Deep Down True

by Juliette Fay

  Misplaced children, she thought as she drifted. It was as if Morgan, Grady, and Alder had been playing a game of musical chairs and had each ended up in the wrong seats. Or the seats themselves had changed.

  She knew that the delivery boy from Nelly’s Deli would be here soon, but she told herself she would hear the tinkle of the bell on the door and be upright before anyone saw. A clump of hair slid across her face, but she was too sluggish to push it back. Haircut, she thought. It had been months.

  Would they be different when they got home from Plasticland? Would they be so full of thrill rides and restaurant food and care-free laughter with their father and soon-to-be-stepmother that they could barely remember the boring life with their cash-strapped working mom? There was a sound, and she wanted to rise from the comfort of her arm, sleeved in knit cotton, but her head disobeyed her. And there were voices, one mid-toned and anonymous, one deep and sonorous, a rumble like distant thunder. Voices!

  “Oh, my gosh!” she muttered apologetically, not entirely sure to whom. When her vision stabilized, she saw Tony holding a white bag and sliding money into the breast pocket of his lab coat. “The door’s locked,” he murmured. “Put your head down and go back to sleep.”

  “Oh . . . no, I . . .” She ran her fingers back through her hair to subdue it. “I just . . . I woke up so early this morning . . .” A strand stuck to her lip, and she swiped her face several times but couldn’t quite locate it. “And then my sister—”

  “Okay, Rapunzel,” he teased, “pull yourself together.” He reached out and drew a finger across her forehead, capturing the rogue hair and tucking it back behind her ear, his fingers sliding down along the strands to the end, brushing lightly against her shoulder. She could still feel the trail they’d traced across her skin, and a flush came into her cheeks. He was staring at her with an intensity tinged with surprise that made her wonder if he’d regretted his action. Mortified, she turned away quickly and said, “I’ll just get my lunch.”

  He left, and she snatched the brush from her purse and raked it through her hair. For godsake, settle down! she told herself. He’s probably done that for his daughters a million times.

  When they were seated at the little table with their lunch items spread across it like chess pieces, he asked about her bad night’s sleep and she told him about the lentils and the nightmare and sharing her bed with Connie. “We slept in the same room our whole childhood, and I always sleep with her when I go to her place. Her house is small, and she doesn’t have extra beds. It’s only when she comes to Cotters Rock that she sleeps in a separate room.” Dana considered this. “I think she must have been holding that against Kenneth for fifteen years now.”

  “I didn’t get the impression you two were that close.”

  “We’re not.” Dana thought for a moment. “But in some ways . . . We don’t like each other that much, but we’re—I don’t know—attached.”

  “Lizzie and Abby are like that. Very different. They got closer after Ingrid died. By the way, the late-breaking news is Lizzie’s going to the boyfriend’s for Thanksgiving after all.” He let out an annoyed snort. “Miss Thing throws a conniption about how much she needs to be home. I change my plans, and she gets back together with Joe Cool.”

  Dana smiled. “She’s the one to the left of your wife in that picture on your desk.”

  Tony nodded. “Smirking, as usual.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and withdrew a small photo. “This one’s recent.” Their arms were hung around each other’s shoulders, wind blowing the taller one’s auburn hair out to the side. She was laughing, mouth open, teeth white behind bright lipstick. The shorter one grinned modestly. Her skin was a darker olive shade, like Tony’s, and her wavy black hair hung just below her ears.

  “Abby got the Italian looks from my mother,” he said, his head leaning close to Dana’s to gaze at the photo with her. “Lizzie takes after Ingrid, except her hair’s darker. My father used to say, ‘Where’s mine? Where’s the Japanese granddaughter?’ And my mother would say, ‘Madonne! They have your last name—you got them both!’”

  “They’re beautiful,” said Dana. “No wonder Joe Cool wants Miss Thing back.”

  Tony nodded in appreciation, but then his expression turned pensive. “Why do girls go out with jerks? Honestly, I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

  “I’ve wondered about that myself,” said Dana. Billy the pothead, Kenneth the adulterer, Jack the twelve-year-old, she ticked them off in her head. What’s my excuse?

  Tony glanced over at her, “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ve never gotten it right.”

  “Dana . . .”

  She shrugged, gave a half hearted smile. From the front of the office, her cell phone rang, and she got up to answer it.

  “This is Maureen from Comfort Food. There’s a situation, and I have a favor to ask.”

  Oh, dear God! thought Dana. It was Dermott, she was certain.

  “The McPhersons were hoping to have Thanksgiving with family in New Jersey, but Mr. McPherson is too sick to travel. When I offered to have one of the volunteers bring over a turkey dinner . . . well, they specifically asked for you. I know this is late notice—”

  “Of course!” said Dana. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Polly came by.” Alder was sitting at the kitchen table hunched over her math book. She squinted up at Dana, unaccountably apologetic. “Connie dealt with her.”

  Poor Polly, Dana thought instinctively. “How’d it go?”

  “Uh, really awkward.”

  Dana sighed apprehensively. “How awkward?”

  “Stuff like ‘piss-poor big-mouth friend’ and ‘get your skinny ass out of here.’”

  “How did Polly react?”

  A sly grin bloomed on Alder’s face. “She can dish it out pretty good. Called Connie a hemp-wearing freak and asked where the hell’s she been all these months while your life was falling apart. They both got what they had coming.”

  Dana began to smile, but something brushed back the humor. Connie got what she had coming? It hadn’t occurred to Dana to be angry with Connie for keeping her distance. In fact, if she’d stopped to think about it, she might have been relieved. Connie’s irascibility would have caused more tension than Dana could have withstood, even though it would have been aimed at Kenneth (and his lawyer, his girlfriend, his landlord—anyone remotely connected to him, including, eventually, Dana herself). Dana wondered if Connie had considered this. Had Connie purposely done her a kindness by staying away? She sat down at the table next to Alder. “Your mother didn’t do anything wrong.”

  The humor slipped off Alder’s face. “She didn’t show up.”

  “Sweetie, that’s between me and her. I get to decide if she let me down, not you.”

  Alder’s face tensed in disbelief. “How can you just . . . let her off like that?”

  Dana shrugged. “Because I can. It’s my decision.” And choosing to assume the best of intentions wasn’t always such a liability, she thought, even though Connie herself would have accused her of permanent residence in fairyland. “Alder, is this why you’re so mad at her? Because you think she didn’t do enough for me when Kenneth left?”

  “Well . . .” The girl’s eyebrows shot up. “Partly, yeah.”

  “Oh, honey. Thank you. But I’ll tell you what—your services are no longer needed. You can be angry at her for you if you feel like it, but you don’t have to be angry for me anymore, okay?”

  Alder’s eyebrows downshifted. “You don’t see what I see,” she said quietly.

  “True,” said Dana. “But you don’t always see what I see either. And sometimes it’s the people closest to us that we don’t see as clearly as we see other things. Even for you.” She reached out to give Alder’s two-toned hair a little tug. “If you cut the black off, it’d be really cute short. Maybe you’ll let her take you tomorrow?”

  Alder shrugged, but she didn’t say no.

  Tha
t night, waiting for sleep, trying to ignore Connie’s toe twitching and blanket yanking, Dana wished for the millionth time that the kids were there to tuck into bed. There was something about getting them settled under the secret security of blankets that defused her own worry. Watching their small bodies release the day and latch onto sleep had the beauty of a ballet some nights.

  Did they miss her? They called every night, brief flurries of conversation about rides (“Space Mountain three times in a row!”) and the hotel (“Mickey Mouse soap—I saved some for you”). Tonight Dana had murmured a furtive, “How are you?” to Morgan. “Are you getting any sleep?”

  “Yeah, it’s weird. I guess I’m really tired. Good tired, not like freaked-out tired,” she’d said. “How are you?”

  “I’m just fine, honey,” Dana had lied. “Aunt Connie’s here, and we’re all going to have Thanksgiving together.” She hoped this last part was true.

  “Aunt Connie? Will she be there when we get back? She’s so funny!”

  Connie was punching her pillow as if it were punching back when Dana said, “Morgan’s hoping you’ll be here when she gets home.”

  “Huh,” said Connie, plopping her head on the conquered pillow. “I always thought I kind of scared her.” The hallway light sifted in around the bedroom door, casting a muted glow onto one side of her face. They lay there easily in the soft darkness, and their stillness leaned toward sleep. But then Connie murmured, “Do you ever think about Dad?”

  Dana felt as if she had brushed up against an invisible electric fence. “Uh, Dad? A little . . .” She faltered. “Do you?”

  “All the time these days. Mostly I think about how to keep from turning into him.”

  “What? Connie, you’re nothing like him! The only time I’ve seen you low was when you came home from Europe pregnant with Alder. And you snapped out of that as soon as she was born.”

  “Mmm.” A tenuous agreement. “But what if it happens again? There sure as hell won’t be another baby to throw me a lifeline.” Connie rolled onto her back, and Dana scrutinized her sharp profile from the safety of shadow. “Besides, kids aren’t supposed to be our security blankets.” Connie’s eye slid sideways toward Dana, making a point.

  “I just don’t see you as . . . like that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s in there, maybe waiting around a bend in my DNA. In yours, too.” After a moment Connie shook her head. “Probably not, though. If anything, you’re terminally upbeat.”

  “I don’t think either of us is liable to end up like him.”

  Connie chuckled. “Know what I thought of the other day? Mom adding water to things. Empty tomato-sauce jars, shampoo containers—remember that? She hated to leave anything in the bottle. There was always something left, she said, even when it seemed like there was nothing. She could wash pots for days on those last diluted drops of dish soap.”

  Dana remembered it clearly. “She’d hand you ajar and say, ‘Give this a sprinkle.’”

  “You’re like that,” said Connie. “You’re a rehydrator.”

  This sounded insulting, but half of everything out of Connie’s mouth seemed like a dig, so Dana couldn’t be sure. “You think I’m cheap?”

  The eye that Dana could see rolled in mild annoyance. “You’re the opposite of cheap, for godsake. You could find the last drop of good in anything.” It was possibly the nicest thing Connie had ever said to her. “Don’t get all sappy,” warned Connie. “It’s not always an asset. Being kind to a fault is an actual fault.”

  Dana couldn’t help it. She reached over and patted her sister’s cheek. “Connie,” she cooed.

  “Cut it out.”

  Dana heard something, as if her brain were creating background music. “Love you, Con.”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” But she didn’t turn away. Dana felt Connie’s cheek swell into an unintended smile under her hand. The music got louder. In your eyes, the light, the heat . . .

  “What in the hell is that?” Connie groused.

  It was coming from outside. The two of them got up to look out the window and saw a figure in the darkened front yard that seemed to loom like a giant beside the driveway. It stepped into the light, and they could see it was a man raising something above his head.

  In your eyes, I am complete . . .

  It was Jack Roburtin. He was holding up two rectangles connected by a cord. An iPod and a speaker.

  “Oh, my God!” Connie burst out. “Please tell me that’s the moron you were dating!”

  “Good Lord,” breathed Dana. “He’s lost his mind.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Connie gave Dana’s shoulder a little shove. “It’s from that movie! About the loser who goes out with the smart girl from high school. He plays their song in her window.” Her eyes were wide with delight. “It’s how he gets her back.”

  “Oh, no.” Dana looked out the window in horror.

  “After all that crap he pulled, coming to your office, talking to you like that, this is his idea of roses and a box of chocolates!” Connie was bouncing on her toes like a little girl.

  “No way.” It was too absurd to be true.

  “Serious as a heart attack! Can I handle it? Oh, please let me.” Without waiting for an answer, Connie slid the window open and lifted the screen. “Hey!” she called, sticking the upper half of her body through the opening. Dana was watching from the other window. Jack’s large head jerked up toward them. “Listen up!” yelled Connie. “This is NOT the EIGHTIES, and YOU are NO JOHN CU-SACK, so you can just GO the HELL HOME!”

  “Dana?” Jack’s voice cracked a little at the end, sending Connie into spasms of laughter.

  “Connie?” Alder was in the doorway behind them. Connie pulled her head back into the room.

  “It’s okay, honey,” said Dana. “It’s just . . .” It’s just what? The situation defied description.

  “DANA?” yelled Jack.

  Dana put her head out the window. “Go home, Jack,” she called to him.

  He pulled the cord, disconnecting the iPod from the speaker. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

  “No, Jack. Please don’t call me anymore.”

  “I’m sorry about the other day.” His voice was loud. She would have to apologize to the neighbors in the morning. “I was just . . . I really missed you!”

  “Well, that’s very nice and all—”

  “Rehydrating,” hissed Connie. “Kind to a fault.”

  “Shut up!” Dana hissed back. “Jack,” she called out the window. “It’s over. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  Jack’s fist clenched in front of him momentarily, as if his team had narrowly missed a touchdown. He looked up at the window again. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” she told him. “I’m really sure.”

  The three of them watched him slump back to his truck and pull away. Connie took Dana’s hand and thrust it into the air. “The champ!” she said, and they all laughed. Too giggly to sleep, they went down to the kitchen and made hot chocolate.

  Alder said, “We’re staying for Thanksgiving.”

  Dana looked to Connie, who shrugged. “I didn’t want to promise,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how we’d get along.”

  “I think we’re doing fine.”

  Connie raised her hands over her head in an imitation of Jack and gave a wicked little grin. “The entertainment definitely helps.”

  CHAPTER 40

  I CAN’T WAIT TO TELL TONY, SHE REMEMBERED THINKing as she’d slid into the comfort of well-earned sleep. Then the alarm had gone off, and she must have hit it, or Connie did, because now she was racing well above the speed limit in hopes of getting to work no more than half an hour late. When she arrived, coat misbuttoned, one end of her scarf dangling by her knees, Marie gave her a look.

  “I’m sorry,” Dana said, and she meant it. But there was an edge to her voice, a warning that elicited a shrug of innocence from Marie, as if to say it made no difference to her.

  Tony was in one of the operatories. Dan
a peeked in, behind the balding head of a reclined patient, and Tony glanced up, a smile igniting behind his eyes. Sorry, she mouthed.

  He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, as if to say, For what?

  Patients streamed through the morning, blustering in from the cold, agitated about long-standing billing questions they’d never bothered with before. It was as if they were getting their affairs in order, preparing for the advance of peevish in-laws and socially challenged cousins, awaiting their last supper. For every patient who canceled or came late, there was another who felt the need to haunt the reception desk, fretting about his insurance coverage, or irritable because the patient before her was taking too long. Dana barely had a minute to catch Tony’s eye, much less regale him with the victory of the night before, which annoyed her beyond reason. Once when he brought a chart up to her, she whispered, “Do I have a story for you!”

  “Tell me,” he murmured back.

  But then Mrs. Prezewski-Griff and her gold vinyl purse approached the counter and launched into a stream of vitriol about her insurance company’s refusal to cover teeth whitening, and Tony had to take another patient. After that, Dana thought briefly of writing him a note. You’re not in middle school, she chided inwardly. Get a grip!

  Finally the last patient of the morning was gone, and the delivery guy from Nelly’s Deli had been paid, and Tony was saying, “Come on—gimme the goods!”

  “Oh, my gosh,” she breathed. “You aren’t going to believe it!” She got all the way to the part with Jack saying, “You sure?” when the bell on the front door rang. In their hurry to sit and talk, she had forgotten to lock it. She started to rise, and Tony, still laughing, said, “Wait! What did you say?”