Little Secrets by Megan Hart

belongings had been left behind than they’d wanted, but knowing the dust balls and finger smudges were someone else’s grime…gross.
    Sean’s mom, Barb, had offered to come over and help, but that would’ve been more of a nightmare than trying to get water stains out of a tub without using bleach. Besides, Ginny had been looking forward to cleaning. Maybe it was all that time spent with Gran, who’d not only had a “hired woman” for most of her life but also spent more hours on her knees scrubbing the floors than she ever had in church.
    Ginny’s mom had been a terrible housekeeper, in direct response to her upbringing. Just like she’d never host a party, Christmas or otherwise, Ginny’s mother also had never done more than the bare minimum when it came to keeping them from living in squalor. Beds unmade, dishes in the sink, dust everywhere—that was Ginny’s house growing up. It wasn’t exactly like living in the pigsty Gran called it, but it wasn’t quite as tidy as most of her friends’ houses either, with moms who stayed home and presumably spent their days making use of old toothbrushes to keep their grout from going gray.
    â€œI have better things to do with my time,” Ginny’s mom always said, and as a working woman herself, Ginny had often found that to be true. The kind of clean Gran had demanded took a lot of time and/or money to maintain, and though Ginny always made sure to make the bed in the morning and put dirty dishes in the dishwasher, she also sometimes left her laundry in the basket for days on end before folding it and putting it away.
    Now, of course, she wasn’t working and had nothing but time, and the combined clutter of a just-moved-into house with her being home all the time to actually see the mess…well, she understood now what her gran had meant when her fingers itched to “get to fixing things.”
    This room wasn’t in terrible shape. Mostly it bore the touches of time and disuse. Cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling—she got those down easily enough with a broom. Something that looked like shavings in a couple of the corners, possibly from the insects Danny was supposed to have taken care of. She swept the room quickly, then drew a bucket of hot water from the bathroom and mopped the wood floor. They hadn’t yet shopped for furniture, though she’d gone through a couple catalogs and picked out what she wanted. They’d need a carpet in here too, or maybe a couple fun throw rugs.
    She looked around the room, envisioning it painted and furnished. There in the corner, a rocking chair. Her sister swore by a glider, but Ginny had seen a bent-cane rocker at one of the Amish markets a few summers ago. When she pictured herself with a baby in her arms, it was always in that chair. The crib could go here, she thought, away from the windows and the drafty cubbyhole door. The dresser, there. A bookcase in that corner, because her child would certainly be a reader. And in the closet…
    â€œUgh.” She stopped, nose wrinkling when she opened up the double wooden doors. The dust in there was palpable, along with the acrid tang of mouse droppings. Old mouse shit was still shit, she thought with a grimace, and grabbed the broom.
    In the closet, when it was clean, she planned to install a set of wire shelves and hangers to store toys and clothes. Like most of the others in the house, including hers, the one in this room was deep but narrow. Not really a walk-in. Almost like an afterthought. This one had nothing but a single bar running from front to back and a shallow wooden shelf above it. Lots of functional space made useless by that old-fashioned setup. She’d make it better.
    For now, Ginny concentrated on sweeping out the dust bunnies and mouse poop and dead beetle shells. It was a good thing Barb wasn’t here to help her out. Sean’s mom would’ve screamed and tossed up