Deep Down True (47 page)

Dana considered this for a moment.
That’s exactly what he’s doing,
she realized.
He’s waiting.

“This is a total no-brainer,” said Connie. “And thanks for waking me out of a sound sleep, by the way—I thought it was an actual emergency, possibly involving my kid.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. She’s absolutely fine.”

“I figured that out when we spent fifteen minutes talking about your love life. Or I should say your
potential
love life.”

Dana didn’t respond. She was thinking about Tony and his impressive show of patience, and wondering how long it could hold.

“What,” said Connie.

“I don’t know . . . I guess I’m not a hundred-percent sure I’m attracted to him.”

Connie let out an annoyed huff. “Does he have some disgusting phlegm-hawking habit or a ceramic-angel collection I’m unaware of? Because the guy looks perfectly fine to me.”

“Well . . .” Dana was loath to admit it. “He’s kind of... short. And just a tiny bit pudgy.”

“And the half-blind texter is tall and thin. Great, there’s your answer. Can I go to bed now?”

“No, wait. I’m not trying to be superficial. But don’t you have to be attracted to someone to go out with him? I mean, otherwise you’d just be friends, right?”

“Cripes, you’re asking me? You’re the one who was married for fifteen years.”

And look what that had amounted to. How was it possible to be forty-five years old and still not know what you wanted—still make huge mistakes like Jack Roburtin?

“What about the guy in Europe?” Dana ventured, knowing she was testing the bounds of their newfound closeness. “Alder’s father. What was that like?”

There was no answer, and for a moment Dana wondered if they’d been disconnected—or if Connie had hung up. But then she heard the faint whoosh of Connie’s breath. “It was amazing,” she said finally. “He was a phenomenally talented artist, and we had unbelievable adventures . . . and then it was over. And it didn’t surprise me, because I knew he wasn’t durable goods. I knew that from day one. Didn’t make it any easier, though.”

“Did he know you were pregnant?”

“I found out after we broke up. But I told him.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing memorable. It wasn’t that. It was the look on his face. Like I was pressing a loaded gun to his chest.”

“Did you ever think about ...”

“An abortion? No, not really.” She was quiet for a moment. “It was the only piece of him I could keep. And as it turns out, it was the best piece.”

D
ANA WAS WORRIED ABOUT MORGAN. THE HIGH of the Disney trip had dissipated, and she was attacking her homework and practicing her cello more than ever. Rita had called several times, but Morgan had declined offers to get together after school. She’d had an appointment with Bethany earlier in the week, and Dana hoped it had helped. Morgan wouldn’t say.

On Thursday afternoon Grady had a play date at Jav’s. Their friendship had mended with the return of the golf ball and Jav’s satisfying response to the story of its retrieval: “That’s so sick! My mom would never do that—she’d probably call the police if she saw your mom up there! Then the cops would come and chase your mom all over the roof, and she’d be like—
BAM, BAM, BAM
—knocking them over the edge!”

Dana secretly enjoyed the idea that anyone could think of her as an outlaw. But she said, “Police officers are the good guys. I would never try to hurt them.”

“Whatever,” said Grady.

Now, with Grady at Jav’s house and the older girls at a Wilderness Club meeting, Dana hoped Morgan would open up a little. She made her some toast and sat with her at the kitchen table while she ate. “How are things at school?”

“Okay.”

“Who are you sitting with at lunch?”

“Rita and some other girls.”

“Is Kimmi bothering you anymore?”

“No, she’s going out with Jason Dalton-Gomez now. He’s the most popular kid in sixth grade, so that takes up all her attention.”

“Going out?” They were twelve—what could that possibly entail? “Do they actually
go
anywhere?”

Morgan looked at her as if she’d just asked if they had run away to join the circus together. “It’s just
called
going out,” she said. “They sit together at lunch and text each other a lot.”

The conversation was starting to feel more like an interrogation, and Dana didn’t want to scare Morgan off. She got up to make herself a cup of tea.

“Why don’t you drink that fake lemonade anymore?” Morgan asked.

Dana was startled—she’d drunk the stuff for so many years and hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped. The last time she’d had it was when she’d made herself vomit, and the memory of its coming back up made her grimace. “I guess I just stopped liking it,” she said.

Morgan made a face. “It tastes like that stuff you spray when you dust.”

Dana chuckled. “It
does,
kind of!” She poured hot water into her mug and returned to the table. Morgan took a bite of her toast, watching as her mother dunked the tea bag in and out.

“When tea leaves are growing,” Morgan said, “do you think they have any idea that they’re only born so someone can pour boiling water on them?”

Several answers came to Dana, all of them completely wrong.
Tea leaves don’t have thoughts . . . The hot water doesn’t hurt them . . . I’m not a tea-leaf killer ...
“That’s an interesting question,” she said. “What do you think?”

Morgan popped the last piece of toast into her mouth and shrugged. “I have to work on my paper.”

“I thought you already handed that in.”

“We got an extension because half the class had a stomach bug last week. He said if we already finished, we could compare it to some other endangered animal for extra credit.” She rose from the table, but before she got to the doorway, she turned back momentarily. “Thanks for the toast,” she said. “It was really good.”

 

 

Dana had left a message for Bethany soon thereafter and requested a return call on her cell phone during her lunch hour the next day, Friday. She hadn’t anticipated that Tony and Marie would have a little good-bye party for her, complete with a tiny round cake Tony had picked up at a supermarket. It said simply DANA, being too small to accommodate a sentiment like GOOD LUCK or WE’LL MISS YOU or HOPEFULLY, YOU’LL FIND WORK AND NOT END UP BURIED IN CREDIT-CARD DEBT WITH A REPOSSESSION CREW AT YOUR DOOR.

Marie sat with her boot-casted foot propped on a case of exam gloves, her disdain for such silliness peeking out from behind an obligatory smile. Tony’s face kept changing, smiling one moment, slightly anxious, almost melancholy the next.

Waiting,
Dana thought.
It’s driving him crazy.
But she had no answer for him. She wasn’t even entirely sure of the question. He hadn’t asked her out or told her his feelings. She had the strange sense he was happy she was leaving.
What do men want anyway?
she wondered.
Besides the obvious.

She was slicing the cake and handing out pieces when she heard her cell phone jingle on her desk and ran to answer it. As she had hoped, it was Bethany. Dana told her about Morgan’s obsessive studying, cello practicing, and lack of interest in friends.

“I’m glad you called,” said Bethany. “It really helps to be working with a parent who’s so observant. And your concern makes sense. Shutting people out, compulsive studying—those are some of Morgan’s coping skills, and she’s leaning on them a lot these days.”

“It’s the wedding and the new baby, isn’t it?” said Dana. Rage toward Kenneth bubbled up like molten lava inside her. Morgan needed another thing to worry about like a hole in the head.

“Those things are hard on kids, that’s for sure,” said Bethany. “But plenty of kids go through worse without developing eating disorders. No one factor is enough to cause self-destructive behavior. She seems to have a tendency toward anxiety and perfection-ism, and then there’s the hormonal and physical changes of puberty. And middle school isn’t easy—kids are socially primitive at that age. If you’re hard on yourself to begin with, feeling guilty about something and dealing with changing family dynamics on top of that, preteens are a pretty tough crowd.”

Feeling guilty?
wondered Dana. “What does she have to feel guilty about?”

“I don’t really like to get into specifics about what clients tell me unless it’s a danger to them or someone else. It’s not good for trust building.”

The hell with trust building!
Dana wanted to yell. “It would really help me to know,” she said, trying not to clench her teeth. “Otherwise I might accidentally make her feel worse.”

Bethany was quiet for a moment. “I think you could be right,” she murmured, but she didn’t say anything right away. Dana racked her brain.
Stealing,
she thought,
maybe shoplifting ... or spreading rumors—some sort of retribution against Kimmi Kinnear . . .

“She worries about you,” said Bethany.

“About
me
?”

“She knows her father initiated the divorce and it hit you hard. She also heard the whole interaction between you and her friend’s mother, so she knows that you lost two friends over her—the girl’s mother and the woman down the street.”

“Polly,” breathed Dana. “But Morgan didn’t do anything wrong—the adults caused the problem, not her.”

“It’s one of those strange psychological phenomena—sometimes kids think they’re to blame for their parents’ misfortune. And they’re often very aware of their parents’ feelings. More so than they let on. She knows you’re not ... that you’ve got a lot on your shoulders.”

“She knows you’re not happy,”
thought Dana.
That’s what she was about to say.

She needed more time to think about this. Was she an unhappy person? Connie had always accused her of being a Pollyanna, finding the last drop of good in anything. How was it that her daughter saw her as the opposite?

She thanked Bethany, and they scheduled the next appointment. Bethany said, “I’d like to have you come in with her sometime in the next month or so. It’s always good to bring parents into ongoing therapy, once trust has been established. Would you be comfortable having Morgan’s dad here, too, at some point?”

Kenneth in therapy. Dana almost laughed. He’d had quite a year: divorce, work troubles, his children needing him more than ever, an unanticipated baby on the way, a new marriage... He probably could use a little therapy. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I’d be fine with that.”

She was tucking the cell phone in her purse when she heard the
step-thump
of Marie approaching.

“Here,” said Marie, unceremoniously handing her a little muslin pouch.

Dana took it and loosened the strings. Out spilled a silver charm—a circle with a tiny purple stone embedded in the middle, two crescents facing outward on either side.

“Marie!” said Dana. “This is beautiful! You didn’t have to get me a going-away present.”

“It’s not a going-away present,” said Marie.

“Oh, okay ... Well, it’s very thoughtful. I think I have the perfect silver chain for it at home.”

Marie stood there frowning. “You know what it is? That symbol?”

Dana studied the charm. It looked vaguely familiar. She seemed to remember seeing something like it at a medieval fair years ago.

“It’s a triple goddess,” said Marie impatiently. “I made it.”

“You made this? Marie, I didn’t know you were a jeweler. What does it symbolize?”

“Maiden, mother, and crone,” Marie said, as if it were obvious. “When I made it, I kept thinking of you for some reason, so now I have to give it to you.”

Maiden, mother, and crone ... It shook loose a vague memory of a documentary she’d seen on the History Channel. Witchcraft. Druids. She looked up at Marie.

Marie rolled her eyes. “It’s Wiccan, okay? You’re not a religious bigot, are you?”

“No!” said Dana, without a moment’s speculation as to whether she might or might not be. “Of course not. It seems very interesting—I’d like to learn more about it.”

Marie gave her a skeptical look. “Anyway,” she said, “ it’s about the power of each stage of life and how they integrate together.” She picked up the little muslin pouch. “Can I have this back? It’s my last one.”

“Sure,” said Dana. “And thanks so much. I can’t wait to wear it.”

“See you at your next cleaning,” she said, and
step-thumped
down the hall.

 

 

At three o’clock Dana gathered up her things. There wasn’t much—no pictures of her kids or postcards co-workers had sent her from their vacations, as she had at her last job. She put on her coat and took one last look around at what once had been hers and no longer was. Just like that. Things come and go. No one knew that better than she did.

Tony and Marie were in with a patient—root canal, poor Mrs. Jameson. Dana walked back and peeked into the operatory. “Heading out now,” she whispered. “Thanks for everything.”

Marie looked at Tony expectantly. “We’re pretty much done here,” she told him.

“Would you mind ... ?” he asked her. She took the package of gauze from his hand. “I’ll walk you out,” he said to Dana, and pulled off his exam gloves.

They crossed the parking lot, and when they got to her car, she made herself turn and look him in the eye, even though it was hard and she would have preferred to pretend that this was any other Friday. If she looked at him, she knew she would see the truth of it, that he was no longer her boss, the best boss she’d ever had and likely ever
would
have.

And there it was, written across his face, the reality of something—yet another thing—ending. “When will I see you again?” she asked.

“Up to you.” He reached out and straightened her scarf, tucking it more snuggly against her throat. Then he retreated, crossing his arms tightly around his thin scrubs.