A Day As Dark As Night

Meredith opened her eyes and yawned, the room a heavy dark gray. She didn’t need to look at the clock to know it was well-before sunrise, but did anyway. 4:48 am. She laughed bitterly to herself. I still have two hours until the alarm goes off. I should be asleep, getting my rest for the day ahead, 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 Ugg slippers. 

Shivering in her short-sleeve khaki hoodie pajamas, Meredith opened the curtains to let in the darkest part of the night, which was just before the faint streaks of dawn encroached upon it and chased it away, and closed the wide-open window before heading to the bathroom to shower but not before turning on all the lights to combat the deep gray of night pouring through the windows. Damn, it’s cold at this early hour of the morning!

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, forgetting. Meredith sat down at her makeup desk and smoothed on anti-wrinkle moisturizer, primer, a light coating of foundation with translucent powder and layered on two coats of black mascara. She finished her makeup with a coating of deep red lipstick on her pouty lips which she turned down into a frown at the mirror as she got up to dress.

Noticing the room becoming slightly brighter by the dissipating darkness of the night, and the new day, one she dreaded, was officially beginning, Meredith sat on the edge of the bed, extending her right leg and began the process of pulling on the nylons as high as possible without tearing them. Extending her left leg, she did the same and stood, pulling them all the way up. Meredith did a couple of deep knee-bends, ensuring the pantyhose was on in place and comfortably. 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 approve of her wearing such formal attire in her honor. 

Meredith prepared her black clutch, putting in her drivers’ license, health card, lipstick and, from her gray nightstand, a square gold pill case Bertha bought for her after her parent’s passing in which to carry the sedatives she knew she would need to function throughout the upcoming day. Bertha knew the day would come when I would need this, when she would leave me, especially after my reaction when my parents were killed.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened and closed the door to her bedroom suite behind her before she proceeded down the stairs to the grand kitchen and flipped the lights on upon her entry. In the slowly fading grayness of night, the white kitchen shone and sparkled brightly, a testament to Bertha. She kept everything shiny and spotless. Thankfully, when her parents were killed in a drunk driving accident a few years back and Meredith moved back into the family manor, Bertha agreed to stay on. She knew I would need all the help I could get.

Raised as a spoiled child, Meredith understood self-care, dressing herself and manipulating people to get what she wanted, something the strict, parental Bertha never allowed her to do. Always attired in a long flowered dress with a white apron, her brown hair pinned up in a practical bun, she put Meredith in her place, teaching her to cook and clean and do laundry and groceries, despite Meredith’s moaning, groaning and complaining. 

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

Meredith would widen her eyes innocently and in response, ask, “Why? Where are you going?” I always changed the subject, refusing to discuss the day that would come when Bertha would no longer be with her, 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 ensured Meredith would be able to take care of herself once she retired or passed, whichever came first. She had been with Meredith’s family since Meredith was a small child and knew she couldn’t work forever. She knew when she was gone, rather than take care of herself, Meredith would likely hire a new housekeeper, which in some ways saddened her. The manor was her home; the house where she’d helped raise Meredith and helped keep things running smoothly.

She had been with the family for more than thirty years, although the last six years, after Mr. and Mrs. Silver were killed, it had just been her and Meredith and she had become a surrogate mother to Meredith. 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 down the cliffside and bursting into flames when it finally came to a stop upside down, fifty feet below.

Meredith had to be tracked down at the Hotel de Paris Monte Carlo, in Monte Carlo where she was vacationing with a boy-toy she met in first-class on the plane over. It was one of her favorite resorts, replete with a spa. It’s a must at any hotel I stay at. 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. He had her dispense sedatives to Meredith twice a day just 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 and Bertha took care of her until the morning Meredith appeared in the kitchen, showered and dressed, ready to have Bertha help her clear the house of her parent’s things. 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.

Meredith snapped out of her reverie and as the sky lightened, found the k-pods with some difficulty and made herself a coffee, adding some one percent milk and two Splenda, taking care not to spill any of the hot liquid on her dress, which had been one of Bertha’s favorites. She stood by the window, the white and gold china cup in both hands and watched the sun finally rise. She sipped her coffee slowly and  after she finished it, she carefully washed the china cup and set it on the dish rack to dry. 

Slowly she went back up to her bedroom suite to get her clutch, but sat on the bed, remembering for some time first. Looking around the suite to ensure everything was in its place, 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 was done with them. Slowly, Meredith rose, went to bend over and collect it, then somberly hung it on the gold hook near the glass walk-in shower in her spotless black-and-gold colored bathroom. She felt tears building and stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to keep them from fully forming. 

Once composed, Meredith checked her slender gold Cartier watch and 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 in the pocket of her clutch, 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 white-and-gold marble kitchen counter and grabbed her car keys from the olive-green Italian hand-blown glass bowl in the front hall. She locked the door behind her, disarmed and unlocked her red Porsche 911 and demurely slid in behind the wheel. As she started the car and drove down the long driveway of the estate, she headed to the local flower shop to buy a wreath for the cemetery, then drove east towards Bertha’s hometown. 

Meredith wiped away the solitary tear and continued driving to Bertha’s hometown to attend her dearly departed housekeeper’s funeral.