A Day As Dark As Night

Meredith opened her eyes and yawned. The room was heavy, dark, and gray and matched her mood. I still have two hours until the alarm goes off. I should be asleep, but apparently, my mind disagrees with my body. Stretching languidly, first twisting her body from right to left, then from left to right, she threw off the thick purple bohemian-style duvet and sat up to pull on her fluffy beige Uggs slippers.

Chilled by the cold night air in her short-sleeve hooded pajamas, Meredith admired the faint streaks of dawn chasing away the darkest part of the night before pulling the open window shut and flicking the light switch on.

Then she headed to the bathroom to shower.

Ten minutes later, she stood naked in front of the full-length mirror in her walk-in closet, her long black hair wrapped turban-style in a fluffy white towel. She selected a fitted, knee-length, long-sleeve black dress and laid it on the bed before sliding on a pair of black lace underwear and a matching bra she retrieved from one of the nine gray dresser drawers.

Opening another, she pulled out a new package of black nylons, ripped them open, and stretched the pantyhose as far as her arms would reach, a trick she’d learned from her mother, then laid them on the bed next to the mock turtleneck dress.

She pulled the towel off her long black, curly hair, pleased to see the products she’d slathered on had resulted in almost-perfectly de-frizzed damp corkscrew curls, which would only curl tighter as her hair air-dried, and dropped the towel on the floor in front of the mirror. Meredith sat down at her makeup desk and smoothed on an anti-wrinkle moisturizer, primer, and a light coat of foundation. Then, she brushed on translucent powder and layered on two coats of black mascara. She finished her makeup with a coat of deep red lipstick on her pouty lips, which she turned into a frown in the mirror as she prepared to get dressed.

The night began departing, the gray skies and the new day, one she dreaded, was officially beginning. Meredith sat on the edge of the bed, extending her right leg, and began to pull on the nylons as high as possible without tearing them. Extending her left leg, she did the same and stood, pulling them up. Meredith did a couple of deep knee-bends, ensuring the pantyhose were on in place and comfortable. Then she slid into the mock turtleneck dress, pairing it with low-heeled black pumps, and discarded the idea of adding a jacket. The weather during the day was still warm enough to go without one; it seemed too formal, and she felt her beloved housekeeper, Bertha wouldn’t have approved of her wearing such formal attire in her honor.

She prepared her black clutch, putting in her driver’s license, health card, lipstick, and, from her gray nightstand, a square gold pillcase Bertha bought for her after her parent’s passing. Inside the case were sedatives, her only way of support for getting through the day. Bertha knew the day would come when I would need this because of her.

Finished with her preparations, Meredith left the room and descended the stairs to the grand kitchen, flipping on lights as she went. The white kitchen shone and sparkled brightly, a testament to Bertha. Meredith’s throat tightened as she saw the evidence of Bertha’s everywhere; everything was spotless and shiny. She knew I needed all the help I could get.

Raised as a spoiled child, Meredith understood manipulating people to get what she wanted, something the strict parental Bertha never allowed her to do. Always wearing a long floral dress and white apron, her brown hair pinned up, she schooled Meredith in cooking, cleaning, laundry, and grocery shopping, ignoring Meredith’s protests.

“What are you going to do when I’m gone?” Bertha would ask her.

Meredith would widen her eyes innocently and respond by asking, “Why? Where are you going?” I constantly changed the subject, refusing to discuss the day when Bertha would no longer be with me, but Bertha wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what I was doing. “Why do you always wear the same thing, day after day? You would look superb in a short skirt or even in a pantsuit. Don’t long dresses and white aprons get dull? And, I must admit, I’ve never understood how your apron is always spotless, regardless of what you do. Don’t you ever spill anything? Drop anything?” Bertha would roll her eyes at Meredith and chase her off, sending her to do one of her assigned daily chores.

Bertha knew when she was gone, Meredith would likely hire a new housekeeper rather than take care of herself. The manor was her home: the house where she’d helped raise Meredith and helped keep things running smoothly.

However, for the last six years after a drunk driver killed Mr. and Mrs. Silver, it had just been her and Meredith, and she had become a surrogate mother to the girl. Mr. Silver, his alcohol level three times the legal limit and speeding, missed one of the sharp turns leading up to the estate, and the guardrail stood no chance of stopping the luxury Mercedes from plunging the cliff side.

The authorities tracked Meredith down at the Hotel de Paris Monte Carlo, where she was vacationing with a boy-toy she met on the plane. It was one of her favorite resorts, replete with a spa. She’d flown home on a private jet and after the funeral, where she remained stone-faced and dry-eyed, returned home and took to her bed for a month and sobbed uncontrollably day and night, which prompted Bertha to call the family doctor.

The doctor had Bertha dispense sedatives to Meredith twice a day so she would finally be able to stop crying and get some sleep. She was devastated, broken by the death of her parents, and sleep-deprived from crying twenty-four hours a day. Bertha took care of her until the morning Meredith appeared in the kitchen, showered and dressed, ready to clear the house of her parent’s things with Bertha’s help. After crying in bed for a month, it was time I pulled myself together. My parents wouldn’t want me to mourn them forever; they’d want me to move on with my life as the woman they raised me to be.

As the sky lightened, Meredith snapped out of her reverie, found the K-pods with some difficulty, and made herself a coffee, taking care not to spill the hot liquid on her dress, which had been one of Bertha’s favorites. Sipping her coffee as she watched the sunrise, she thought of Bertha reading her stories, taking her to the park, and coloring with her as a child. She was almost always cheerful.

Slowly, she returned to her bedroom suite to get her clutch, but first, she sat on the bed and reminisced for some time. Then, she looked around the suite to ensure everything was in its place, and Meredith espied the wet towel she had wrapped around her hair earlier lying on the floor by the walk-in closet. Bertha would kill me. She trained me to put my things away after I finished with them. Slowly, Meredith rose, retrieved the towel from the floor, and somberly hung it on the gold hook near the glass walk-in shower. She felt tears building and stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to keep them from fully forming.

Once composed, Meredith checked her slender gold Cartier watch, dragged her feet through the thick, rich lilac carpet, her heels leaving strips flattened behind her, and grabbed her clutch from the bed. She took one of the white rectangular pills from the gold pill case, swallowing it dry, and took one last look around the suite before exiting and closing the door behind her gloomily.

The house was deathly silent as Meredith unplugged her cell phone from the charger on the kitchen counter and grabbed her car keys from the Italian hand-blown glass bowl in the front hall. She locked the door behind her, disarmed and unlocked her Porsche 911, and demurely slid in behind the wheel.

Before getting into the car, Meredith brought outside a pair of scissors from the house. She carefully made her way in her heels through the garden to cut a bouquet of Bertha's favorite flowers, roses, and silver bells, tying them with a black lace ribbon.

As she started the car and headed down the estate's long driveway, she headed to the local flower shop to buy a wreath for the cemetery, then drove east towards Bertha’s hometown, wiping away a solitary tear.