk was empty but for a photograph of a little girl. I guessed
it was her daughter. The child had expressionless eyes and limp blonde hair
hung past her shoulders.
“Your room will be on the second floor. House rules are you’re present at specified mealtimes. Curfew is before sundown or we send people
looking for you.”
I imagined a squad of zombies searching the streets for wayward girls. Marsha in
the lead, holding a butcher knife in one hand and a chainsaw in the other.
She looked at me. There was no hint of compassion in her eyes. “You’re legal age, Meg. We’d probably let it go.”
“She won’t be leaving unless I pick her up. Those are my rules,” my father said.
“You might think she murdered someone, Mr. Fiano.”
“If she had we might all be better off,” he snapped back.
“Well, she’s over eighteen. Neither you or I can stop her from taking a walk to the corner
drugstore, or going to the cathedral down the street. She even has the right to
leave if she doesn’t want to stay.”
“She can’t leave and you know it,” my father said absently, his eyes filling with tears.
Marsha nodded at him and then looked my way. “I’d like to show you your room, Meg. Mr. Fiano males aren’t allowed past the first floor. Can you wait here?”
My father folded his arms. “Fine. Let’s get her settled quick.”
Marsha rose from her desk. “Come along then.”
She waited for me to join her at the door. She took my elbow, led me into the
hall and then leaned over to shut her office door. She didn’t say a word as we moved up the stairs.
She took me to the first floor landing and then gently pushed me out of view. “I had to get you alone. Now, we’ll take care of everything. Your father doesn’t understand the way things work.”
“I know. It’s always been that way.”
“Well, he’s got a lot to learn.” Her makeup cracked a bit when she smiled for the first time.
“It’s best I stay. I’m not ready to battle him now. I’m tired. I need to think is all.” I patted my stomach.
She nodded. “The battle will come later.” Her voice was ominous.
Marsha’s words were odd, but the world had become insane and I needed time.
I allowed Marsha to lead me back down the stairs. I thought I saw dark things
out of the corner of my eye and weeping when we passed photos hanging on the
walls. Young girls. Pale with empty dark eyes.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Amelia Leech’s request they be hung, never taken down. No one asked Amelia questions.” She turned to look at me. “Money. Rather eccentric.”
I stared into the eyes of a girl a little younger than myself. She held a white
lily as though she held a child. A tiny tear had formed in her right eye when
the photographer snapped the photo. A sense of loss and mourning filled me.
Marsha turned and continued her downward climb. The storm grew more intense. The
house grew darker and seemed to swallow me with its sadness.
* * *
Adhering to a rotating schedule, Maureen Dugan drives me, and others, to a women’s clinic on the East Side for prenatal care. We don’t share a waiting area with married patients. We are seated in the basement. The
place has a medicinal smell. It’s clean and well kept, but there’s an icy, uncaring essence about it.
This morning I wait my turn to be examined. Marcy Long sits across me, arms
folded and legs crossed. Maureen Dugan sits close by her side. Gone is the
defiant look in Marcy’s eyes. Her long black hair is dull and greasy. Her face is pale.
Lacey Wright and Linda Sinelli are already in examination rooms. Nurses stand in
doorways, sneak glances my way and they whisper. I shrug it off. To hell with
them. Life is a journey of mistakes. Some of them more tragic than others.
I pick up a magazine from a wobbly wooden table. I thumb through pages, gazing
at pretty clothes I can’t wear, let alone afford. There
were drawn. Her desk was empty but for a photograph of a little girl. I guessed
it was her daughter. The child had expressionless eyes and limp blonde hair
hung past her shoulders.
“Your room will be on the second floor. House rules are you’re present at specified mealtimes. Curfew is before sundown or we send people
looking for you.”
I imagined a squad of zombies searching the streets for wayward girls. Marsha in
the lead, holding a butcher knife in one hand and a chainsaw in the other.
She looked at me. There was no hint of compassion in her eyes. “You’re legal age, Meg. We’d probably let it go.”
“She won’t be leaving unless I pick her up. Those are my rules,” my father said.
“You might think she murdered someone, Mr. Fiano.”
“If she had we might all be better off,” he snapped back.
“Well, she’s over eighteen. Neither you or I can stop her from taking a walk to the corner
drugstore, or going to the cathedral down the street. She even has the right to
leave if she doesn’t want to stay.”
“She can’t leave and you know it,” my father said absently, his eyes filling with tears.
Marsha nodded at him and then looked my way. “I’d like to show you your room, Meg. Mr. Fiano males aren’t allowed past the first floor. Can you wait here?”
My father folded his arms. “Fine. Let’s get her settled quick.”
Marsha rose from her desk. “Come along then.”
She waited for me to join her at the door. She took my elbow, led me into the
hall and then leaned over to shut her office door. She didn’t say a word as we moved up the stairs.
She took me to the first floor landing and then gently pushed me out of view. “I had to get you alone. Now, we’ll take care of everything. Your father doesn’t understand the way things work.”
“I know. It’s always been that way.”
“Well, he’s got a lot to learn.” Her makeup cracked a bit when she smiled for the first time.
“It’s best I stay. I’m not ready to battle him now. I’m tired. I need to think is all.” I patted my stomach.
She nodded. “The battle will come later.” Her voice was ominous.
Marsha’s words were odd, but the world had become insane and I needed time.
I allowed Marsha to lead me back down the stairs. I thought I saw dark things
out of the corner of my eye and weeping when we passed photos hanging on the
walls. Young girls. Pale with empty dark eyes.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Amelia Leech’s request they be hung, never taken down. No one asked Amelia questions.” She turned to look at me. “Money. Rather eccentric.”
I stared into the eyes of a girl a little younger than myself. She held a white
lily as though she held a child. A tiny tear had formed in her right eye when
the photographer snapped the photo. A sense of loss and mourning filled me.
Marsha turned and continued her downward climb. The storm grew more intense. The
house grew darker and seemed to swallow me with its sadness.
* * *
Adhering to a rotating schedule, Maureen Dugan drives me, and others, to a women’s clinic on the East Side for prenatal care. We don’t share a waiting area with married patients. We are seated in the basement. The
place has a medicinal smell. It’s clean and well kept, but there’s an icy, uncaring essence about it.
This morning I wait my turn to be examined. Marcy Long sits across me, arms
folded and legs crossed. Maureen Dugan sits close by her side. Gone is the
defiant look in Marcy’s eyes. Her long black hair is dull and greasy. Her face is pale.
Lacey Wright and Linda Sinelli are already in examination rooms. Nurses stand in
doorways, sneak glances my way and they whisper. I shrug it off. To hell with
them. Life is a journey of mistakes. Some of them more tragic than others.
I pick up a magazine from a wobbly wooden table. I thumb through pages, gazing
at pretty clothes I can’t wear, let alone afford. There
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