Deep Down True (39 page)

“Maybe,” said Alder.

The three of them turned in concert like a small flock of birds and headed into the kitchen. Dana had made cornbread, a salad, and vegetarian chili; the smell of simmering tomatoes, cumin, and cayenne gave them a focal point around which to orient themselves. They served one another, poured drinks, passed the butter. They settled into the people they knew one another to be.

“Dana says you’ve got new pals,” Connie said to Alder. “How’bout some details?”

“It’s no big deal,” said Alder.

Dana reached over and jiggled Alder’s elbow. “You’re making a liar out of me!”

Alder smiled despite herself. “You tell her, then.”

“Well, there’s the Wilderness Club . . .”

“Makes sense.” Connie nodded. “You’d
need
a booster shot of nature in the middle of all this—”

“And there’s Jet,” Dana interrupted, shooting Connie a warning look. Alder’s smile had dissipated, and she began pushing an errant kidney bean around her bowl with a spoon.

“Nice name,” said Connie, making a show of interest. “What’s his story?”

“She’s a
girl,
” Alder muttered at the bean.

“She’s quite a . . .” Dana began, not entirely sure where she was going. “Well, she’s not completely housebroken . . . ” Alder let out a quick laugh. “But she’s a good soul, right?”

Alder nodded, her gaze rising to meet her mother’s, daring her to comment. The parental ache in Connie’s eyes was so familiar to Dana that she could feel it in her own.
Her daughter’s got a friend with a good soul who she’s never met,
thought Dana.
She’s grateful and heartbroken all at the same time.
Connie’s lips pressed ever so slightly against each other. Dana could almost hear the zipping sound.

 

 

Alder retreated to Morgan’s room early, claiming a need to get in some last-minute studying for a history test the next morning. She took the pink fleece blanket with her. Dana set Connie up in the TV room and got another blanket from the linen closet.

“So,” said Dana, “not to be too direct, but . . . how long are you staying?”

Connie laughed. “Counting the minutes?”

“No.” Dana smirked. “Just trying to plan how many more vegetarian meals I’ll be making. Doesn’t Nine Muses expect you back at some point?”

“I’m the manager now. I make the schedule.” Connie shrugged. “So how long do I get?”

“Long as you want.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

 

 

Dana had just sailed off into a creamy blackness when she felt a presence in her bedroom.
Morgan?
The mattress lurched as someone descended onto it, bouncing Dana into full alert. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said when she saw her new bedmate. “You’re about as subtle as a Mack truck.”

“That pullout couch is torture,” grumbled Connie. “You should sell it to the CIA.” She punched the pillow and yanked the covers. “I tried Grady’s bed, but it smells like a wet dog.”

“Does not,” muttered Dana.

“Totally does.”

“Stop bouncing around, will you?”

Connie’s movements slowed as she nestled into the big bed. Dana had begun to drift again when Connie said, “If Ethan’s the one who treated her like shit, why’s she so pissed at
me
?”

Dana sighed, sleep almost within arm’s reach. “She’s hasn’t said much.”

“Yeah, but you have an opinion.”

An opinion about someone’s parenting—was there any surer way to invite trouble? Dana wanted to slide back into the satiny swirl of unconsciousness. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“No,” said Connie. “We can’t.”

Dana groaned inwardly, knowing Connie would harass her until she answered. “It’s not an opinion,” she said finally, “only a guess.”

“Fine. Guess.”

“Well . . . it just seems like kids get mad at their mothers for one reason or another. Sometimes it makes sense, and sometimes they’re just mad and we’re the easy target.”

Connie’s silence communicated her utter dissatisfaction.

Dana struggled to organize her thoughts. “You know, we tell them from the minute they’re born, ‘I’ll take care of you.’ Then when something bad happens, it’s our fault, even when they’re old enough to know we don’t control everything. We told them we’d always protect them, and then we can’t live up to the promise.”

“Maybe
you
made that promise, but
I
never did. You always try to fix everything for everyone; I raised Alder to know her
own
power.”

Now it was Dana’s turn to go silent.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Connie said without remorse. “But, hey, it’s no secret that you and I are different kinds of mothers.” She reached out and shook Dana’s shoulder. “Come on. Talk.”

“Fine, you want me to talk? Then I’ll tell you that giving up your virginity to a guy you worship, who won’t speak to you afterward and then leaves the state, does not feel like
power,
Connie. It feels like abuse. She’s sixteen, and she’s trying to handle it herself, but she can’t. It’s too big. And she can’t talk to you about it, because you’re so insistent on not overprotecting her—or too busy throwing tantrums at her school about trigonometry!”

Connie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she got up and left. Dana felt terrible. Though Connie was often overbearing and sarcastic, her devotion to her daughter was unimpeachable. She had taught Alder the things she felt were important in life, and for the most part that had worked out. Letting her live with Dana for two months had required an act of extreme restraint. Despite this sacrifice, Dana had placed the blame squarely on her sister’s shoulders. Guilt fended off sleep for another hour before Dana was rescued by her own exhaustion.

When she woke in the morning, she stretched her arm and her fingers slid into a mass of thick, coarse hair. She turned to find Connie’s eyelids testing the brightness in the room. They blinked at each other for a moment. “That was really bitchy,” Connie murmured.

“I know,” said Dana. “Sorry.”

“It’s not like you.”

“It kind of is, these days.”

Connie’s sleep-wrinkled cheeks shifted into a sly smile. “Wish Ma was here,” she said. “She’d never believe it. Perfect Dana, bitching someone out.”

Ma,
thought Dana, and she could almost smell the Charlie cologne that didn’t quite cover the residual cigarette smoke. She had died in August, and last Thanksgiving had been the first holiday without her.
Another holiday without Ma.

“Stay for Thanksgiving,” she told Connie.

An uncharacteristic uncertainty rippled across Connie’s face. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“
D
ON’T FORGET YOUR PERMISSION SLIP,” DANA reminded Alder, who was slathering peanut butter onto chunks of banana. Connie came into the kitchen wearing a T-shirt silk-screened with a group of ethereal-looking women in flowing dresses. NINE MUSES BOOKS & ART was written under their sandal-clad feet.

“What permission slip?” Alder asked.

“Wadsworth Atheneum. It’s for tomorrow, so you need to get it in today.”

“Or you could blow it off,” said Connie, opening and closing cabinet doors. “Most of that crap’s so derivative anyway.”

Alder shot Dana a look that could have meant anything from “Maybe she’s right” to “I may have to hit her.” Dana chose to believe it meant “Help.”

“The whole art class is going,” Dana said. “It’s mandatory.”

“She could
teach
the class,” grumbled Connie. “And not by dragging them past dusty portraits of dead rich people.” She turned to level a suspicious eye at her sister. “You don’t have any green tea?”

“Oh. I guess maybe I don’t.”

“They have it at Whole Foods,” Alder told her mother as she rose to put her plate in the dishwasher. “It’s right in Glastonbury.” To Dana she asked, “Where’s that slip?”

“On the table in the mudroom. Have a great day, sweetie!”

“Bye,” said Alder. “Bye, Connie.”

“Whole Foods,”
Connie muttered derisively after the door slammed.

“Now, what’s wrong with Whole Foods? I thought you liked all that organic, unprocessed—”

“It’s just so corporate and well lit. Might as well be McDonald’s, for godsake.” Her face was pinched in annoyance, as if whatever she was looking for was purposely hiding.

“Are you still mad about last night?” Dana asked.

“No.” Connie’s expression burst open like a hand grenade. “I’m mad about
this morning.
How is it that
my
kid is going on some bullshit expedition to a so-called art museum and
you’re
the one signing the permission slip!”

“Oh, Connie,” Dana murmured sympathetically. “I’m sorry.” She reached out from her seat at the table and slipped her hand into Connie’s.

“And don’t hold my hand!” But Connie did nothing to rid herself of the warm fingers in her palm, and Dana made no move to withdraw them. After a moment Connie rolled her eyes and made a show of pulling her hand away. But her face had softened, and she sank into the chair next to her sister. “You need anything at
Whole Foods
?” She gave a little sneer. “An organic Happy Meal, maybe?”

“I’ll be working till five. Feel like making dinner?”

Connie shrugged a confirmation, then looked out the window and watched the curled brown leaves blow across the yard. “How come we haven’t seen each other since Ma died?” she said.

“I don’t know.” Dana sighed. “We don’t always . . . click.”

Connie let out a laugh and raised her eyebrows as if to say,
Isn’t
that
the truth
. “Milkweed and skunk cabbage for dinner,” she said. “Just to warn you.”

 

 

Dana waited at the big glass office door.
I should ask him for a key,
she thought. But for all she knew, his real receptionist would get over her morning sickness and return to work tomorrow. The realization made Dana flinch. She could find another job, she told herself. Her skills were up to date, and Tony would give her a good reference.
Oh, but ...

“I should have a key made for you,” Tony called out as he came around the corner of the building. There he was, the best boss she’d ever had. And she would lose him. Probably sooner rather than later. How long could an unmarried, pregnant woman afford to stay out of work? Not very long. And then Dana would be the unmarried, unemployed one.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He slid the key into the bolt. “I had to deal with a little holiday drama that’s been playing out over the weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Thanksgiving.” He held the door open for her. “Total nightmare. Lizzie—the one at Brown—was supposed to be in New Jersey with her boyfriend. Zack.” Tony made a face as if he had just tasted mud.

“We don’t like Zack?”

“No,” said Tony, hanging his coat in the closet and holding out a hand for hers. “We don’t. Especially after they had a screaming fight this weekend in which he told her he thought the whole ‘meeting-the-parents thing is such a cliché.’”

“Commitment issues.”

“Of the epic variety.” He pulled his white lab coat from the closet and put it on. “So there’s one daughter at loose ends. Then Abby, the doctor—assuming she can stick with it—Abby is supposed to be working and having a quick midshift slice of processed deli meat with a couple of her med-school friends. She was planning to come home next weekend for about half a day just to see the old man.”

“You were going to be alone for the holiday? Why didn’t you tell me? You could have—”

He held up a finger. “I was
supposed
to go to New York to spend it with my . . . girlfriend? That sounds childish, but it’s better than ‘lady friend,’ which makes me sound like Wilford Brimley.”

Girlfriend?
Dana had a vague memory of Tony’s mentioning a relationship. Something about her being there when one of his daughters had come home unexpectedly. But he’d never spoken of her since, which seemed strange, since he was so open about everything else.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, leaning in the doorway, “a psych patient started a fire in Abby’s hospital by knocking two pebbles together near an oxygen tank—”

Dana let out a little gasp and Tony nodded. “I know, can you beat that? So they started shipping patients to other hospitals and handing out days off to the staff. Abby won the lottery and got Thanksgiving. So now I have not one but
two
daughters who want to come home, and I’m not even supposed to be there!”

“But then why doesn’t your . . .”

“Martine.”

“Why doesn’t Martine just come here?”

“Because she kind of went overboard and invited a bunch of friends, and it got sort of... enormous. Like fourteen people. But more than that, I think it got enormous in her head.” Tony stared into middle space for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to Dana. “You know when something suddenly takes on grander proportions than it normally would?”

Dana nodded. It had happened to her with Kenneth from time to time, usually because she was imagining that whatever was so important to her was also important to him. It was always an embarrassment to find out it wasn’t. “So did she invite the girls, too?”

He gave an odd, almost melancholy smile. “Eventually. When she called back. It took her a little while to come up with it.”

“Does she have children?”

“Yes, she does,” he said, pointing at Dana as if she’d figured out the answer to a riddle. “One son. Got a job in Singapore when he graduated last year. She describes him as ‘studious.’”

“Studious? That’s all?” What kind of mother had only one adjective to describe her child? Dana had hundreds for Grady and Morgan. Which, she realized, might be excessive.

“Uh, I think I’ve also heard the word ‘independent.’”

Well, he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?
Dana thought. “So are the girls going to New York with you?”