Penelope

I’m watching the sports channel as I eat lunch. It’s old news. This show has game clips of Oliver Rowe throwing his helmet after he missed a catch. It wasn’t until weeks later that I noticed his fiancée showed up on a teammate’s social media. I bet that locker room is awkward.

I can’t imagine what that’s like, but Oliver Rowe has enough money to console himself. He can buy whatever he wants.

My life was going great when I got here. My bills were manageable. The main reason I took this job was to distance myself from my family. My parents live their lives in denial about the obvious dysfunction in the family, and I’m the one with the common sense. I hate being an adult, and I hate being used by people. It was easy to walk out of New York. No one will come to Maine to visit me. I closed the door on all the drama and bullshit.

I left it behind, and my life present life is without drama.

My phone pings with a text.

I need money for food and gas. I won’t be paid for two weeks.

Sounds like my brother, Carlo, got a job. Is he finally getting his life together? He’s young enough to turn his life around if he wants to. He’s disappointed me many times over the years.  I continue to think he can do better, and he continues to prove me wrong.

 I know that he can’t change, but I’m an optimist. He’s my baby brother, and he’s all I have here since our parents moved to Florida two years ago.

I can’t fault them; addiction runs on both sides of the family. It didn’t help that Mom was never one to give consequences. She thinks Carlo will get over it and come back to us. Dad has his demons with hard liquor. I hated it when he drank anything other than beer. He tended to snap and fly out of his recliner at the slightest provocation. He was an angry man. I hated living around his explosive behavior. I’m sure it’s why I was an introvert around others, especially at school. I was a socially awkward child, and my self-esteem was lacking. I didn’t understand what self-esteem was and that my home life had ensured I would be susceptible to trusting the wrong people. In retrospect, I was better off staying to myself than attracting the type of men who would take advantage of me.

I spent hours reading books. Books offered me a world where I could be anyone I wanted to be. It didn’t matter I wasn’t happy with my life, as long as the heroine in my book got her happy ending, I was fulfilled. I hoped I would get mine one day. I want a house and, one day, kids. I want a man to compliment me when I’m dressed up or just because I walked into the room.

 I don’t know how I dodged the drug and alcohol bullet. My parents have governmental jobs in New York. When I took the job in Maine, my brother naturally followed me. I couldn’t afford a home because I have student loans, and I’m always helping Carlo.

I made myself a promise I was not going to help him again. I can’t be responsible for him dying over another snort of something. Almost every illegal drug has shit mixed into it. I’m still getting over the financial hit when I paid off his dealers two months ago because they threatened to break his legs.

My friend Lucinda told me it was bullshit, but I couldn’t be sure. I don’t know why I repeatedly get sucked into his drama. Do dealers beat people up? Lucinda told me that I needed to cut him off. She’s right. I have loans to pay off, and all I do is work to catch up, which isn’t how I envisioned my life. Somehow, I will get my happily ever after, I tell myself.

I’m so used to Carlo lying to me. He knows I’m gullible. I can look at a building that is for sale for fifty million dollars, and if my brother said it cost fifty thousand dollars to build, I’d believe him. I’m a financial person working for a pharmaceutical company, and I still believe everything that comes out of my brother’s mouth. What the fuck is the matter with me?

This is why I distanced myself from him as much as possible. This is part of why I moved to Maine.

I texted Lucinda for a job to fill in for groceries this week. My year-end bonus will clear my bank tomorrow night. It will pay off my credit cards. Then, I’ll be able to live again. Cleaning houses is not my idea of a good time, but it’s honest work for decent pay. Lucinda is sick this week. I’m sure she can use the help.

The frozen steak bones come to a low boil on my gas stove as I stir the beef water. I start a pot to cook couscous. Lucinda will like Italian wedding soup. I love to watch cooking shows featuring Italian food, and I’m learning how to cook from scratch. It’s healthy and occupies my evenings. Life can be too sedentary and bland. Being single isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But I’m sure there are those on the other side of the fence who have kids and husbands who wish they had a break.

I phone Lucinda.

“I’m making homemade soup for you.”

I hear her cough, and her voice is scratchy. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything at the store?”

“No, I’m fine. If you want to clean a house, I have one that needs to be done today. I know you like the extra money, and it would help me out.”

“Sure. I’ll be over in a few hours.” We ring off, and I return to my kitchen that is so small I have to store large pots for pasta in my bedroom closet.

 I work from home and only show up to the huge plant when we have staff meetings. I’m not much of a socializer after working hours. When my brother moved here, he made me nervous about being around people who knew me. I am afraid someone will notice his glassy eyes or the way he becomes antsy between his highs and lows.

I didn’t want people to think I had a problem, and the fact I needed money might make me look suspicious. I’ve never broken any laws, and I’m sure nothing bad will happen, but my brother’s name is getting around the neighborhood. I don’t want it to blow back on my professional life. I don’t want my reputation to be a source of speculation if someone figures out we’re related.

 I cook the pasta, empty it into the broth, and add herbs before stirring.

I use a tablespoon to taste the finished product. It has carbohydrates and protein, perfect for flu and colds. It’s just what she needs to feel better.

I work an hour posting worker’s hours to projects. I check work emails while the soup cools. When my eyes are tired, I log off. I’ve worked enough for the day. I use a ladle to fill round containers with screw-top lids.

I walk into my bedroom, change into workout clothes, and pull a sweat outfit over it.  I anticipate getting hot while I clean this upscale house. Lucinda has affluent clients. The Indian casinos bring in needed revenue and jobs. The local hockey and football teams give tourists things to do when they visit in the fall.

I balance on one foot and tug on a sock, then put the foot on the floor, and do the other. Most people would sit and do it properly, but I’m a rebel. It’s as exciting as my personal life gets. When I’m done, I slip my feet into old running sneakers and pull the back of them over my heels, I didn’t untie them from the last time I wore them. I’ve never seen any benefits of running. It’s supposed to be good for me. I had a membership in New York to a yoga studio but decided it was money I could save if I did it at home.

I text Lucinda I’m on my way. In fifteen minutes, I’m at her house and let myself in.

“How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” She holds a tissue to her nose and blows.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m too tired to get up,” she confesses. She has long black hair that’s clipped to her head. She’s lying on the sofa wearing pajamas and a pink bathrobe.

“Do you have a fever?”

“Probably, I can’t tell. It’s not life-threatening.”

I enter the kitchen, find a bowl, pour soup into it, and retrieve a spoon from her clean utensils in the dishwasher.

I deliver it to her. Her face perks up at the sight of my soup.

“That smells good,” she says as she takes the bowl from me and reaches for the spoon.

I chuckle. She’s starving. I’m sure she’ll feel better after the nourishment.

I glance at the TV and see a familiar rom-com playing before I sit on a chair across from her.

“So, what’s the job?”

“He’s a grumpy football player but should be at practice. I doubt you’ll see him.”

“Oh, great. Well, I don’t have any desire to see a grumpy man, football player or not.”

“Right. Well, he is handsome, there’s that.” She’s concentrating on her soup.

“I have his address and code to his door here somewhere,” she says, but she’s too busy slurping the soup to find it.

“Okay.”

“Well. Do the usual. I’m sure there’s no problem. It’s the holidays, and it makes some people lonely.”

“So now he’s lonely and grumpy. Great.”

“This soup is fantastic,” she exclaims before dropping her spoon in the empty bowl.

“You want more?”

Her eyes light up and if she didn’t have a runny nose, I’m sure she’d be drooling.

“Yes, please. Thank you so much. You’re the best.”

“No problem.” I take the bowl from her, refill it, and return it to her.

“So, just movies today, huh?”

“Yes, it’s killing me. I have a few girls working this week, but we’re usually off. However, Oliver is important. I get tons of referrals from the single guys on the team.”
            “Yeah, I see how you did that. He’s now single.” She’s so busy wolfing down the warm soup I think she won’t comment.

“Well, you could do a lot worse, Penelope.” She pulls herself up taller, and I’m sure she’s feeling better. “You should be out and about, not holed up, working yourself to death.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you leave no time for a personal life. Has Carlo texted you for more money?”

“Yes.” I sigh. He’s predictable. Every two weeks, he’s desperate for money. I have a feeling he’s living out of his car, a car that has seen better days. The car he had when his life was better was repossessed. He has a clunker now, and he’s had his license taken away, but he drives when he has gas money. He’s smart, so I’m frustrated as to why he’s ended up where he is. I don’t’ know what drives him to self-destruct his life. I don’t think anyone ever knows.

He hung out with the wrong crowd in high school; no matter where he moves, he seeks the same friends. Dad’s siblings are known to have criminal records, and one cousin is in and out of prison. 

“Be strong. You need to have a life. You can’t have one if you continue to follow him down the rabbit hole.”

If only it were that easy.

She waves her finger at me. “I know you’re thinking it’s your brother. Stop. He has lived with you to get straight before and stole your paycheck. It’s enough.”

“I know.” I wring my hands with helplessness. “You have that address for me? I’d better get on it.”

“Sure.” She reaches for a slip of paper on the coffee table and hands it to me.

“The address, alarm code, and his number if the alarm goes off.”

“Okay.” I stand and take the paper.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Show me by finding yourself a nice boyfriend.”

“We’ll see. Feel better. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.”

I let myself out, locking the door behind me. She’s my one-person support group. I shouldn’t need her to tell me what to do. I’m smart, I have numerous degrees, and I have a great job with benefits.

I text my brother that I don’t have any money before I start the car.

I know what I need to do, the problem is sticking to the plan and saying “No.”

I’ve diverted him for now. It’s better than making a promise to give him money when I get my next paycheck.

I look at the address and type it into my phone before I start my car. It’s a Mini Cooper and I named it Bess. I bought it when I got my first job after college. I worked in New York but became disenchanted when the boss started dating my competition for the next promotion. When a headhunter approached me, I did the math. I discovered I’m taking home more money in Maine than I did working in the city.

It begins to snow. I turn on the wipers and follow the road to the location. The garage is (nowhere near the front door) far from the front door. The cleaning supplies are in my trunk. I hope the glass cleaner didn’t freeze. I park Bess and make the hike to the front door. My goodness, this is the biggest house I’ve ever seen. I guess with a bazillion dollars there’s no telling what elaborate shit is inside. I have no idea what upgrades are in these homes.

I find the keypad, enter the code, and leave the door ajar as I return to Bess. I grab my caddy filled with cleaning supplies, close the door to my trunk, and enter the house again. I set the supplies down before closing the door. I like to change bedsheets first, then dust, before vacuuming and mopping floors. It’s efficient and makes sense.

I enter the master bedroom and look at my watch. It’s five. I have no clue when the grumpy