“Marlene?”
“Claire! I… I didn’t expect you home so early!” She screamed, spinning around.
“Clearly,” I said, taking in the scene.
That’s when I saw a pillowcase with distinct rusty red stains. My stomach lurched. “What is that?”
“Nothing!” She reached for it, but I was faster.
“Is this BLOOD?” My voice shook.
“Marlene, what’s going on?”
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered, her face draining of color.
My hands trembled as I reached for my phone. “Tell me the truth right now, or I’m calling the police.”
“No!” She lunged for my phone. “Please, I can explain!”
“Then explain!
Because from where I’m standing, this looks really fishy.”
“I’ve been…” She sank onto the dryer, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve been helping injured animals.”
Of all the scenarios I’d imagined, this wasn’t one of them. “WHAT?”
“Strays,” she continued, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I find them at night… cats, dogs, even a baby raccoon once. I wrap them in towels and take them to the emergency vet. Last night, I found a little puppy.
He was curled up near a dumpster. Poor thing was hurt.”
I sat down on a chair, trying to process this revelation. “But why all the secrecy?”
“Patrick,” she said, twisting her wedding ring.
“He’s severely allergic to animal fur. If he knew I was bringing strays into our garage…” She shuddered. “Last year, I tried to help an injured cat.
He was so angry and threatened to cancel our joint credit card. Said I was wasting money on ‘worthless creatures.’”
“So you’ve been secretly saving animals and washing the evidence at OUR house?”
She nodded miserably. “Last week, I found a dog with a broken leg behind the supermarket.
The week before, it was a cat trapped in a storm drain. I couldn’t just leave them there, Claire. I couldn’t.
Those poor things.”
“How many animals have you helped?”
“Over 71 since January,” she whispered. “All of them found homes, except for the ones that were too far gone to save.” Her voice cracked on the last words.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I gently squeezed her hand.
“Everyone already thinks I’m controlling and obsessive,” she wiped her eyes with a damp tissue. “I didn’t want to give them another reason to judge me.”
“Judge you?
Marlene, this is amazing.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“I think you’re brave,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it.
“And I want to help you.”
“You do?”
“Of course. But no more sneaking around. We’ll do this together, okay?”
She hugged me then, something she’d never done before.
“Thank you, Claire. You don’t know what this means to me.”
That evening, after helping Marlene fold her now-clean linens, I heard Evan’s key in the lock. I quickly wiped away the tears we’d shed while she told me stories about all the animals she’d saved.
“Everything okay?” he asked, noticing the laundry basket.
“Mom’s washing machine still broken?”
I thought about the kitten Marlene had described finding last evening, barely alive in a dumpster.
About how she’d stayed up all night feeding it with an eyedropper. About this whole other side to the woman I’d misjudged for so long.
“Actually,” I smiled, “I think her washing machine’s not gonna work for quite some time. She can feel free to use ours.
I don’t mind!”
“Really? I thought you were—”
“Let’s just say your mom has her reasons,” I said, thinking of our new shared secret. “And they’re better than I could’ve ever imagined.”
I left that conversation with a new understanding of the woman I’d thought I knew.
And while our relationship would never be perfect, I learned that sometimes the most beautiful truths hide in the most unexpected places… even in a pile of crimson-stained laundry.
Source: amomama
