And I loved doing it. I loved helping. I loved watching Mickey’s business flourish. I loved seeing him happy in his job. I loved knowing when he started his work day he was doing something he enjoyed, something that was his.
Since Mickey’s house was on the market, even though our wedding wasn’t for three months, when it sold, even if we weren’t yet married, they were moving in.
Then again, they were there most of the time already.
If they weren’t, I, and if I had my kids, all three of us were over at Mickey’s.
Total Brady Bunch.
It was fantastic.
“Yeah, honey, I run it every Thursday morning before Dove House,” I told him something he knew. “Direct deposits will be in accounts tomorrow.”
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Why?” I asked.
“Jerry fucked up his timesheet. Forgot some overtime I asked him to do.”
“Tell him he can just submit it with the next one and we’ll make the alteration then.”
“Says he needs the money, baby. The divorce.”
One of Mickey’s crew, Jerry, was in the throes of an ugly divorce that included an ugly custody battle. His attorney’s fees were out the roof.
“Right,” I said, snatching up a pen and sliding a pad of Post-its my way. “Give me the hours. I’ll run another payroll and he’ll have two deposits, the second one is the overtime. But he needs to give you the timesheet to bring home tonight so I can have it on file.”
“Will do,” he replied and gave me the hours. I wrote them down while he asked, “Your day been good?”
I looked to the frame and the picture sitting beside it, ready to be inserted.
Then I looked to the shelves.
There were DVDs, CDs, books, picture frames and knickknacks in them. There were a lot of shelves and they were new so they were far from filled. But I figured when Mickey and his kids moved in, that would happen easily.
All of them had something in them, though.
But one of them had only one thing.
A broken, black, folded up umbrella.
My heart squeezed.
“No,” I answered Mickey’s question.
“What’s up?”
I looked away from the umbrella.
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “We’ll talk when you get home.”
His voice dipped when he repeated, “What’s up, baby?”
He heard it in my voice even if I was trying to hide it. He read it. Now he was worried.
I dropped my eyes to the picture on the desk and reached out a hand to touch it with my finger.
“Amy?” Mickey called.
“Mr. Dennison passed this morning,” I whispered, my voice suddenly clogged.
“Fuck, Amy,” Mickey whispered back.
I stared at the picture of Mr. Dennison and me. He was sitting in a recliner in the lounge at Dove House. I was sitting on the arm, leaned in and kissing his cheek. He was looking at the camera, smiling.
It was a selfie.
I was getting good at them.
I’d learned after Mrs. McMurphy, and now I had tons of pictures on my phone of the residents, Dela with the residents, the staff with the residents, the kids, me, even Mickey with the residents.
“Peaceful,” I said.
“That’s good,” he replied gently.
I made the noise as the tears came.
“Shit, baby,” Mickey whispered, then louder and more firm, “Comin’ to you. Got somethin’ to do, then I’ll be there. Home in an hour. I’ll run Jerry’s shit, don’t worry about. You relax. I’ll text the kids. We’ll order pizza. Quiet night at home with the family. Yeah?”
Quiet night at home with the family.
That could cure anything. Even help balm the hurt of losing Mr. Dennison.
I sniffled and agreed, “Yeah, Mickey, sounds good. But I’ll run Jerry’s thing.”
“Okay, Amy. Be home soon.”
He’d be home soon.
That, alone, could cure anything.
“All right, Mickey. See you.”
“Love you, darlin’.”
I smiled as a tear slid out of my eye. “Love you too.”
“Later.”
“’Bye.”
We hung up, I rounded the desk and made short work of running an additional payroll so Jerry could get his money.
Then I put the picture of me and Mr. Dennison in the frame. I took it to the shelf with the umbrella and set it up.
I took a step back and stared at it, allowing more tears to fall.
Then I swiped them away, turned and left the room knowing, as the years passed, that shelf would get filled with frames.
I’d only ever have one umbrella. I’d eventually have masses of frames.
But I’d have thousands of memories.
*
I was cleaning the house when I saw it.
The weekend before, after Mickey closed on his house, he and his kids had moved in.
Although it was bittersweet, the Donovans saying good-bye to their home, it was not traumatic.
Then again, for months, they’d had two homes and a big family so they were used to me, my kids and our space.
Ash and Cillian had elected to keep the bedroom furniture I had in the guestrooms, Cillian doing this stating an excited, “I feel like a lumberjack in that bed! Totally cool. And I’m so lumberjacking when I’m not going Mach three.”
Lumberjacking, which included axes and chainsaws, as a hobby did not thrill me, but I kept my mouth shut.