Chapter 2

Chapter 2
Shannon Geary missed Naomi’s wave, from where she crouched in the basement of 215 Orange Heights Avenue. While Naomi watched her husband sleep, Shannon pulled a t-shirt from the dryer and folded its arms behind the body. She placed it on top of the growing pile of clean clothes. She repeated the process until the dryer was empty and slammed the door. Behind her, as she carried the laundry basket to the stairs, the door slowly squeaked open. Seeing it, Shannon placed her basket on the stairs, crossed the room, and kicked the door into place. She inhaled deeply, forced her face into a smile and climbed the stairs to the kitchen.

“Clean clothes,” she announced to her mother, Ann, her older sister, Maureen, and nephew, Dylan. Ann looked up from yesterday’s crossword puzzle, Maureen from the Want Ads, but Dylan stayed focused on his usual task. With dark blue-handled scissors, he cut coupons from Sunday newspaper circulars. He finished clipping the edges from a coupon for yogurt before he looked up at his aunt.

As always, Shannon was taken aback by Dylan’s surprising blue eyes. “Black Irish,” is how Ann described the combination of Dylan’s dark hair, pale skin, and eyes, but Shannon simply thought Dylan unique.

“Seventy-five cents off on Dannon,” he told her gravely. “Double at Pathmark is one dollar and fifty cents. Triple coupon days at A&P means two dollars and twenty-five cents.”

“That’s a lot of money, Dylan,” said Shannon.

“We don’t eat that yogurt crap,” said Ann, stabbing the crossword puzzle with a pen. “Shannon, where’s my pens? I can’t write with the damned thing.”

“Ma, that’s a perfectly good pen,” answered Maureen mildly, flipping the pages of the newspaper.

“It’s Papermate,” replied her mother. “I can’t use a Papermate. Not in my whole life. Give me a Bic, any day.” She tossed the pen to the floor. The cap rolled to Shannon’s feet.

“Remember how you wanted those pens last time we were in CVS, Ma? You said they don’t make Bic like they used to, remember? It was the day we saw Aunt Judy and went to the wake for the Monsignior,” Shannon said, prodding her mother’s memory.

“I don’t think so,” said Ann, looking suddenly confused.

Shannon closed her eyes and took a deep cooling breath, as she had learned in yoga class. She opened her eyes to see Dylan passing a tiny slip of paper along the table to where Ann’s fists were clenched.

“Fifty cents off on Flair,” he whispered. “Double at Pathmark for a dollar. A dollar fifty at A&P, Granny.”

Shannon watched her mother’s fist close over the small piece of paper and Dylan’s hand. She took another cooling breath and found her eyes filled with tears.

“The new neighbors are here,” she began cheerfully. “I saw the truck leave.”

The family turned towards 219, as if they could see through it through the walls.

“We used to take a pie to neighbors,” announced Ann. “Take a pie, Maureen.”

Maureen and Shannon exchanged a glance. “Maybe after my shift, Ma,” said Maureen, folding the newspaper and standing. “I’m getting ready to go to work now, Dylan.”

Dylan looked gravely at his mother. “Is it dark in the emergency room where you work?”

“No, it’s very bright,” she answered with equal gravity. “The parking lot is dark, though.”

Silently, he handed her a coupon for batteries. “Only twenty-five cents,” he said. “Fifty cents at Pathmark or seventy-five cents at A&P.”

Shannon watched her sister lean down to kiss her son’s forehead.

“You’ll tuck him in?” asked Maureen. Shannon nodded and walked her sister to the front door.

“I hope you have a quiet shift,” said Shannon, speaking through the screen door.

“Holiday weekend? Not likely. Grill burns, lawnmower accidents, too much beer and sun is usual for Memorial Day,” answered her sister. Maureen smiled at Shannon. “I hope you have a quiet shift here.”


“Very funny,” said Shannon, closing the door firmly and sliding the bolt.

“Dylan, time for bed,” she announced. “Ma, I’ll be down to help you after I get Dylan in bed. But you can watch Golden Girls until I’m done upstairs. It’s on channel 7.” Shannon clicked the remote control on the tiny kitchen television until she found the show. She raised the volume slightly, knowing that her mother would raise it higher and higher until Shannon rushed back down the stairs to turn off the canned laughter.

Dylan waited for her at the door to his bedroom, one of four rooms on the top floor of the house. He held out a circular to her. Target, she noticed, from two weeks ago.

As Dylan wrapped his light covers around his feet and legs, Shannon placed Bear in his arms. When Dylan was ready, she read aloud to him.

“Spring fling of values,” she read. “Buy one, get one free on women’s, men’s, and children’s sandals. Some exclusions apply. Discount is on higher priced item. Not all shoes are eligible for this offer.”

The little boy opened his eyes. “Aunt Shannon, buy one, get one free is like half-price. If you buy shoes for five dollars each, but one is free, each pair costs two dollars and fifty cents. Each shoe costs one dollar and twenty-five cents.”

Shannon smiled at her nephew. Nothing is free, she thought. Ask me about that and I’ll tell you a few stories.

Shannon turned the pages of the circular softly, reading aloud slowly and quietly in her preschool teacher voice, until Dylan was lulled into sleep. She stood and stretched, pulling the curtains of his windows closed. Shannon looked at 219, the big house on the block that had been dark for months. Without curtains, a few of its windows glowed into the night.

“Be nice to Dylan,” Shannon said aloud in the direction of the house. “I don’t care what else you do, yuppies or whatever you are, just leave him be.”

From downstairs, Shannon heard the roar of artificial laughter. She followed it to find her mother and put her to bed for the night.