“Missy,” Joe said. “Kate’s not the only girl that matters, and you know it. You’re fighting for an entire school of them. Don’t blow off your meeting. Go to Chicago. Make your presentation. And then come see us, okay? Promise?”
When I hung up, I could barely breathe. My heart raced, and I pounded my hands on the kitchen table. I wiped my eyes. “Help her!” I pleaded, because Katherine Santelli was the good in this world, and yet, this world was going to kill her. There had to be something I could do!
And as for my sorry state of affairs—no Reina, no Joe, no Dad. Just me.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The next morning I flew to Chicago and took a cab to the towering glass headquarters of the One by One Foundation, right on the Magnificent Mile. Before I knew it, I was waiting outside the conference room for my name to be called. Before I knew it, I was asked inside. Before I knew it, I was standing at the head of a giant conference table, surrounded by twenty board members. Before I knew it, I was talking about the financials of the school as easily as I had once talked to Dad or Paul about the technical aspects of a client’s account. I knew my stuff, was able to answer any questions, and though the sense was otherworldly—surreal—I was as calm as could be.
And when I was finished, I texted Joe to check in on Katherine. She was at home, in bed. Joe’s mother was by her side. A marathon game of Scrabble was under way. Enough homemade cookies to last a few weeks.
Can I come to Newark? I asked carefully. I have some thoughts on Katherine, and I was hoping to meet with you and Lucy.
Both of us? he texted back.
Yeah, I typed, holding my breath. Can you arrange it? Text me the details?
A seed—from where, who knows?—had been planted, and all of a sudden I had a plan, a crazy, outside-of-the-box plan. A Frank Fletcher plan. A Reina Shephard plan. A visionary plan. I would need both Joe and Lucy on board.
Trust me? I texted. And I love you. And say hi to Katherine.
Once in Newark, I took a cab to the Rise N Shine coffee shop. Joe had texted me that he and Lucy would meet me there. From the window I could see them sitting at a table. Joe was rubbing at his face, overwrought, mired in pain. Joe, my indomitable hero, my unstoppable champion, wore gray stubble on his face and a crushing sadness in his eyes. When he saw me, he brightened and waved. Lucy smiled tightly. I approached their table and said hello. I removed my jacket and went to the counter for a cup of coffee. Back at the table, we volleyed perfunctory pleasantries about my flight, the weather, the aroma of the French roast.
The strange thing was, I wasn’t scared. I was confident. I was calm. I finally got it, finally understood: So long as I was pursuing my passion, I would always find courage. I would be restored. My history of silence didn’t have to be my future.
When we settled in, Joe provided the preamble to our conversation. He looked at Lucy, then at me. “I think Missy wanted you to join us, Lucy, because she had some similar experiences when she was in middle school that Kate is having.” Joe looked toward me. “Is that right, Missy?”
I nodded at Joe, because he was right in a thousand ways. “That’s true,” I said. “But that’s not why I wanted to meet.”
This surprised Joe. “Oh,” he said.
I looked up at Lucy, at Joe. “I have an idea for Katherine, and before I say it, I want you both to know that it is not at all hinged on the relationship that Joe and I have started up.” I met Lucy’s eyes and held them. “I like Katherine a lot,” I said. “I think she is a gem of a human being with a heart of gold. She’s smart and lovely and a true joy to be around.” My throat filled with tears, and it took all of my power to not let them flood the gates. “Anyway, I want to be clear,” I went on. “I’m here because I care about Katherine, and for no other reason.”
Lucy clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Why should she? I was a stranger to her, and all but a stranger to her daughter. Who knew what I was about to come out with? But to her credit, she seemed sincere when she said, “I appreciate that, Missy. And I agree with all of it. Katherine’s a wonderful girl”—she glanced at Joe, then turned back to me—“and we’re worried sick about her.”
I pressed on. “None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. I don’t for a second believe that your marriage wasn’t wonderful for a lot of years.” They were a beautiful couple, I saw that, even now. “And Joe, what you saw at war . . .” I stopped, took a sip of water. They were staring at me, and why wouldn’t they be? What I came to say was sounding like nonsense.
I braced my hands on my legs. “I’m not making sense,” I said.
I took another gulp of water. “Here goes,” I said. “I’d like to bring Katherine with me to India.”
“What?” Lucy gasped.
“Missy.” Joe echoed his wife’s shocked reaction.
I went on. “Hear me out. Katherine has already tested two years beyond her grade,” I said. “Joe, you told me that. And here we are, already in December. Would it really hurt to pull her from school for the rest of the year? And in January, when I go to India to get the school ready to open, Katherine could come with me. I could homeschool her while we’re there.”
“She’s only fourteen,” Lucy objected. “She’s my daughter. What you’re suggesting—”
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said. “But Katherine is mature beyond her years, and it’s obvious she honestly desires to help others with this kind of work.”
Lucy twisted at her napkin. “How long will you be gone?”
“About a month and a half—six weeks, give or take.” I looked at Lucy expectantly. Was she really considering this?
“She is only fourteen,” Joe said.
“I’ll care for her. I promise you both,” I said. “She will be well taken care of. I adore her, and I would love the chance to spend some time with her. And don’t get me wrong: she’ll be working. There is so much she could help us with: hiring teachers, working on their English, setting up the classrooms, choosing books and materials, and just being a positive role model for the girls who’ll come to the school.”
Lucy covered her face.
“She would feel worthy,” Joe said, as if to himself. “She would have a purpose.”
“That’s exactly why I think it would be good for her,” I said. “Working there will be a great healing experience for her. I really believe it. Gandhi said it: ‘The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.’”
Lucy looked up and wiped her eyes. “I don’t even know you, Missy.”
“We could get to know each other,” I said.
She trained her eyes on Joe. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a radical idea—pulling her out of school, sending her to India,” Joe said, then fell back against his chair and shook his head, smiling. “But I think it might be the perfect plan. I can see it feeding her in a way nothing else could.”
“Are we really considering this?” Lucy asked, then laughed. “Is this for real?”
They were on board; I knew it. They wanted to pull Katherine from her school as badly as I did. “The next step would be to talk to Katherine, to see if she has any interest in this.”
There was no turning back from my adulthood now. I only hoped the yoke on my shoulders didn’t snap.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
On the seventh day of January, Katherine and I boarded a jumbo jet to New Delhi, India. I had flown to Newark to “pick her up.” At the airport to see us off were Joe and Lucy, Olivia and Jake. There were concentric circles of hugs: Joe hugging Katherine, then me. Olivia following suit. Then Jake. I pivoted and held open my arms, without awareness that in front of me was Lucy. Her hug was tight but not warm: perhaps a warning; perhaps she was scared. It didn’t matter. What I’d worried about in the beginning—me, trying to graft myself onto a family that was already rooted—was no longer a fear. There we
re no promises in life. A four-year-old’s mother could be clobbered by an HVAC truck. A woman could spend two decades of her life without a love affair. Fathers died. Men went to war and were killed every day. Some came home changed. Marriages dissolved over much less. And girls around the world were disenfranchised in a variety of ways—lovely Katherine, so overlooked; the society of girls in India, so undervalued.
On the plane, Katherine and I buckled up. I made sure she had everything she needed: a blanket, a pillow, a bottle of water. On her lap was her Kindle, her iPod, her stuffed walrus.
Katherine looked at me expectantly. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Anything,” I said.
“Would you call me Kate instead of Katherine? I’d kind of like to leave Katherine behind.”
“Of course,” I said, curious, but not wanting to pry.
She offered anyway. “My mom’s kind of famous for calling me Katherine. You know, three syllables Katherine: Kath-er-ine! Usually when she’s disappointed in me.”
I hadn’t expected Kate to be so forthcoming, and all of a sudden I wondered if I was equipped to be her adult chaperone. “Why on earth would your mother be disappointed in you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “My mom was hoping I’d be the ‘it’ girl.” Kate held back for a second. It seemed she was gauging my reaction. I nodded. “You know the one?” she went on. “The girl with the perfect 2400 on her SATs, homecoming queen, athlete of the year, all while volunteering at the homeless shelter every weekend?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We had one of those girls. It wasn’t me, clearly!”
Kate smiled. I wondered if she felt a kindred spirit in me.
“Your mom loves you to death, though,” I said. “I can see that.”
“Sometimes I feel bad for her,” Kate said. “She likes things ‘just so.’ She used to pose us for Christmas photos, and I have to admit, when Dad was in his dress uniform and the three of us kids were little, we looked pretty good. Then Dad lost a leg and I started to freak out over everything. All of a sudden, none of us were ‘just so.’ I think that’s why she took a job. To get away from us.”
I looked straight at her and willed my face to appear normal, even though I wanted to crumble. “No one would run away from you, Kate,” I said. “Your mom might have some of her own stuff she’s dealing with, you know?”
The flight attendant made her announcements, and soon we were in the air.
“Is this the time where we say good night?” Kate asked. Prior to the trip, we had talked on the phone and I had gone over with her my airplane routine, my fear of flying, the precision with which I had to follow my steps: Xanax, relaxation tape, breathing, counting.
“I feel like I’m okay,” I said. “Maybe I’ll skip the Xanax this time.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I looked at her and grinned. Just being next to her, knowing in some sense she was mine—at least for this trip—filled me with pride. I knew I was only borrowing her. Joe and I might not work out; I knew that, too. But for the next six weeks, I had the opportunity to be someone to Kate. Plenty of people had been someone to me throughout my life—my father, of course. Jenny, Paul, now Reina. But could I honestly claim that I have ever been someone to someone else? I took the responsibility seriously. Kate was in my hands, and I wasn’t going to let her down.
I skipped the Xanax but went through my other steps. Before I knew it, we were soaring through the sky. Over the next five hours, Kate and I played cards, we raced each other on the Sudoku puzzle in the airplane magazine, I read a book off her Kindle—A Long Walk to Water, a book she had chosen because of its topical relevance—and she read the grant proposal that had secured us money through the One by One Foundation. We brainstormed names for the school, imagined what the uniforms would look like, talked about the curriculum. We ate dinner, we ate candy bars, we listened to music from her iPod, and then we discussed the schoolwork she was required to complete during her absence. Science and math were fairly self-explanatory: a few pages of math problems each day, a ton of worksheets to complete for science. History was basically reading, as was classics. The big project was for English.
“I need to write my own ‘hero’s journey,’” Kate said. “Ever heard of it?”
“Joseph Campbell,” I said. “The heroic monomyth.” I’d studied the hero’s journey in middle school, reading The Hobbit and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
“Exactly!” she said. “Though it shouldn’t be too hard. Surviving middle school is kind of like going on a hero’s journey.”
“True,” I said. “And so is this trip. We’re definitely crossing the threshold into the unknown.”
Kate dug into her backpack and produced a visual representation of the monomyth. We looked at it together, traced the challenges and temptations that followed stepping from the mundane known into the unknown. How death and rebirth were the result of falling into the abyss. How transformation and atonement led the hero back home.
“Is it okay if I say I hope our adventure isn’t quite that eventful?” Kate said.
“If it is, your parents will murder me.”
With hope for an adventure, we fell fast asleep.
The next morning we landed in New Delhi, one of the largest cities in the world, with over twenty million residents. Our plan was to settle in, to adjust to the time difference, to let the jet lag slough from us gradually. After a night of rest, we’d take the train to the Taj Mahal before heading in the direction of the orphanage. Kate had been a real trouper on this long flight, but now she was showing signs of wear. I couldn’t forget that she was still a young girl in need of a good night’s rest. And most likely, she missed her parents.
Once we checked into the Marriott, Kate called her mother first, and then her father. When she finished with Joe, she handed me the phone. I watched her wipe her eyes and walk into the bathroom. She was jet-lagged, tired. She was homesick. This might be harder than I thought.
“She’s amazing,” I said.
“I can’t believe she’s there, with you,” Joe said. “This is a bit surreal.”
“We’re fine,” I assured him. “She’s tired, but all’s well.”
When Kate emerged from the bathroom, I asked her if she wanted to get into jammies and order room service. She brightened at this idea. “I don’t know why I’m sad,” she said. “I’m having so much fun.”
“Oh, honey,” I said. “It’s okay to be sad. You’re away from home. Please don’t feel that you need to be cheery for me.” I handed her a tissue. “Besides,” I said, “this is good material for your monomyth. ‘The road of trials’—the challenges you must undergo.”
Kate blew her nose, then nodded. “Good point! All heroes must fail some of the tests they’re given.”
“Not that you’ve ever failed a test for real.”
“I’m doubting you ever have, either.”
“Not an actual test,” I conceded. “But then again, I’ve never been on a hero’s journey before.”
“Same,” she said.
And then we crawled into bed and ordered room service—cheeseburgers and fries and Coke—as we flipped through the channels on the television. When we came across The Wizard of Oz in Hindi, we knew we had found the perfect hero’s journey to lull us to sleep. So long as we got there before the part with the flying monkeys.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The next morning, Kate and I peeled our way through the breakfast buffet in the dining room of the hotel restaurant. Kate peeled an orange and banana. I peeled us two hard-boiled eggs. Peeling was our mantra. To peel away any contaminant. Just to be safe. While we were at it, we peeled at our own pollutants, picking at the parts that were tainted by suffering and struggle.
“My dad said you were supersmart in high school,” Kate said.
“Like you,
” I said, skimming my knife under the skin of a mango.
“It’s just that”—she halted, then picked it up again—“schoolwork is easier than the other stuff.” Kate picked at the poison that covered her skin. The arsenic of bullies.
I nodded, slid a few pieces of mango onto Kate’s plate. “That’s how I felt, too,” I admitted. “Schoolwork I understood, but the social scene . . . well, that was like . . .”
We looked at each other, shrugged.
“Translating Greek!” Kate said, and then we both laughed and said “Nah” because translating Greek really wasn’t that hard.
“More like starring in the lead role of the school musical,” I said.
“Exactly,” Kate agreed. “That would be torture.”
“But then I met your dad,” I said, “and he was like my good luck charm. He thought it was cool to get good grades and star in the school musical and play sports.”
“I heard,” Kate said. “He was the ‘all-around guy.’”
“There wasn’t much he couldn’t do,” I admitted.
“My mom was hoping I’d be the ‘all-around girl,’ but alas . . . no.” Kate’s eyes drooped, as if she had swallowed a vial of shame. A toxin of a different source. From inside her own house. As confusing as a seemingly fresh glass of water infected with an invisible disease. How was Kate to process the notion that her mother wished her to be someone different?
“You have a giant heart, Kate,” I said. “I wouldn’t trade an ounce of it to be more ‘something.’ You have an amazing amount to offer. It’s still a little buried. Same as me. We just need to peel back our layers.” I lifted an orange peel for illustration.
She rolled her eyes at the heavy-handedness of the metaphor, but I could see she was with me.
“That’s what’s so cool about your dad,” I said. “He sees under everyone’s peel. He once gave me this Neruda poem that talked about ‘the light of hidden flowers.’ It’s easy to believe in people when they have it all together on the outside. It’s way cooler to believe in them when what they have is still a little buried.”
The Light of Hidden Flowers Page 27
