thirty-nine

Insomnia had become Megan’s only bedtime partner since the McAllister case entered her life. She lay in bed hours after leaving the Murphys’ house watching television, flicking from one channel to the next. Programming at that hour consisted of one infomercial after another. Megan watched as space-age technology shrank clothes down into zippered plastic bags. Then came the must-have, a set of kitchen knives that could slice anything in half, from a tomato to a Chevrolet. Of course, there had to be one self-help guru pushing his “Think positive thoughts, heal your inner child, eat a lot of salmon, and oh, by the way, none of this can be accomplished without buying my Guide To A Better Life Kit for three easy installments of $29.95 as long as you order right now” pitch.

She checked the clock next to her bed. Forty-five minutes until the gym opened. Working out was the last thing on her mind, but she thought a light swim followed by a sauna might loosen the muscles in her back. Megan sat cross-legged and placed her laptop on a pillow in front of her. It had been a few days since the last time she checked her personal email. She logged in and was bombarded with countless spam mail that she quickly deleted: offers for Viagra, personalized astrological charts, low mortgage loans, to name a few. Her personal inbox had far less mail. There were two emails from her brother. One had an attachment and she clicked on that first, assuming there would be pictures of her niece and nephew. The email said, “Megs, is this a carbon copy of your Kiddie Kampus photo, or what?” Kiddie Kampus was the preschool Megan and Brendan had attended. She got up to find the photo to compare the two. The 5x7 picture was near the front of one of the many photo albums she’d yet to complete. In the photo, Megan wore a black and red-checkered wool dress with a white, puffy-sleeve shirt underneath. She leaned on her elbows with one pudgy hand cupped under her equally plump chin, while the other rested in front of her. She held her picture up next to the one of her niece on the screen and smiled at the remarkable similarities. Both had long eyelashes and shared the same dimpled smile.

Megan tapped the photo as her memory returned to the day it was taken. She doubted her brother had as difficult of a time getting his daughter to wear a dress as Rose had with Megan that chaotic morning.

Megan was never a girlie-girl. Her wardrobe consisted of jeans, sneakers, and a baseball glove—a tomboy through and through. She had a doll she’d never played with, never played dress-up, and especially never wore dresses … until photo day for her preschool class.

At first, Rose chased her daughter around the dining room table, waving the dress and pleading for her cooperation. Like a gladiator stomping out the threat of an approaching opponent, Megan was quick, but when Rose was able to grab hold of her ponytail, it became a different match. Megan pulled the drop-to-the-ground move and lay on her back, using her feet to kick her mother away.

“Megan, you are wearing this dress. Your father and I picked this out especially for you. It’s an important picture!” Rose pleaded.

“No! I don’t wanna wear that stupid dress!” Megan flailed a last kick up at her mother when she was given the ultimate threat.

“You put your foot in my face one more time, young lady, and I’m calling your father.”

Gladiators were never threatened with something like that.

Rose’s exacting tone didn’t leave any room for debate. “He’ll be very upset with you if I call him with something like this. And I will call him.”

Megan may have been young, but she wasn’t stupid. Her father didn’t put up with any bullshit from her at five, fifteen, or twenty-five. The threat of him being called at work was enough for her to concede but not, however, without a little bargaining on her behalf. Megan stayed on the floor staring up at her mother as she released a huff and said, “I’ll wear the dumb dress but no shoes, no tights.”

Rose glared down at her daughter mumbling to herself. She knew that was the best she was going to get out of Megan that morning. She got up from the floor, pulling Megan up with her.

One hour later they were at the preschool, standing in line with Megan’s other classmates. Megan kept her promise and wore the dress and the white puffy shirt. She even let Rose brush the knots and tangles out of her hair. Rose stayed true to her end of the bargain as well. In place of tights and black shoes, she allowed Megan to wear a pair of jeans and purple sneakers under the checkered dress.

“People are going to think I’m color blind, letting you out of the house like this,” was Rose’s only comment.

Megan smiled proudly in the photo, more because of her partial victory than anything else.

“McGinn, you can really be a pain in the ass sometimes,” she said to herself. She smiled, but it was more of a reprimand than witticism.

Megan started to pack her gym bag, wanting a cigarette now more than a workout, but she stayed the course. The lighting in the women’s locker room, however, was less than kind. Alone, she turned toward the mirror to see the bruising on her back before donning her suit. She examined the marks on her face, momentarily relieved that her father wasn’t alive to have seen her like this.

Megan patiently sat poolside, waiting for a lane to open. She wasn’t concerned with how long of a wait it would be; she was just relieved not to be the lone swimmer this time. The Blue Hairs, a group of women Megan nicknamed a long time ago, were in the open section enjoying their morning senior water-aerobics class. Megan didn’t give them the nickname because of their age; they wore water caps that had blue, feathery rubber hairs sticking out of them. The women talked more than they moved, but they always seemed to enjoy themselves. The lifeguard noticed Megan right away.

“Any word on your necklace?” he asked.

“Nope,” Megan responded. Lengthy conversation was not part of her agenda.

“Well, with any luck it’ll show up,” he offered.

“Yep,” she said.

The swimmer in the end lane finished. There was one woman in queue ahead of Megan, who turned around. “You can take that lane if you want. I’m waiting for the middle one.”

Megan wasn’t particular on which lane she swam in, so she took the woman up on her offer. Having other gym members around made her ease into her workout more comfortably than the last time she had swam.

She was so relaxed having other swimmers in the pool that she totally lost track of the number of laps she’d swum. Her shortness of breath indicated she’d accomplished more laps than her previous visit, but it wasn’t until she flipped over and pushed off the wall that it came to a screeching halt. For the first time in her swim, she glanced to her side and was shocked to see no other swimmers beside her in the water. She stopped at the pool’s edge and grabbed the side. She whipped off her goggles and cap, looking around the room anxiously. All the members of the seniors’ water-aerobics class stared over at her.

“You all right, honey?” one of the Blue Hairs hollered over to her.

Trying to catch her breath, she answered in between huffs, “Yeah.” Other than the women gossiping in the corner, there were a man and a woman standing at the water fountain.

“I’m fine,” Megan answered.

“Enjoy, you have the pool all to yourself,” the lady said.

“Great.” Megan was less than thrilled with the notion.

“C’mon, girls, let’s go take a steam. To hell with heart medication and doctor’s orders.”

When you’re in your seventies and eighties, rebelling against doctor’s orders must be as close to an uprising as you can get. It did put an idea in Megan’s head, though. “Ladies, would one of you mind turning the sauna on for me?”

“Sure thing, honey.”

In the locker room, Megan stripped out of her bathing suit, hanging it on one of the shower hooks. She wrapped a towel around her naked body. As soon as she opened the door to the sauna, she knew the ladies had done right by her. It was hot and relaxing. She could hear faint conversation next door from the steam. She was embarrassed to admit to herself that their presence was appreciated; though she was alone in the sauna, there were people nearby, and that fact comforted her. She discarded the towel, placing it on the top tier of the wooden bench. She moved gingerly onto her back, hoisting her feet up to the wall. Her creamy legs were sprinkled with pale freckles from her ankles to her inner thighs. Her body began to glisten with sweat as the jets sprayed down from above. She closed her eyes, breathing deep into her lungs. She pushed her hair back, but a few strands couldn’t help but cling to her shoulders. The water hitting the rocks made a sizzling sound. She was on the verge of relaxing when the sound of Uncle Mike’s demand leapt to the front of her mind.

Do not go anywhere unarmed.

It was enough to catapult her out of the sauna, forgetting her towel.