Clean Porcelain

Because the shirt is white, we can use bleach on the stains. Margo mixes a solution in the bathtub and dips the shirt in and out, in and out, scrubbing it, her nimble hands made clunky by the yellow rubber gloves.

“See?” she says, pulling the shirt from the milky water, “good as new. And the tub is clean.”

We let the water-bleach mixture drain, then hose off the shirt and the porcelain of the bath and finally Margo’s hands, even though no bleach touched her skin.

Just like that, Auntie is gone, and we are on our own in an apartment paid for through the month. Margo got a job at a store that sells silk scarves and I will be working at the library, and we should be able to pay rent and keep the lights on and feed ourselves, even if we can’t afford new shirts just yet.

“Soon,” Margo promises me, “once we get promotions or scrape together savings.”

I think that Auntie would have bought us new shirts, but I know better than to say it outloud. Auntie is gone, the last of her went down the drain with bleach and water, and Margo does not want me to stain our apartment with her. She worked so hard to get her away, after all.

Besides, I don’t mean it. I don’t need a new shirt because I would rather have a job and a good night’s sleep and no screaming.

Margo takes my face in her hands, the palms warm.

“Remember, she was dating that biker, and she went off with him. Happens all the time. No, we don’t know when she’ll be back. No, she didn’t leave a number.” I nod, and Margo goes to answer the door, which I did not realize had been knocked on. I’m staring at the drain we washed Mom’s sister down, until Margo clears her throat.

I walk to the kitchen and start to boil water for pasta as Margo greets the man in blue at the door.

Then it’s hello I'm Officer Davis are you Margo Munroe? And Yes I am her is anything the matter? And that’s what I came to find out has Lucille Beauchamp been home today? And No sir not since she left for work and mind if I come in and ask a few questions? And I suppose so but please try not to disturb my sister she’s a little restless she’s got- and the rest is cut off by the whoosh of the pasta into the pot.

Officer Davis is there with Officer Robbin and I tell them what Margo told me I know, and watch them take notes. I tell them I did not make enough pasta for all four of us so they’ll have to leave before dinner. They do, but they leave a little card with their number if we hear from her. Margo pulls me into a hug and rests her chin on my head.

“Soon she’ll be gone and we’ll start fresh. Not a smidge of her left.”

That night the bath I take smells too clean and I imagine the water tingles my skin even though I know we did a real good job washing away the bleach. I think about the life Margo has painted for us and how she got us both jobs and we’ll have money and run our lives however we please. I won’t be yelled at for not understanding things easily and Margo won’t be hit every time her face looks too much like mom’s.

It’s a fresh start. It ought not to smell like bleach, but that is inevitable.