and she’s scared.”
I saw the wisdom of what she said. But I still found myself trying to manufacture reasons to get rid of them. A staged death in the family forcing me to close up the house and go back to Manhattan? A gas leak? A secret call to the police reporting two fugitives from justice hiding in my house?
No. Even I was disgusted by that last thought; I hated myself for a moment. I smiled my best Wall Street fake smile. “It’s not something I ever liked. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’s just tired.”
Eileen pulled the covers from Megan’s head. Or at least she tried to; the child fought her. “Megan! Please tell Mike you’re sorry. Come on, honey. He’s been nice enough to let us stay here. He’s trying to help us.”
The battle of the covers continued with Megan putting up an excellent fight. Finally the little girl threw the covers off her and stood up, her teeth bared. “I hate you. I hate Mike!” She stared at both of us, daring us to contradict her.
I didn’t try. I went out into the kitchen and made a drink.
*
I supposed that Megan had tired herself out because I didn’t hear any more outbursts that night. I sat watching TV with my nerves jangling till the scotch numbed me and I managed to stumble back to my bedroom and fall asleep. The next morning I didn’t get up till 11:45. There was an omelet waiting for me along with toast, coffee and juice.
Eileen smiled sheepishly. “I thought I owed you breakfast at least. I found some eggs and some frozen vegetables. I hope the cheese will make it good ... morning food.” I had the feeling she was about to say “hangover food” but I let it pass. She gave a meaningful glance at her daughter who stared fixedly at the TV set, ignoring us.
“Thanks,” I said a bit more brusquely than I’d hoped.
Eileen continued to stare at her daughter; Megan ignored her with more energy, if that was possible. Finally Eileen stepped towards her, standing over her menacingly. “You have something to say to Mike, don’t you?”
Megan looked at her for a moment and then turned back to the TV “Megan!” her mother repeated.
After a minute of having her mother stare at her, the little girl got up from the couch with an air of deliberation. She marched up to me and got her face as close to mine as she could; an amazing feat considering her height. “I’m sooo sorry!” she screamed.
I started to laugh. Maybe it was release of tension, but there she was standing in front of me with her teeth bared and some snot running out of her nose.
At first Eileen was livid; she hadn’t gotten the reaction she wanted from either of us. But she softened after she watched me laugh for a moment. After a few seconds she grinned feebly and sat down.
*
The peace was not to last. Watching Megan was like watching someone do a one woman show, a series of characters and vignettes. Once she became bored with “Megan watching TV in disdainful silence” she switched to “Megan sitting on the floor and barking like a dog”. This was followed by “Megan goes into the bedroom and makes retching noises”.
Her repertoire was endless. The awful part was that her mother kept responding and giving Megan the attention she asked for, prompting her to new dramatic flights of fancy. By the tenth act, I'd had it. I searched my mind for a suitable excuse to leave but found none. And in the end I realized that they were in my house and I didn’t owe them any explanations.
I finally decided that vagueness was the best gambit. I casually sauntered out of my room with my car keys dangling and spoke to no one in particular. “I thought I’d do some shopping. Do you want anything?”
Eileen studied me intently; I obviously hadn’t been convincing. “No,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”
I felt a twinge of guilt, figuring she could see through my thin pretense. “Uh…there’s a lot of food here. Feel free to have anything you want. Oh and there’re
I saw the wisdom of what she said. But I still found myself trying to manufacture reasons to get rid of them. A staged death in the family forcing me to close up the house and go back to Manhattan? A gas leak? A secret call to the police reporting two fugitives from justice hiding in my house?
No. Even I was disgusted by that last thought; I hated myself for a moment. I smiled my best Wall Street fake smile. “It’s not something I ever liked. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’s just tired.”
Eileen pulled the covers from Megan’s head. Or at least she tried to; the child fought her. “Megan! Please tell Mike you’re sorry. Come on, honey. He’s been nice enough to let us stay here. He’s trying to help us.”
The battle of the covers continued with Megan putting up an excellent fight. Finally the little girl threw the covers off her and stood up, her teeth bared. “I hate you. I hate Mike!” She stared at both of us, daring us to contradict her.
I didn’t try. I went out into the kitchen and made a drink.
*
I supposed that Megan had tired herself out because I didn’t hear any more outbursts that night. I sat watching TV with my nerves jangling till the scotch numbed me and I managed to stumble back to my bedroom and fall asleep. The next morning I didn’t get up till 11:45. There was an omelet waiting for me along with toast, coffee and juice.
Eileen smiled sheepishly. “I thought I owed you breakfast at least. I found some eggs and some frozen vegetables. I hope the cheese will make it good ... morning food.” I had the feeling she was about to say “hangover food” but I let it pass. She gave a meaningful glance at her daughter who stared fixedly at the TV set, ignoring us.
“Thanks,” I said a bit more brusquely than I’d hoped.
Eileen continued to stare at her daughter; Megan ignored her with more energy, if that was possible. Finally Eileen stepped towards her, standing over her menacingly. “You have something to say to Mike, don’t you?”
Megan looked at her for a moment and then turned back to the TV “Megan!” her mother repeated.
After a minute of having her mother stare at her, the little girl got up from the couch with an air of deliberation. She marched up to me and got her face as close to mine as she could; an amazing feat considering her height. “I’m sooo sorry!” she screamed.
I started to laugh. Maybe it was release of tension, but there she was standing in front of me with her teeth bared and some snot running out of her nose.
At first Eileen was livid; she hadn’t gotten the reaction she wanted from either of us. But she softened after she watched me laugh for a moment. After a few seconds she grinned feebly and sat down.
*
The peace was not to last. Watching Megan was like watching someone do a one woman show, a series of characters and vignettes. Once she became bored with “Megan watching TV in disdainful silence” she switched to “Megan sitting on the floor and barking like a dog”. This was followed by “Megan goes into the bedroom and makes retching noises”.
Her repertoire was endless. The awful part was that her mother kept responding and giving Megan the attention she asked for, prompting her to new dramatic flights of fancy. By the tenth act, I'd had it. I searched my mind for a suitable excuse to leave but found none. And in the end I realized that they were in my house and I didn’t owe them any explanations.
I finally decided that vagueness was the best gambit. I casually sauntered out of my room with my car keys dangling and spoke to no one in particular. “I thought I’d do some shopping. Do you want anything?”
Eileen studied me intently; I obviously hadn’t been convincing. “No,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”
I felt a twinge of guilt, figuring she could see through my thin pretense. “Uh…there’s a lot of food here. Feel free to have anything you want. Oh and there’re
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