Chapter 5- Close
Tiffany Morrow grew up in Mendota Heights in the large home nestled in the woods near the lake.
The lake actually belonged to them and most kids, during her teen years, attempted to befriend Tiffany to gain access to the private oasis, but she didn't care for people.
An only child of Hargrove and Bella Morrow, she became her mother's primary focus.
Blond with green eyes and a petite figure, Tiffany also became the focus of men of all ages.
Friends and clients whom her father would have over to the house, especially the men, would often seek a means of finding her alone.
She would look at them with abject boredom when they made comments that were just at the line of being inappropriate.
Tiffany never bothered to respond or engage, and eventually when company arrived, she would speak, then make herself scarce, hiding away in the home from adult eyes.
As she grew, in high school, because of her petite size, boys often saw her as an easy mark.
Hargrove, also aware of how men looked at his only child, enrolled her at an early age in private self-defense classes.
A master martial artist came to the house twice a week for fourteen years to teach Tiffany the Eastern ways of self-defense.
By the time she reached the tenth grade, she had a black belt in karate, a skill she employed on a date with Scotty Griffin when he refused to take no for an answer, resulting in a broken arm for the young man.
It was no surprise to Bella when Scotty's parents arrived on their doorstep demanding an explanation and for Hargrove Morrow to pay the medical bills for Scotty's bad decisions.
Tiffany, called downstairs by her parents to explain what happened on her date with Scotty, was surprised to see the young man seated in the living room and wearing a cast.
“Young lady, we want you to explain yourself and why you broke our son's arm?” Randall Griffin said, getting red in the face.
Tiffany, unphased by his red-faced outrage, simply sighed.
“Instead of asking me to explain myself, perhaps you should ask yourself why you didn't teach your son that no means no. My saying no was not an opening for him to attempt to overpower me to have his way,” she said to Randall's shocked face.
To drive home her point, she looked at his mother and said, “If I'm not being clear, your son had every intention of forcing himself on me. Perhaps he’d perfected his technique on another young lady, which made him feel emboldened to try it on me. He learned his lesson the hard way. Please leave our home after you thank me for stopping him from becoming the monster he was growing into.”
Tiffany said nothing more and left the room. Scotty's parents looked at him in disgust after the honesty from the young woman as well as their son’s lowered head. They rose, saying nothing, and left the home.
Tiffany Morrow also discovered early that men wanting what they didn't earn.
In college, her first experience with a professor who bored with his life, career choices, and the need to publish or perish, took a liking to her words.
He liked them so much; he planned to publish her work under his name.
Professor James Bonji wasn't a very bright man.
In the center of the paper, in the midst of the research were several findings on men who stole from women in education and pawned the work off as their own.
His failure to catch the obvious dig didn't bode well for him, and when the peer review boards asked to see his research, Professor Bonji couldn't provide the data.
Tiffany could, which earned her a research fellow position at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities, in sociocultural anthropology.
The more Tiffany studied people, the less she liked them. She traveled the world and worked on archeological dig sites beside some of the greatest archeological minds. She even had the opportunity to fall in love with her very own real life Indiana Jones.
“Harold Framier, Ph.D. is a snake, Tiffany,” she was warned by Lolita Bradshaw. “He has no original thoughts; the man is lazy and an opportunist. He sees the need in you to connect to others, although you say you're not interested, but you are.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Tiffany replied, praying it wasn't true. Unfortunately, it was true, and Harold was the worst kind of snake with hidden fangs.
He stole her work along with her virginity and her heart.
It was a lesson learned as she navigated her way through higher education, taking a faculty position at the University which had educated her.
The third year on staff, a new man entered her life with lots of green flags which turned red in the sunlight.
“Tiffany, I want to marry you,” Frederick Bellston said late one night on the rear deck of her Minneapolis townhome.
“Frederick, I have a love for you, but I'm not in love with you,” she explained. “We have no real spark to make us have the kind of long-term love to base a marriage. I can't marry you.”
“I understand,” he said softly, but he didn't.
Frederick began a slow campaign of stalking.
The stalking turned menacing and one evening, while she was walking past the lake on the family property, Frederick surprised Tiffany.
He had with him a backpack filled with ropes and a rag filled with chloroform.
One roundhouse kick left Frederick in the dirt passed out from his own actions. He awoke in a jail cell.
“Life is unfair at times,” Tiffany said aloud, bringing herself into the present. “I tried love twice, and both times it let me down so hard I barely recovered. I'm still struggling to stay in the now.”
“You're here and thriving,” Helen said.
“I'm here and surviving,” Tiffany replied. “Frederick, when he got out of jail, decided to end my life. However, I wasn't driving my vehicle that night; my parents were in my car. The accident took my father's life and nearly ended Bella's.”
“So, she is your mother,” Helen said.
“She occupies my mother's body; my mother is somewhere locked in that brain, but Bella lives in this house,” Tiffany said.
“The pictures confused her and caused frequent meltdowns.
They were all removed. Our home is familiar to her, but we are locked in here.
I can't take her out; people see the woman, thinking Bella Morrow is in there, but she's not.”
“I'm sorry you've had to shoulder this alone,” Helen said.
“I have my work,” Tiffany added. “I teach online courses, have created a few anthropology apps, and for daily amusement, I fuck with people online. It's not much, but a good cyber hack can dampen the panties.”
Helen shook her head no. “Sis, I may have to babysit Bella so you can go out and get you some action.”
“Honey, it may be too soon to be that personal, but I'm not trying to dust the cobwebs off for anybody,” she mumbled. “Eat up. We'll get you settled and make a course of action.”
Helen cut through the chicken, which was under seasoned. She wondered how a woman like Bella could make a meal so bland when a woman like Ruth Neary made food that made you want to slap your mama. She smiled, thinking a horrible thought, looking up to see Tiffany staring at her.
“Say it aloud so I can be faintly amused as well,” Tiffany suggested.
“I don't know if you're ready for my kind of sense of humor.”
“At this point, any humor will work for me.”
Helen sighed and told her, “My mother is law is an amazing cook. I was wondering...this food is so white. I was thinking if Bella puts raisins in her potato salad, I am getting the fuck out of here.”
Tiffany Morrow blinked twice. “You're married? Is your mother-in-law white, by the inference of that statement?”
“She is, but she is Kentucky white versus Minnesota white if that makes sense, because honey, this chicken is as bland as billowing white curtains in a peach room with ecru furniture,” Helen said.
“Oddly, that makes sense,” Tiffany said. “This is home for you for three months. We will have to figure out something to keep Bella on her schedule and not interrupt her routines.”
“Okay, and I will eat, but I'mma need to stock up on hot sauce, cause this is not it,” Helen said, laughing.
Tiffany Morrow cracked a smile. “Maybe this won't be so bad after all.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but I am getting on DoorDash to order some seasonings.”
“Fair enough,” Tiffany said, watching the odd little woman who was very observant.
In one overarching statement, she'd lowered Tiffany’s defenses and gotten her to speak on matters that had made her sour on life, regardless of the grapes given to make wine.
Her anger wasn't abated, nor was it fed, living in a home with a shell of a woman who used to be her mother, created by a man who also didn't know how to take no for an answer.
Three months was a long time to spend with someone locked into a space.
However, ten years was even longer to sit in a home, sharing a space with a person whom she wasn’t sure knew who she was.
At times, her mother recognized her, and other times Tiffany wasn't certain if she did.
She did, however, appreciate Helen introducing herself as a friend, stating why she was here, and saying that she would clean up after herself.
“I might be able to deal with this,” Tiffany said softly.
****
THE BEDROOM ASSIGNED for Helen's stay was a far cry above where she’d stayed with Lemon, which felt like a closet with a twin bed.
At Apple's place, all she got was a bed and the rest she had to shop for and purchase for herself.
She smiled, thinking of the poorly made quilt tossed on the bed at Passion Fruit's place with the lumpy mattress and weird-smelling curtains.
At least she was updating the place with new drapes and a colorful rug based on what her father said.