The Secret Life of a Funny Girl Read Free Page B

decision without asking him first. And then there’s Gran, who comes over every afternoon to help Mom fold laundry and peel potatoes for dinner. Poor Gran, what’s going to happen there now? Then on those rare times when Mom and Dad go out at night, Aunt Kay shows up to give advice on Mom’s outfit, hair, and makeup. It’s crazy; they all treat her like she’s helpless. Mom clearly doesn’t mind. With her big round eyes and tiny body, she draws people to her like paper clips to a magnet.
    â€œMaureen . . .”
    The kitchen door swings open, cutting Aunt Kay off. Dad strides in, Beth-Ann a small shadow behind him. He leans against the broom closet, his business suit dark against the bright yellow paint. “How’s Cecelia now?” He looks tired and definitely worried, and my stomach does that somersault thing again.
    â€œShe’s sleeping, thank God,” says Aunt Kay, giving him a knowing look as she crouches down by Beth-Ann. “My love, would you like a cookie and a glass of milk?”
    Beth-Ann nods solemnly. I bite my lip and stare out the window at the drizzle. What about me, doesn’t anyone care about me? Suddenly tears rush behind my eyes and the kitchen feels too small, too full of people. I have to get out of here. Now. I scrape my chair back on the linoleum floor and push out the door.
    â€œDon’t disturb your mother, Maureen!” Aunt Grace calls out, as the kitchen door rocks back and forth to a close.
    But no one comes after me.
    I stand at the end of the hallway, staring at the shut door of Mom and Dad’s bedroom, glancing back toward the kitchen. Aunt Grace isn’t telling me what to do—if I want to see my own mother, I will. Carefully I turn the doorknob. It clicks softly, releases, and the door swings silently open. I step inside.
    The room is dark, curtains pulled tight. Mom’s small shape lies motionless beneath the bedspread. The only sound in the room is the gentle rhythm of her breathing. On the bedside table there’s a glass of water and a small brown prescription bottle.
    â€œMom?”
    No response.
    I tiptoe over to the bed and kneel down. Mom’s eyes are closed, her face smooth and relaxed. Lavender perfume lingers on the air; I close my eyes and inhale. She’s only resting, she’ll be fine later. Minutes pass as I watch Mom sleep. Then quietly, I get up and go.
    Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I hear footsteps coming down the hall.
    â€œMaureen?” Aunt Kay sits on the edge of my bed. “I’ve made a casserole for dinner tonight. Beef and macaroni, it’s in the oven now. I need you to take it out at five o’clock. Serve it, and clean up after. Do you think you can do that?”
    â€œOf course I can do that.” I sit up, pull my knees to my chest. “But Mom gets dinner every night and she’ll be awake soon.” Aunt Kay’s beef and macaroni casserole? Her food always tastes weird. There’s no way we’re all eating that.
    â€œMaureen, listen to me. Your mother’s had a terrible shock. It’s important that she rest as long as possible. The next few days are going to be very difficult for all of us, but especially for her. You have to understand, your mother will need all her strength to cope.”
    â€œA terrible shock? All her strength to cope?” Anger suddenly balloons inside my head. “I’m sorry Aunt Kay, but I don’t understand. You and Aunt Grace aren’t taking pills to go to sleep. Neither am I. And I’m feeling pretty sad about Gran dying too, but nobody seems to care about that!” Now the hot tears bubble out, spilling down my cheeks, forming tiny damp circles on my blouse.
    Aunt Kay reaches out and pulls me close. Third hug of the day. “I know, Maureen, I understand. We’re all devastated that Gran has died. But we have to be strong. And some people are better at being strong than others. Things