Her Thirties Part 77
We returned to Marilyn’s old house only to find it traumatized her.
I felt guilty for taking her there, blaming my curiosity for allowing her to take the risk, despite the warnings of her psychiatrist.
The only thing I could do was take Marilyn home and insist she go to bed. She didn't protest—the stress of the morning drained and exhausted her.
Ella was downstairs minding the store, and curious as I was to see her reaction to the news, my responsibility lay in taking care of Marilyn.
I decided to make tea. I put some water in the kettle and put it on the stove, then sat back on the couch going over the morning’s events in my head.
Catherine Forrester—the name seemed strange—even alien.
I knew from trying to memorize student class lists that somehow people grew into their given names and suited them—but Marilyn wouldn’t.
The name Marilyn suited her—the name of a screen goddess. Her surname, Birnam, was also appropriate—it was prophetic.
I thought of the witches’ prophecy in Macbeth— how he would prosper only as long as Birnam Woods did not come to Dunsinane’s Hill.
I wondered what the name Birnam might prophesy for me—a beginning, or an ending? If Marilyn’s instincts were right, it could signify a continuation—after all, she did say our love was eternal.
I closed my eyes trying to imagine our lives stretching back in time and forward till the crack of doom.
A shrill sound startled me. I looked around me in alarm, but was relieved to see the source—my teakettle whistling merrily on the gas stove.
I laughed inwardly at my superstitious fear.
I got up and shut off the burner and spooned some creamed Earl Grey tealeaves into the tea ball.
A shuffling sound came from the stairway and I heard Ella coming up, “Marilyn, Scott—are you back?”
I went to the landing and helped her up the last few stairs. “Marilyn’s resting, Ella—she had a trying morning.”
She paused to recover her breath, “Phew! Those stairs are a real trial. The only thing I hate about this place.”
Worry lines then began to furrow her brow. “Marilyn told me she was feeling better this morning—did she have a relapse?”
“Nothing like that—physically, she’s fine.”
She caught my drift. “Oh dear, then, something must have happened to set her off.”
I nodded. “Here,” I said, helping her to the sofa, “Why don’t you sit here and we’ll have tea? —The kettle just boiled.”
“Tea would be lovely,” she smiled.
As I busied myself heating the cups and teapot, I realized this was a familiar activity for me—yet, I drank coffee all my life—perhaps, as Joey, I didn’t.
“So, what happened Scott?” Ella called out impatiently from the other room.
“She remembered the name of her street,” I said, as I brought in the tray.
“Dear God! Is that where she went?”
There was something in Ella’s horror-stricken face that told me she knew why that would cause Marilyn such trauma.
Wao its brilliant. This post is very informative. Thanks for sharing your knowlge. And thanks for writting an intrested story
nice you post,@johnjgeddes
So Ella knows more than she has shared.
To coffee or tea ..
I'll take coffee in the early morn and tea after three
And If the going is good, it will be Earl Grey for me
Make it double bergamot, if you please
ha, ha, thanks Pryde
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Scott shouldn't feel guilty. How was he to know Marilyn would freak out. She wanted to go as well! Now what is going on with Ella...what could she possibly know? Scott is so on edge. Hmmm the mystery continues