Deep Down True (17 page)

“I feel so
bad,
” said Morgan, her face pinched in shame.

Grady chimed in, “She looked like her skin was gonna peel back and it would be all like gears and motors and stuff and she would maybe bite your body in half!”

“Shut up!” Morgan’s hand lashed out to smack him.

Grady lunged sideways off his chair to evade her and landed on the floor with his feet up in the air. “Ow!” he yelled.
“Mommm!”

“That’s enough!” said Dana. “Grady, please get up and finish your dinner.”

“But I don’t—”

“Fine!” said Dana, her temper rising. “Just go get in the tub.” He sprinted from the room, and Dana turned to Morgan, angrier at her daughter than she could ever remember feeling. How could Morgan be so inconsiderate? “I hope you know you owe her an apology,” Dana snapped.

Morgan’s eyes were shiny, and the corners of her mouth sank downward. “I
know,
okay?” Tears wiggled loose from her lids as she ran out, feet hammering up the stairs to her room. A door slammed. Dana let loose a frustrated sigh and surveyed the table, remains of the highly nutritious, half-eaten meal dotting the landscape. How did it all fall apart so fast? How did everyone go from fine to miserable in a matter of moments?

 

 

Grady had overfilled the tub, and Dana was about to scold him about it when she realized it wasn’t actually full of water; soap bubbles took up about half its depth. Grady pasted some onto his chin. “I got a beard!” he giggled at her. “I’m a man!”

She offered a weary smile. “Don’t forget your feet,” she told him, and went to Morgan’s room.

Morgan was sitting on her bed, back against the wall, clutching the Hershey pillow. Her jaw clenched as she worked to stave off future tears. “It was an
accident,
” she growled.

“I know.” Dana moved a layer of clothing off Morgan’s desk chair and sat down. “But, sweetie, you need to listen.”

“I do listen!”

“This time you didn’t,” Dana said gently. “I asked you not to answer it, and so did Alder. You need to pay more attention to the people around you and not just do whatever pops into your head.”

“If you want me to feel bad, you got your wish, okay? How should
I
know she didn’t want to talk to that guy?” Morgan’s eyes began to leak. “Does she
hate
me now?”

Dana got up and sat on the bed next to Morgan, wrapping her arms around her. The girl toppled sideways into her mother’s lap like a felled tree. “No,” soothed Dana. “Alder’s not like that. Just think about the best apology you can give, and give it. Then it will be over.”

They sat there for a few minutes, Morgan’s upper half curled into the safe haven of her mother’s lap. She took a breath and murmured, “And I’m not doing that throwing-up thing. I did for a while, but I stopped.”

Dana felt a surge of hope. Maybe the problem had solved itself! But suspicion needled at her. “When?” she asked. “When did you stop?”

“About a month ago.”

A lie. Or at least a distortion of the truth. “Well, I’d like to know a little more about that.”

“Not now, Mom, okay?” Morgan sniffled pitifully. “I feel bad already.” For good measure she added, “And I’ve got a test on photosynthesis tomorrow I haven’t studied enough for.”

Dana let it go. The admission, however flawed, had been made, and she could use it to sand down Morgan’s resistance until the truth peeked through.

When Dana went downstairs, Alder was sitting cross-legged on the couch, working on math problems. She looked up when Dana came in, then went back to squinting at the textbook in front of her. “Sorry I lost it,” she muttered. “Is Morgan freaked out?”

“She feels pretty bad. But I’m more concerned about you at the moment. How’d it go?”

“Good,” said Alder, glancing up from her homework again. “I’ve been wanting to tell him what an utter waste of bodily organs he is, and I finally got the chance. It was great.” Her eyes were dull and lightless; they dared Dana to contradict her.

“Okay,” said Dana. But she remained unconvinced.

 

 

Late that night, with the house mercifully quiet, Dana sat in the office writing checks. There was enough to pay the bills this month, but she’d charged the repair of the sideview mirror to her credit card. That payment would be waiting for her a mere thirty days from now at the end of November—which was when she would start buying Christmas gifts, so December’s bill would be higher, too.

Even worse, Kenneth’s alimony check was substantially lower than the approved amount.
I should call my lawyer,
she thought. But then she’d have to
pay
the lawyer and the mediator, and very possibly Kenneth would be able to prove that his income had dropped, and she’d end up with what he’d just given her. Except she’d be poorer for the expenses she’d incurred trying to get him to pay more.

That business with Dr. Sakimoto—what was that?
she chided herself. He’d
offered
her a job, for Pete’s sake, and she’d acted like he was forcing her to bungee-jump off Travelers Tower.

He’s probably a great boss,
she thought. Better than the senior partner at her old law firm, who could barely stay awake when she updated him on staffing or supplies but harangued her like a three-year-old when the lightbulb in his office wasn’t bright enough.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to work full-time for Dr. Sakimoto. And what if she could find someone to help out on the afternoons when she did have to work? Alder would help. But Morgan’s situation was delicate; Alder couldn’t be expected to police her the way a parent would. The phone on the desk rang, and Dana reached to answer it.

“It’s me,” said Kenneth. “I’m calling about Morgan.” Dana leaned back in the chair. Kenneth rarely took the lead on anything pertaining to the kids. This would be interesting. “I’ve located a psychiatrist,” he said, “a specialist in the field for over twenty years, and he admits to Connecticut Children’s Medical Center if that becomes—”

“Excuse me—”

“—necessary. His credentials are excellent, and—”

“Excuse me, Kenneth, but let’s just discuss this a minute.” She put her feet down from the desk and sat up. “Morgan did finally admit to purging, but she says she’s stopped—though I don’t fully believe that. I called her guidance counselor, and he’s going to talk to her. I think hauling her into a psychiatrist’s office before we’ve even—”

“I’m not suggesting
hauling
her anywhere. But we’ve got to get ahead of this thing before—”

“And you think I’m ignoring it, waiting around for her to develop holes in her esophagus?”

“Well . . .” Kenneth blustered. “No, of course not . . .”

“I just don’t think Morgan’s ready for psychiatry,” she insisted. “We need a clearer picture of what’s happening, and I think we should wait to hear what the guidance counselor says.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. She knew he was deciding whether to concede. “I’m trying to be supportive,” he grumbled finally.

“And I appreciate it,” she said.

A thought popped into her head then, only a half-formed notion, but she felt compelled to explore it. “How’s work?” she asked.

“Same,” he said. “We’re in a holding pattern until this embezzlement thing dies down.”

“Well, there may be some good news on this end. I’ve been offered a job.” She bit the tip of her thumb for a moment. “I was thinking maybe you could help out with the kids a couple of afternoons a week. You know, just till business picks up again.”

Kenneth let out an astounded laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Dana, I have to work! Not just when I feel like it—all the time. I can’t just
not show up
on a regular basis!”

“I’m not doing this for kicks, Kenneth,” she said, her temper starting to flare. “
You
were the one who told me to get a job, so I—”

“Not a
full-time
job—just mother’s hours, while the kids are at school.”

Just mother’s hours. Not a real job, not anything that would disrupt his dandy little life. Dana’s jaw went tight with fury. “Well, I’m
sorry
it’s not the right kind of job to suit you,” she snapped, “but picking up hours at Kreamy Kones isn’t going to cut it. If you want me to
contribute,
as you say, then the least you could do is be with them so I
can.
”

“Don’t you tell
me
—” Kenneth seethed. “I have provided for this family for fifteen years! And what’s
happened
to you? You used to be this sweet . . . You used to be so
nice
!”

“Well, I’m
not
anymore!” she yelled, and poked at the “off ” button on the receiver. It was the second time in two weeks she’d hung up on him. Maybe he was right—she certainly didn’t feel as nice as she used to. With a wisp of a smile, she realized,
Polly would be so proud.

T
HE BRIGHTLY LIT PRODUCE SECTION OF STOP & Shop seemed festive and inviting after the somber cold of the late-October night. Customers dwindled as closing time neared, but Dana was still picking out pears, trying to decide between organic and “conventional.” Could she afford organic? Would just a little pesticide be such an awful thing?

As she stood squinting at the yellow-green fruit, Dana’s peripheral vision caught someone looking in her direction. When she glanced up, it took her a moment to put a name to the face: Nora Kinnear, Kimmi’s mother. Oddly enough, her gaze was directed to Dana’s feet. Dana looked down to see that she still wore the ragged sneakers she used for yard work. Before heading to the store, she’d remembered to exchange her dusty sweatshirt for a clean fleece jacket. But the sneakers—grizzled with dirt, threads unraveling at the toe—had come along for the ride.

“Dana, right?”

Dana glanced up to the elegant composure of Nora’s face and felt her stomach go hollow. “Oh, hi!” she said. “Isn’t this a great time to shop? We practically have the place to ourselves.”

“I always shop at night,” said Nora. Her cropped gray leather jacket was half zipped, revealing the bony ridge of her clavicle. “I work during the day.”

“Oh, that’s right. At that new store in the Evergreen Mall. Perfectua.”

Nora smiled indulgently. “I’m the marketing director, so I don’t actually work
at
the store. I’m at the corporate offices.”

“That must be . . .”
What?
wondered Dana desperately.
What must it be?
“. . . exciting.”

Nora gave a little shrug. “It’s fun.” She leaned slightly forward, inviting Dana into her confidence. “But at the end of the day, it’s just work, you know?”

Dana nodded. She did know. Or at least she used to know. Twelve years ago when she’d last held a job. “So the girls seem to be getting along,” she said brightly.

“Thick as thieves,” said Nora, her fingers slipping into the front of the cart to align the straps of her Coach purse. “Your Margot is just a sweetheart.”

“Um, it’s Morgan, and it’s so nice how they make new friends at this age, isn’t it? I’m glad they found each other. Kimmi’s a great kid.”
Is she a great kid?
Dana had no idea.

“Girls, though. Not easy.” The layers of Nora’s short, mahogany-colored hair slid back and forth as she shook her head. “Are you around this weekend?” she said suddenly. “We’re having a little get-together. Love to have you join us.”

“Oh, let me think,” said Dana, tapping her lips, feigning a calendar logjammed with activities. Then it came to her. She
did
have plans. “I’m going out Saturday night.” Disappointment swelled in her: so many weekends without invitations, and now she had to turn one down.

“No, it’s Friday. Just a little happy hour after work . . . or whatever you”—Nora wiggled her slim fingers—“ do. Come by around seven—and bring your daughter to keep Kimmi company.” She was taking a step back now, inching her cart toward the pumpkins and butternut squash.

Dana wanted to ask what she could bring—an appetizer or a dessert, maybe—but she would’ve had to raise her voice.
A happy hour,
she thought.
I could definitely use one of those.

She finished her shopping and pulled in to the checkout line. The woman in front of her was trying to calm a little girl sitting in the child seat of the cart, facing Dana. “Lolly, we’re almost done,” the woman was saying. “Just hang in there for a few more minutes, and then we’ll—”

“Don’t call me that!” the girl growled, her cheeks ruddy and damp. “Lolly’s a baby name! I’m not a baby!”
About four,
Dana guessed. Almost too big for the cart.

The man in front of them had a mountain of groceries on the conveyor belt. “That price isn’t right,” he drawled at the checkout clerk. “Those are two for one.”

The clerk flicked a switch, and a light began to blink above them. “Hector!” called the clerk. “Price check!” No one answered. “Hector!” The light continued to flash.

Dana could see only the weary mother’s back, but she could hear her mutter, “Oh, God, please . . .” The girl began to twist in her seat, reaching out for the gum and candy. “No, Lolly—” The mother caught her hand just as she swiped a box of Twix bars onto the floor.

“Hey there,” Dana crooned to the girl as the mother crouched to pick up the candy. She grabbed a banana out of her own cart and held it up to her ear. “Just a second,” she told Lolly, “I’ve got a call coming in.” It was a game she’d played with her own children often enough when a grocery trip had outlasted their patience. Lolly glared at Dana. “Hello,” said Dana into the banana. She made a face. “Well, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Lolly’s glare softened into fascination, so Dana continued. “There’s no one named Lolly here.” The girl’s face went wide with surprise.

The mother was just replacing the fallen box of candy and turned to see who was saying her daughter’s name. They recognized each other immediately—it was Mrs. McPherson.