Our Fragile Hearts. Buffy Andrews

I hated being surrounded by things that were not my own. Even though I went through Mom’s stuff and donated what was in decent shape to charity and threw the rest out, the bedroom still didn’t feel like my own. Some nights, I felt like the pale pink walls were closing in on me. This was not the life I imagined, not the life I wanted.

      When I learned about Piper, there was a part of me that was jealous. Piper had the kind of childhood I’d always longed for. I guess Piper was one last chance for Mom to get things right. Sometimes it amazed me that something so sweet could come out of something so damaged.

      Judy said she met Mom at an AA meeting, where Judy was the leader. Mom started going after I left her. I had begged Mom to go to AA over the years, but she insisted she didn’t have a problem, that she could stop drinking anytime she wanted. Judy said it took me leaving to make Mom realize what a mess her life had become. If I had known that, I might’ve run away sooner. Believe me, I’d thought about it often.

      I guess Mom met someone at AA and they hit it off. It was okay for a while. That’s when Mom got pregnant with Piper. But Jason loved the bottle more than he loved Piper and Mom. When he starting hitting the vodka, Judy said Mom kicked him out. Piper was just a baby and she doesn’t remember her dad. I’m glad Mom got the help she needed, and it sounds like she had finally pulled her life together. Piper and I see Judy once in a while. Still, sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if Mom had gone to AA when I’d asked her to. She obviously loved Piper enough to stay sober. Why didn’t she love me?

      I checked my newsfeed on Facebook. There were photos of my friends having a great time doing everything that I wanted to do but couldn’t. I clicked off Facebook and set my alarm instead. Maybe things would look better tomorrow. One thing I knew for sure, I was going to paint my bedroom. Something cheerful and bold. Something that was me. Maybe fuchsia or purple. Or a bright sunny yellow. I needed to make the space feel like my own, not as if I was borrowing it temporarily. I didn’t think there was anything temporary about it.

      The next morning, I opened Piper’s backpack and stuffed in the questionnaire the teacher had sent home. She asked the parents… er, guardians… to answer questions, such as what’s your child’s favorite activity. I did the best I could, but I was still learning these things about Piper. Actually, answering the questions made me realize how little I did know about my half-sister. “Remember to give these to your teacher.”

      Piper looked up from eating her cereal. “And you’ll be at the bus stop when I come home like you were yesterday?”

      I nodded. “Yes. Just like yesterday.” I wondered if Piper would ask me this question every day or if at some point she’d trust that I’d be there.

      We waited at the bus stop in the car because it was raining. The bus was late.

      Piper chewed on her nails. “Maybe the bus driver forgot us this morning. If he doesn’t come, can I stay home with you?”

      I sighed and turned toward Piper. “No. If he doesn’t come, I’ll take you to school. And quit biting your nails. Girls should have pretty nails. Why don’t we paint yours tonight?”

      Piper held out her hands. “Mommy bit her nails.”

      I wanted to say that I hoped she wasn’t like Mom, but I stopped myself before the words flew out of my mouth. I was trying to get better at thinking about things before I blurted them out, especially when it came to Piper and Mom. “Still, hands look much prettier when your nails are longer and painted.”

      I heard the bus screech before I saw it. I turned toward Piper. “Have a good day. I’ll see you when you get home.”

      “And you’ll paint my nails tonight, right?”

      “Right.”

      I watched Piper run to the bus and board. As it pulled away, I wondered if I was doing the right thing for Piper. Would she have been better off with someone else, living with a family who might have been able to provide her with more than I could?

      As soon as I started the car, my cellphone rang. It was the agency.

      I coughed. “What? Howard’s dead? Omigod! I was just there and he seemed his normal ornery self.”

      “Margaret just called,” Annie said. “Said he passed away in his sleep. She stopped in to check on him and found him in bed.”

      “How awful for her.”

      “Yeah, she sounded pretty upset.” Annie was a friend of Margaret. “Well, I wanted you to know.”

      “Okay, thanks.”

      I called Claire as soon as I hung up and told her about Howard. Actually, I needed her to tell me I wasn’t a bad person for feeling relieved I wouldn’t have to navigate his mess of a house ever again.

      “It sounds like he went peacefully,” Claire said. “That’s the way I’d want to go.”

      “Yeah, I suppose. I pity his daughter, though. She’s the one who has to get rid of all his junk. He’ll probably be the King Hoarder in heaven.”

      Claire laughed. “What would he hoard?”

      “I don’t know. There has to be something up there to hoard if for no other reason than to make hoarders like Howard feel at home.”

      That comment launched us into playful banter over what Howard could hoard.

      “Broken hearts,” I said.

      “That’s too sad,” Claire said. “Maybe white feathers from wings. Or, I got it! Thongs.”

      I laughed. “Thongs? Seriously? They probably don’t wear underwear in heaven. They’re probably underwearless.”

      Claire coughed. “Not underwear, dummy! Sandals! The kind you wear on your feet!”

      By the time I got off the phone with Claire I was feeling much better. She’s one of the few people who can lighten my mood even when it seems impossible.

      I headed to my next cleaning job and met Kenny as I parked in front of his condo. He was pulling out of his driveway and stopped.

      “Hi, Rachel,” Kenny said. “Can you do me a favor and throw the laundry into the dryer when it’s done?”

      “Sure. Anything else?”

      “No, just the usual. And thanks. You’re the best!”

      Kenny left for his office and I headed inside. I loved Kenny’s place. It was ultra-contemporary and he had a flair for color. His entry and hallways were a pebble gray with tan undertones that popped with the white wooden trim. And his dining room was the color of an iris.

      Kenny’s house was my easiest to clean. The guy was a neat freak. Nothing was out of place. Even the books he kept on his nightstand (all management books) were neatly stacked as if they’d never been read. He was the complete opposite of Howard.

      As I cleaned I thought about Howard’s daughter and the mountain of stuff she’d have to go through. Maybe she’d call a junk dealer to remove it. Or rent a giant dumpster that’s dropped off and later picked up when it’s filled. It was sad to think Howard’s life would be defined by the junk he kept. To him, I’m sure it was treasure.

      Funny how two people can see the same thing differently. Like the pile of travel magazines that had sprouted beneath Howard’s kitchen table. To me, it was another stack of worthless magazines to clean around. To Howard, it was a window on the world, providing a glimpse of life beyond the quarter acre he inhabited beside a corn field in the rolling countryside of southcentral Pennsylvania.

      Did he dream of going to the places he read about? I wondered. Maybe it was his way of seeing places he could never afford to visit. And when I thought about the stack of travel magazines in this way, cleaning around it wasn’t nearly as big of a deal. There was hope and comfort in that stack and for Howard, maybe it was as close to the real thing as he’d ever get.

      When I picked Piper up at