“Good morning, Ms. Childs,” said Lily, extending her hand.
“Windham-Childs, actually.” Gloria Windham-Childs was the Director of The Fertig School. Lily guessed that she was in her early sixties. “Mrs.,” she added with emphasis. She accepted Lily’s handshake as though she had just witnessed Lily picking her nose, and then gestured to Lily to take a seat in the cane-back chair across from the mahogany desk behind which she sat. The desktop was occupied by only a pad of white paper upon which notes had been carefully written in perfect Palmer penmanship, a five-by-seven silver photo frame, a china teacup and saucer, a silver pencil caddy which held a silver letter opener, three number two pencils, and a magnifying glass on an ornate filigree handle. An electric typewriter sat on an adjacent side table.
“Sorry,” said Lily. “Well, Mrs. Windham-Childs, I just wanted to thank you for this opportunity. I promise I will do my very best.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Windham-Childs. She ran her hands through her salt and pepper hair, which was cut in a bob that fell just below her jawline. “I’m quite sure of it.” She managed to curl the edges of her mouth up, but only by the greatest stretch of the imagination could it be called a smile; her blue eyes remained cold and detached.
“Let’s review your tasks, then, shall we?” Mrs. Windham-Childs used both hands to gently balance her half-eye reading glasses atop her long slender nose, and referred to the pad of paper. “You’ll be answering the phones - I’ll provide you with a script of how to address whatever questions our callers may have. You’ll also be taking orders for our publications - they can’t be purchased anywhere else - and then you’ll prepare the shipping and the invoices for the orders.” Mrs. Windham-Childs made a mark on her paper with a number two pencil. “Do you have any questions so far?”
Lily suppressed a laugh at the idea that there was anything as yet to be misunderstood, but then remembered that Sophie told her that employers liked it when you asked questions. She said it showed curiosity.
“How would you like me to answer the phone?”
“Excellent question!” Mrs. Windham-Childs clapped her hands together. “I’ve noted it here on the script, but when you answer the phone, you say, ‘Good afternoon!’ - or ‘Good morning!’, whatever it happens to be, you see? And do so cheerfully, but with restraint. And then you say, ‘This is The Fertig School for gifted children. My name is -’ ” Mrs. Windham-Childs glanced down at her pad of paper. “‘ - Ms. Diotallevi. How may I assist you?’ “
“Got it,” said Lily.
Mrs. Windham-Childs looked up at Lily over the tops of her glasses and raised her eyebrows.
“I understand?” said Lily, embarrassed. She made a mental note to herself to speak formally. Donna was sure to get a kick out of this when Lily told her about it later. Lily suppressed a smile.
Mrs. Windham-Childs nodded once. “In addition to answering the phone,” she said, “You will manage my correspondence by processing all of my incoming mail, which includes the opening of all envelopes, extracting the contents, attaching the envelope to the contents with a single paper clip, like this.” She paused and clipped a sheet of notepaper to an envelope in demonstration, “And also typing and posting any letters that may proceed from my office that I do not write and address by hand myself.” Mrs. Windham-Childs set the pencil down onto the desk, removed her glasses and looked at Lily.
“Is that it?” Lily knew it sounded as though she was thoroughly unimpressed with the job, but the words came out before she could stop them. And the truth was, she was unimpressed. But not dissuaded. She would sit and watch grass grow, if it meant she could afford an apartment and deprive Joe of the pleasure of evicting her.
“In addition to your regular duties, I would expect you to learn as much as possible about our school and its founder, Agatha Fertig.” Mrs. Windham-Childs picked up the photo frame and handed it to Lily. The woman in the photograph reminded Lily a bit of the photos she’d seen of Auntie Rosa as a nursing student – buxom, determined, proud.
Mrs. Windham-Childs retrieved the photo from Lily, wiped the frame with a white cotton handkerchief, which she pulled from the cuff of her blouse, and set it back on the desk with a sigh. “She was truly a pioneer. She developed the alternative approach to education that is employed by every Fertig School around the world.”
“How can I learn about her?” asked Lily.
“You are welcome to borrow any book from our library,” said Mrs. Windham-Childs. “As long as you are careful not to soil them with food or beverage. I suggest you start with the series called, The Fertig Foundations. Not only will that give you some background about our beloved Founder, but you will gain insight into the Fertig philosophy and why it is effective in the cultivation of exceptional children.” Lily imagined a row of rich kids popping up out of the soil, being pruned and watered by Agatha Fertig and Mrs. Windham-Childs. Mrs. Windham-Childs added, “We’ve even seen some promising results from pilot programs done with the underprivileged children right here in our own neighborhood.”
She led Lily out to the front desk, where she would take her post.
“You may store your personal things - your coat and your pocketbook - in the utility closet where we keep the broom and vacuum cleaner and dust cloths - other things you’ll need access to from time to time.”
“Where’s the computer?” Lily asked, glancing around the room.
“Ms. Diotallevi,” Mrs. Windham-Childs replied with a humpf, “At The Fertig School we do not believe in the use of electronic screens in the education of our children, nor in the work we do to serve them.”
“No computer?”
“You will learn about why we do not lean on such crutches here when you study the life of our Founder,” said Mrs. Windham-Childs. “For now, all you need to know to perform your duties is that any records you need to access can be found in the file room, and as you can see, your telephone and typewriter are here.” She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and selected five books, which she brought over and set on Lily’s desk. “When you are not greeting visitors, answering the phone, or providing client service, you may indulge in reading these lovely works. Begin with this one.” She handed Lily a hardcover book with gold lettering on the front. “You may need to read through that book more than once in order to grasp it, but it is worth the effort - that is, if you are interested in the art and science of developing the human potential.”
Lily had the vague sense that she had just been insulted, but she wasn’t sure if it was because Mrs. Windham-Childs didn’t think she was intelligent enough to comprehend the material or because she assumed a lack of interest in human potential on Lily’s part, evidenced in what could only be an obvious failure to develop hers.
A chime sounded, as a woman about Lily’s age dressed in a tailored royal blue jacket and matching skirt entered the building, leading a girl of about six years of age by the hand.
“Mrs. Howe! Victoria! How lovely to see you this fine morning,” gushed Mrs. Windham-Childs.
The little girl hid behind her mother, who shook Mrs. Windham-Childs’ hand, and glanced at Lily. “Good morning,” she said with a smile.
“Right this way,” said Mrs. Windham-Childs. “I’ll have our new girl get you some tea.”
“No, thank you,” said Mrs. Howe. “I’m afraid I’ve had quite enough this morning already.”
The two women and the little girl disappeared behind the closed door of Mrs. Windham-Childs’ office. Lily placed her purse, her jacket, and a brown bag containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple into the utility closet, noticing there would still be just enough room inside for her.
January and February flew past as Lily became acclimated to her new schedule, squeezing in apartment hunting excursions on the weekends, and support group meetings on Wednesday evenings, which she decided served a practical purpose, and would be useful to her until she got settled.
“I’m starting to freak out,” Lily shared at support
group. “I have until the end of next month to move, and I just can’t find anything I can afford.”
“What’s the worst that can happen if you don’t move by the deadline?” asked Sophie.
“I signed the agreement,” said Lily. “So technically, my husband could have me evicted.”
“Would he do that?”
“If you’d asked me six months ago, I would have said ‘No, absolutely not,’ but I wouldn’t put it past him these days. If he evicts me and I don’t leave, he could have me arrested. If he evicts me and I do leave, I would have to stay with my mother and send the kids to live with him until I found someplace.”
“They stay wit him,” said Edie. “You won’t never get ‘em back.”
“When abusers see their victims begin to become more powerful,” said Sophie, “they themselves grow increasingly desperate, and their behavior becomes more erratic. Most women think that they are in the clear once they make the initial break, but that’s actually when the violent behavior escalates, because that’s when the abuser realizes he has lost control. They will pull out all the stops, making one last-ditch effort to get that control back.”
“Great,” said Lily. “That sure doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“The truth is sometimes difficult to hear,” said Sophie. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”
Sophie was beginning to remind Lily of her mother. She squirmed in her chair.
“All I’m saying,” continued Sophie, “Is that you’re wise not to get yourself into that situation. Would you like the group to help you brainstorm solutions?”
“Please,” said Lily. “I’m all out of ideas.”
“OK,” said Sophie. “So we are going to have a brainstorming session, to see if we can help Lily find a solution to her dilemma. Just to go over the rules: In brainstorming there are no bad ideas. Just shout out whatever comes to mind. Remember that even a preposterous idea contains the seeds of possibility. We do not use brainstorming to give advice or criticize others. Everyone’s ideas are respected and appreciated.” Sophie looked around the circle. “Who would like to be scribe?”
“I will,” said Claire, raising her hand.
Lily was excited, and humbled. All of these women were going to work together to help her. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so cared for. She would miss them when she stopped coming.
“Who would like to begin?” asked Sophie.
“They’s a house for rent near me,” said Kitten. “It’s on Rosewood Lane, just right near that school where you workin’. I could find out how much they want.”
“Oh, I can’t live there,” said Lily, forgetting the rule to not be critical.
Kitten sat up in her chair and pulled her stained T-shirt down over her round belly. “Why not?”
All eyes turned toward Lily. She looked to Sophie, who raised her brow and cocked her head to one side as if to say, “Yea, why not?”
Because that’s where the poor people live, Lily wanted to say. Because my kids deserve better than that. Because we don’t belong there. Because I’m not that desperate. A series of reasons paraded themselves through Lily’s mind. Some of them were true. Some of them were honest. None of them were defensible.
“Well,” she finally said, “I would have to put my kids in a new school, if I moved that far. I don’t want to uproot them anymore than I have to.”
“Kids switch schools all the time,” said Claire, with the wave of her hand. “They’ll do fine.”
“But I just really think it’s important for them to have some continuity, you know?” Continuity was one of the tenets of The Fertig School. It was important for healthy self-esteem, which was the basis for a sense of security and confidence. Yes, it was because of continuity.
Kitten folded her arms across her chest.
“What they need is to know that they have a mama who kin take care of ‘em and who don’t get bullied around,” said Edie.
I am not living there, thought Lily.
“Hey – why can’t you move to that house Kitten’s talking about and then send your kids to that school you work for?” someone asked.
“I can’t afford to send them to Fertig,” said Lily. “Even with the discount, it would still be way too expensive.” I am not living there.
“I think you should rent one of those cottages on the beach,” said Claire. She looked off wistfully into the distance. “You could watch the sun rise over the lake, and the boys could play in the sand. That would be really awesome.” Lily’s heart leapt at the image. Kitten balled up a piece of paper and tossed at Claire. All the women laughed. “What?” Claire said. “It’s brainstorming! I’m writing it on the list.”
After twenty minutes of listening to ideas darting about the room, Lily’s head was a swirl of possibilities, hope, and despair. At the end of the session, Claire handed Sophie three sheets of paper filled with handwritten notes outlining all of the ideas discussed.
“Take these papers home with you,” Sophie told Lily. “But try not to think about this anymore tonight. If it were possible to name a benefit of being controlled, it’s that you never really have to angst over any important decisions. So for most women who leave an abusive relationship, making decisions can be very difficult. The thing to remember is that good decision-making is part logic and part gut. Experience is really the only way to get better at it. You have to make bad decisions sometimes just so you can see what that feels like. And you also learn from the process of making good decisions. So sleep on it, don’t obsess, and see how you feel in the morning.”
Lily was fairly certain she’d had her quota of experience with making bad decisions, but she followed Sophie’s advice and tucked the list away for the night, and avoided it until that Saturday after Joe picked the boys up for their overnight. She watched from behind the drapes of the living room window as Joe buckled them into their seats.
“Nice,” she heard Joe say. “Your mother can’t even be bothered to come to the door.”
As they drove down the street, Lily pulled out the list that the group had created. One by one, she went through and assessed each one from, “running away with the circus” (Appealing idea, but Agatha Fertig would hardly approve), to “let the kids live with your ex temporarily” (Over my dead body.) At the end of the exercise, only two items remained: “Rent the house on Kitten’s street,” and “Get a cottage on the beach,” which Claire had notated with a smiley face, and which Lily probably should have eliminated immediately, but she liked pretending that she might have such a choice one day.
The rusted muffler on her dented blue LeMans rumbled, as Lily slowly made her way down Rosewood Lane. Lily had decided to sell her car back to the dealer to get out of the payments, and her mother used the opportunity to give Lily her old car and buy a new one. At least this car certainly belonged in this neighborhood. If she ended up here, she wouldn’t have to worry about someone stealing it.
She scanned the sad little yards and dirty windows for “For Rent” signs. As she approached each house, Lily thought to herself, I hope it ‘s not that one. I hope it’s not that one, until she finally came upon a forest green house with white trim - not counting the places where the wood was bare - with a red and white sign on the front lawn that read, “For Rent by Owner” and offered a phone number. She pulled into the next driveway and turned around, this time pulling over to the curb to get a better look.
The side screen door was hanging by one hinge. One of the windows on the second floor was cracked. An old stained mattress was slouched up against the front porch, bearing a sign that read, “FREE.”
She wondered if the others on the street were in the habit of leaving such items in the front yard. She imagined Pierce bouncing on it the way he liked to bounce on her mattress whenever she stripped the bed. She imagined him falling onto it, rolling around on it, tumbling onto the front lawn, running into the house, the side door coming off its hinges. She saw Joseph’s face through the second floor window,
its image distorted through the cracked glass. There was no fenced yard for Wishes. She would not be able to run here.
Lily looked down at her very short list and then back up at the house again. Surely the mattress would be gone by the time she moved in. If not, she could have it removed. The screen door probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal to fix. It would just take a trip to the hardware store and maybe a do-it-yourself book from the library. Same thing for the window. Tears came to her eyes as she realized this was her only real option. She could probably afford it, even on the weeks when Joe defaulted on his child support payments. And it wouldn’t have to be forever. She jotted the number from the sign onto her paper.
She put the car in drive as she took one more look. A Calico cat emerged from under the porch. Its fur was matted, and it hobbled along on three legs as it made its way over to the mattress, where it curled up into a bony ball and tucked its head under its haunches.
Lily slammed the gear shift back into park, furiously scribbled lines through, “Rent the house on Kitten’s street”, threw the car into drive and peeled away, leaving a rubber tire mark in the road behind her.
7. Iris
Max stretched out on his back, hands locked behind his head, his face bathed in the rosy glow of the setting sun, looking satisfied and relaxed and, Iris might add, incredibly sexy. One of the things Iris loved most about her new apartment high in the hills above Camogli was that it came furnished with a cozy double bed from which you could watch the sun set, and that the bed in question was often occupied by Max. Making love on those early spring evenings was simply magical, and the view over the Golfo Paradiso nothing short of divine - though it was a luxury that took away more than Iris’s breath. The outrageously high rent gobbled up a hefty portion of her monthly paycheck, but Iris felt it was worth every hard-earned lira. First of all, Max now stayed with her whenever he had time between assignments, whereas he had only visited her twice in her previous digs in Recco. Not that she could blame him; if the one-room flat by the railway bridge depressed her, she could only imagine the devastating effect it must have on someone of Max’s moody disposition. The fact that he seemed to prefer the apartment in Ruta to his own place in Rome worked out well, too, since her responsibilities at the Dimora made it hard for her to go visit him. And in addition to it being a perfect love nest for them to share, even when Max was not around, living in an apartment surrounded by natural beauty rather than by manmade horrors had a beneficial effect on Iris’s morale, and helped her appreciate the moments of solitude she had often longed for during her marriage. Inspired by the infinite views of sky and sea, her wings of hope grew longer and stronger, propelling her dreams to new heights.
The Complete Series Page 121
