Deep Down True (35 page)

Morgan and Dana sat a body width apart on the beige couch, Morgan clutching a brown throw pillow onto her lap.

Bethany settled into a leather swivel chair. “So maybe we could just get to know each other for a few minutes?” She addressed these comments to Morgan, as if Morgan were the teacher and Bethany needed a hall pass. “And then maybe Mom could go read a magazine or text her girlfriends or something?” She held up an imaginary BlackBerry and poked at it with her thumbs. Morgan’s face softened at the ludicrous image. Bethany went on. “And then if we feel like it, we’ll call her back in here, okay?” Morgan nodded her consent.

While Dana was in the room, Bethany chatted amiably with Morgan, who slowly loosened her grip on the pillow. What was Morgan’s favorite of all her activities? “Cello,” said Morgan. “Except I really suck at it.” She blinked, horrified at having used the word “suck” in front of a stranger.

“Oh?” said Bethany. “How bad do you suck?”

Morgan’s eyes shot sideways toward her mother, then back to Bethany. “Um, like really bad?”

“So why do you like it, if you suck so bad?”

Morgan thought for a moment, her finger trailing up and down the pillow’s piping. “I guess I like how it sounds. It’s not high and squeaky like a violin. It sounds more like a person’s voice.”

“Huh,” said Bethany. “I never thought of that, but you’re right. It does sound sort of like a low voice.”

“Yeah,” said Morgan with a hint of enthusiasm. “Like, maybe a man’s. Except the way I play, it’s like the guy’s got strep throat.” The corners of her mouth inched up at this little joke.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since Monday night,
thought Dana.

Soon Dana was invited to go back out to the waiting room. She glanced at the magazines:
Psychology Today, Redbook,
and a few others. But she didn’t want to read about archetypal themes in geriatric psychology or decorating for a more festive Thanksgiving. She sat staring at the unadorned wall. It was off-white. The metal doughnut made its shushing sound.

Her mind seemed to pull back from its tight focus on the immediate situation. It zoomed out until she couldn’t quite see Morgan or Grady or Alder, or all of the misery they seemed to have soaked up like sponges to dirty water. It felt as if she were floating in space, looking down on the town of Cotters Rock, in the state of Connecticut, some of its inhabitants momentarily happy, some momentarily angry or sad.
There’s no such thing as perfect
, she could hear her mother saying,
and if there were, it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

And a sense came over her that maybe it would all be okay eventually. It was hard right now, and messy. But the shushing sound echoed the air flowing in and out of her lungs, and for those few moments it seemed that the expansion and contraction of her chest was all she really needed to keep going.

The door to Bethany’s office opened. “Want to join us for the last few minutes?” Dana followed her into the office, wondering how nearly an hour had flown by so quickly. “I have Morgan’s permission to tell you some of what we’ve talked about today,” said Bethany, sinking down into her chair. “Mostly we’ve talked about what stress is and how it can be good sometimes but how it can also make us think and do things that aren’t so healthy. For instance, bingeing and purging.”

Bethany didn’t waste any time getting straight to the point, did she? Dana glanced at Morgan, but she seemed okay, if not quite relaxed.

“Divorce can be a pretty big stressor for kids—just like it is for parents, right, Mom?” Bethany aimed an empathetic smile at Dana. “It makes everyone feel off-kilter, like they used to know what to expect and now they don’t. Knowledge is powerful, and when you feel like you don’t have that power anymore, sometimes you do things that
feel
like power but aren’t really. Like putting things in your body that it doesn’t need and then forcing them back out again.”

Bethany went on to say that they had talked about some ideas to help Morgan take control in healthy ways, nodding confidently at Morgan. “So why don’t you talk it over with Mom, and if you’d like to come back, I’d be very happy to see you again.”

When they walked out to the car, flakes of snow were swirling in the early-evening darkness. The sidewalk was slick with the melted remains. “Was it okay?” Dana asked.

Morgan shrugged. “I guess.”

“Do you want me to make another appointment?”

“Might as well.”

 

 

“It went okay,” Dana reported to Kenneth once the kids were settled in bed. She sat in the office with the door closed, promising herself that once she completed this final task, she could finally put on her pajamas and go to bed.

“Meaning?” said Kenneth.

“Meaning it went okay.” Exhaustion nibbled at her temper. “Morgan seemed to like her. She seemed to know what she was doing.”

“Seemed to,” muttered Kenneth. “Where did she get her degree? Where did she train?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I can’t remember, and I don’t care. Morgan agreed to go back—that’s what’s important.”

“I just want to make sure she’s not some quack who’s going to light incense, hang a crystal around Morgan’s neck, and call her cured.”

“Well, thanks very much for that vote of confidence in my ability to find a reputable therapist. If this is your idea of us not fighting, it isn’t going very well.”

Kenneth inhaled noisily and let his breath out into the mouthpiece. “Okay,” he grumbled. “Please just tell me she’s board-certified.”

Dana had no idea. “She’s board-certified,” she said.

“Okay then.” He let out a little cough. “Well, there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you if this is a good time.”

Something else?
thought Dana.
Our daughter’s in therapy, our son can barely keep his temper in check, our finances are a mess—and you’ve got something ELSE?

He didn’t wait for her answer. “Tina likes to enter contests.”

“Okay . . .” said Dana, wondering what that had to do with the price of tea in China.

Tina’s salon played a radio station that did contests and giveaways, he told her. While a customer sat reading magazines and waiting for her dye to set, Tina would slip into the office and try to be the right caller. “Last week she won a hundred-dollar gift certificate to Perfectua—that pricey boutique at the Evergreen Mall? Barely covered the cost of a sweatshirt,” he muttered. Dana flinched at the name of Nora’s employer. “Anyway,” he continued, “she was automatically entered to win the grand prize.” He hesitated then, as if what followed would be bad news. “And today we were notified that she won.”

Couldn’t possibly care less,
thought Dana.

“It’s an all-expenses-paid trip to Disney World. For four.” There was silence on the line, as if he were holding his breath, and then the words rushed out. “It’s for the week of Thanksgiving.”

Dana almost said,
So?
But then the pieces of Kenneth’s little puzzle came together in her mind. He wanted the kids for a whole week. Including Thanksgiving.

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t just dismiss it out of hand!” Kenneth fumed. “You have to at least
consider
it.”

“It’s not an option.”

“Dana, for godsake—”

“I can’t talk anymore,” she said. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.” And she hung up.

 

 

On Saturday, Dana awoke to the sounds of long low wails, punctuated by quick, scratchy groans. At first she thought a coyote had gotten hold of some poor animal in the woods behind the house. Then she realized the animal’s death cries had a tune to them. Either there was a rabbit out there who knew the melody to Pachelbel’s Canon or Morgan was practicing her cello.

Dana moved her sluggish body toward Morgan’s room. “You’re up early,” she said.

“I was up a long time ago.” Morgan squinted at the sheet music as if it were written in disappearing ink.

Dana sank down onto the bed. “But it’s not a school day.”

“Exactly.”

Dana nodded. “And you were so happy you didn’t have to go to school that it woke you up.”

Morgan leaned the cello against her desk. “Can you take me to Peshawaug?”

It was a town way out in northwestern Connecticut. “What’s in Peshawaug?”

“It’s this place called the Wolves’ Den. They have real wolves there, and all this stuff about how they live. I have to do research for my paper.”

“Can’t you get that on the Internet?” Dana had been looking forward to a relaxing day of catching up on laundry, making pancakes, and letting the kids watch too much TV.

“It’s not that good. Some of it looks made up. Plus, we’re supposed to have primary sources. Real wolves is totally primary.” She twisted her hair back and forth. “Um . . . and that Bethany lady says I should do stuff that makes me feel better.”

By noon all four of them were in the minivan headed west to Peshawaug. They ate sandwiches in the car, Grady growling and gnashing at a peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich. “See this?” He snarled, holding up a sandwich half. “This is Little Red Riding Hood’s arm!”

“You’re more like a disgusting little pig than a big bad wolf,” said Morgan.

“Here, piggy.” Alder handed him a napkin. “You have Red Riding Hood guts on your cheek.”

They arrived as the tour was about to start and followed the crowd to the wooden benches by a chain-link fence that surrounded the wolves’ expansive habitat. A young woman staff member stood in front of the fence and began to talk as two wolves paced behind her. Wolves were born afraid of humans, she told them. The only way staff members were able to interact with them was by taking them into the building as pups, feeding and playing with them, so they would imprint onto humans. “We don’t train them,” she said. “Wolves aren’t trainable or tamable. In order to be accepted, we must live as the lowest in the wolves’ very strict social order.”

She explained that in every wolf pack there were an alpha male and female who ruled the group. They were responsible for the pack’s safety and were the first to eat at every meal. If a lower-ranked wolf tried to eat before an alpha, it would be threatened and nipped. She demonstrated this with chunks of cheese she threw over the fence to them. The alpha always ate first. She went on to say that only alphas could mate. The other wolves were called “celibate subordinates” and served as hunters, nannies, and teachers to the pups. If they wanted to mate, they would become “dispersers,” leaving to start their own pack with other dispersers.

Morgan scribbled furiously. At the end of the presentation, the staff member invited visitors to send up a “social howl.” Grady howled with gusto, his little tenor heard above the voices of the more hesitant adults and older kids. The wolves obliged by howling back, which sent Grady hopping up and down with enthusiasm.

“Was that helpful?” Dana asked Morgan as they filed out.

“Yeah,” said Morgan. “It was just what I needed.”

 

 

Dana had turned off her cell phone during the presentation. When they got back into the car, she turned it on and the “Missed Call” message flashed. In fact, there had been several missed calls.

“Dana, we have joint custody—
joint,
not you making the decisions and me just rolling over. I don’t know when you turned into someone who thinks she’s entitled to make unilateral policies, but I’m not going to stand for it. Call me back as soon as possible.” Dana deleted it.

“Hey there, beauty! I know you’ve got the kiddos this weekend, but there’s this new invention called a baby-sitter . . . Just kidding, but you know what I’m saying, right? I miss my girl! Call me, okay?” She deleted it, reminding herself to return the call when she was alone.

“I know you hate me for telling Nora about Morgan’s problem, and frankly I hate myself. Victor thinks I should have my head examined. But I can’t stand this silent treatment, Dana, and I think I deserve a chance to explain and apologize. I think you owe me that, so please call.”

OWE you?
thought Dana. She deleted the message.

“Yeah, uh, this is Manchester Tire and Service. We got your Volkswagen Rabbit on the back lot, and it’s been sitting here for a couple months. You gotta either give us the thumbs-up to fix it or get it outta here by Thanksgiving.” She’d have to call Connie and see how she wanted to handle the car. She glanced at Alder, who was playing the license-plate game with Grady.

“Maine!” Alder called out. “On that green SUV over there.”

“I saw that first!” said Grady.

“Liar, liar pants on fire,” she retorted. “Get your own Maine.”

There was one last message. “Hi Dana. I don’t mean to intrude on your family time, but I was thinking about what you told me at lunch yesterday. You know, with Morgan’s issues and the Disney trip and everything. It’s a lot. And I just wanted to say if you need a little time off to sort things out, I’m fine with that. Honestly, you’re the best receptionist I’ve ever had, and I figure it’s in my interest to keep you happy—plus, you deserve it. Hope you’re having a great weekend. See you Monday.” Dana sighed and felt the tension ebb from her neck. She saved the message, as if its mere existence could serve as a protection against whatever troubles might lurk in the days to come.

 

 

“Bath time,” she told Grady that night before bed.

“I took one yesterday!” He put the television remote behind his back.

“Well, that’s good for yesterday, but it doesn’t count for today.” She went over to the TV and pressed the “off ” button.

“But I’m clean, I swear—smell me! Smell how good I smell!”

Dana took this rare opportunity to gather Grady onto her lap. At seven he barely fit, so she had to squeeze him up into a ball, one arm behind his back and the other under his knees. He giggled and protested, but he didn’t try to escape. She stuck her nose into his neck, and he laughed even harder. “Swiss cheese!” she declared.