The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Skeletons in the Closet

what the money’s like.”
    “Well it depends on the size of the house and the particular type of cleaning job,” I hedged, unsure of where this conversation was headed.
    “I won’t take less than $8.50 an hour, and that’s under the table, right?”
    “Um….”
    “Damn social security, sucking the lifeblood out of us working stiffs, you know what I mean?”
    Since I was certain the man I was speaking with was a recipient of social security, I decided to retrench. “Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
    A wheezy chuckle ensued. “That’s ‘cause I didn’t give it to you yet, Missy.”
    “Actually, it’s Maggie.”
    “Sure as hell ain’t!” was the incensed reply. “I’m Cooper C. Milton Jr., but you can call me Coop.”
    The feisty old bugger had me tongue-tied. I looked at the wall clock with the mallards on the face. I had little less than eight hours until I needed to be at my next job and no partner in sight. Marty was taking the boys to the movies, Neil would be at work, and Sylvia was visiting Eric’s family in Concord for the holiday weekend.
    “Looks like it’ll be you and me, Coop. Can you start today?”
    Coop said that he would, and after I gave him directions to my house said goodbye.
    Well he can’t be worse than Janice.

    * * * *
    When Marty and the boys got up we decided to take Kenny and Josh to the park, which was deserted due to the almost freezing temperatures. One good thing about having my brother around is that my sports self-esteem increased by multiples of ten. Marty is just as spastic as I am, but it’s so much worse because he thinks he’s hot stuff.
    “Over here, Uncle Marty!” Kenny had managed to break away from his brother’s guard and positioned himself directly in front of the basketball hoop.
    I waved my arms like Chicken Little in front of my brother, who’d already bounced the ball off his foot twice. The score was twelve-ten in favor of me and Josh, and guess who’d scored all the points?
    “You’re going down, Laundry Hag.” What Marty lacked in skill he made up for in smack talk.
    I can’t pass straight, dribble without traveling, or shoot to save my bank account, but I guarded as if the world was coming to an end. Neil calls it my mother bear instinct, which I decided to take as flattery.
    Marty made a half-assed effort to dribble around me, and I shoulder-checked him for being a ball hog. “Pass it to Kenny,” I hissed under my breath. Kenny, who was responsible for all ten points on their side of the scoreboard, was still my baby, and I’d always feel a need to protect.
    My brother was sweating like he’d spent an hour in a sauna, and the look of concentration on his face would have been comical if I wasn’t worried I’d have to perform CPR at any moment. Neil and the boys were natural athletes, and they made sports look so effortless that I sometimes forgot how difficult it could be for the mortal man. Women are different—we’re born without the competitive sports gene, and while some choose to pursue them, it isn’t expected.
    “I’m open!” Kenny called out again, his voice tinged with frustration.
    Marty paused, and the ball struck his size ten clodhopper for the third time. It rolled towards the boys, who scrambled at it like a priceless treasure, but Josh’s longer gait got him there first. He scooped up the ball, pivoted on the spot, and shot straight for the hoop. His aim was perfect, and he caught the far rim before the ball swished through the net.
    Marty looked winded, and Kenny sullen, so I figured we’d had enough. “Good game,” I said to Marty and Kenny after completing a high five with Josh. I had to call about my van anyhow.
    “You did real good, Kenny,” Josh consoled his brother on the walk home. He put his arm around Kenny’s shoulder, but his brother shrugged him off.
    “What’s his deal?” Marty huffed alongside me.
    I was glad my breathing didn’t sound so labored.
    “You’re his hero and you let him down.” It was mostly true. While Josh and Kenny both adored their father, Kenny viewed his uncle through rose-colored lenses. It bothered me sometimes to see my little guy admire someone as aimless as my brother.
    “Hey, I never claimed to being courted by the NBA,” Marty said, his tone indignant.
    I pulled on his arm so the boys couldn’t overhear us. “You don’t have to be. What he needed was for his uncle to show him a little respect, to be a team player. You and I both