I Did Not Sign On For This

Chapter 1
 
 “Oh, for crying out loud!” She stomped a foot.
 The toys and trash scattered across the room angered Amber. She came home to this mess every time those kids came over. She kicked her way through the chaos in the family room. This was the last straw.
 “What makes these kids think they can leave their junk for me to clean up? This is not their pigsty. It’s my house! I’m not the maid,” she mumbled.
 Her right foot caught something heavy and tripped her. She sprawled across an overstuffed chair. However, her other foot caught the four-year-old’s rubber ball and sent it flying. The simple boing of the bouncy thing against the ornate mirror orchestrated a series of unfortunate events.
 She reached for the ringing phone buried beneath empty chip bags and dirty paper towels. In the meanwhile, the mirror swung precariously on the wall and the bouncy ball targeted a Japanese statue. Crack! The body fell over and rolled in a semicircle. The head wobbled across the floor and disappeared under a chair.  
 Amber stretched to grab the phone. Unfortunately, she needed a pry bar. Something sticky glued the thing to the table. Boing, boing! Another crash caused her to jerk toward the bouncy ball, just in time to see a sconce fall.
 “Hello!” she finally said, not in her telephone voice. She gasped.
 “This is an important call for …” Click!
 She didn’t care if the president were calling. World War Thornton was brewing. Her husband let these kids get by with this and she was about to rock his world.
 “Brad! Brad!” she screeched, kicking toys and yanking open the back door. “You out there?”
 She was across the back yard in short order. She invaded his sanctuary. He looked up from sanding on his precious V-bottom boat.
 “What?” That word bounced off the walls.
 She knew that tone. It irritated him if anything bothered him while he worked on his boat. Well, she didn’t care. She was particular about her tidy house and he was going to hear about it.
 “Your brats left a fine mess for me to clean up again!” She put her hands on her shapely hips and stomped her foot. “That’s not happening again. I want my house clean and neat. Right now, it looks like a pigsty. If their mama wants to live that way, fine. Not me!”
 Brad wrapped his sandpaper in a rag and dusted off his clothes. He approached his angry wife. “Now, honey, you know Trisha isn’t a housekeeper. I’ll speak …”
 The crash from inside got their attention. Amber twisted her head sideways and glared at him. He reached to caress her shoulder, but she dodged his advances.
 “That was probably Gram’s old mirror. It dangled by a thread after Aggie’s ball bounced around in there like a loose cannon ball. My Japanese statue is headless. Her poor head rolled under something in there,” she snapped. “You know Aunt Lela lugged that thing back from…goodness knows where.” Her anger cooled. “She’s gonna bust a stitch when she finds out.” She giggled slightly.
 “Fine. I hated that thing,” Brad said, reaching for his wife. 
 “Me, too. Hate to admit it, but the thing is awful.”
 “Was …” he drew out the word.
 “No. Is. I’ve got to glue the head back on that thing. Otherwise, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
 Brad cuddled his bride. She didn’t recoil this time. He was tender and loving most of the time. That drew her to him when they first met. He said he understood what she endured with her first husband. According to him, he’d make it all go away, just as soon as he had the money.
 She’d listened to his kind voice and heard his plans to travel. They planned trips all over the country, especially to Minnesota. He wanted to race the V-bottom boat in the national championships, if he got it built. For a year, he’d worked every spare moment on the thing.
 The thrill of his excitement spilled into her life. She’d married him only three weeks after his divorce was final. Now, the boat hung unfinished in the shop. And, he spent much of his time with friends, racing and drinking.
 He’d held three jobs since they married. This was their third house. Each one was less expensive than the last. He was jobless right now. She wasn’t sure they could pay the rent next month. Oh, he was attentive—when he wanted to stay in her good graces.
 She drew away from his arms. “Don’t try to distract me. Your little heathens have got to learn. Next time they visit, they will clean up after themselves. I can’t do it. You gotta make them.”
 Brad patted and rubbed her shoulders. He always did that when she scolded. She yanked his arm and pulled him into the house.
 “Wow! What a mess,” he said. He waved his hand over the disheveled room.
 “It was your little darlings. I’m not a maid. I expect some respect here,” she blurted, waving her arms.
 “Okay, okay. It’ll get better,” he coaxed, trying to catch her arms.
 His caresses and kisses made her forget the mess and cooled her anger. That was newlywed love. He quickly left her to clean up the mess.
 
 Jake, her first husband, was never like this. He was coarse and short with her immediately after their wedding. He wanted his toys—three motorcycles and an old truck he’d restored. His idea of a date night was shooting pool and a tough steak or lousy pizza. She never understood that. She liked long walks in the moonlight and cuddling to watch a movie. Jake forgot that after they married.
 She’d dated him in high school and college. However, he enjoyed a turn around the campus on his bike with a cheerleader or other girl in tow. She didn’t mind.  Everyone loved Jake, except Gram, until …
 She jerked her head up and refused to replay those memories just now. The house needed cleaning and the beds needed changing. Aggie had her usual accident and left her covers in a pile on the floor. At least, Amber protected the bed with a plastic sheet this time.
 The blow-up beds were all they could afford for the kids. Nevertheless, they’d stink without some protection.  She sprayed the bed just in case and put in a load of laundry. She killed three tiny roaches.
 Amber walked into the den and sighed. The crunch of glass under her feet reminded that this was going to be a fun job. The antique mirror lay in shards. The broken candleholders from the sconces mingled with the mess on the floor.
 She sorted the children’s toys and put them away. She filled bag of trash. She swept up most of the glass, except the large pieces of the old mirror. For some reason, she decided to keep the big pieces. 
“Perhaps, I’ll make something from them,” she mused, looking at her image in a large piece.
 Amber sat on the hearth and carefully placed the ornate pieces in a box. When she had the large pieces saved, she started vacuuming up the rest. As she moved the backboard that held the old mirror, she noticed a piece of yellowed paper.
 She was about to toss it in the trash when she saw her name on it. “That’s Gram’s writing,” she said.
 Amber unfolded the brittle paper, careful not to tear it. Gram was her special playmate as a child. .