Confident that everything was under control, Flint resumed reading the business section.
*
"What was all that stuff about Serena Academy?" Brick draped himself across the bed in Caitlin's room. "You're up to something."
"She is?" Aaron, who curled at the head of the bed hugging his favorite bear, always seemed to lag a beat behind the others. Maybe that was because he'd been born last.
Caitlin's eyes narrowed as she perched on the corner of a child-size table. "You guys are so slow."
Brick took a guess. "You’ve been poking around on the Internet." They were only allowed to go to a few approved sites.
"Don't tell Dad." In private, Caitlin never referred to their father as Flint. "Both of you, hold up your hands and swear."
Brick didn't like letting his sister boss him around, but this sounded promising. He held up his hand and swore himself to silence. Aaron did, too.
From a chest so jumbled with toys that baseball cards could disappear into it forever, Caitlin retrieved a crumpled envelope. "This started a few weeks ago," she said. "I was flipping through the mail and there was a letter from a medical clinic."
Brick tried to fake a yawn to hide how fascinated he was. Didn’t work. He gave in and sat there bug-eyed like Aaron.
"I opened it because it was addressed to Mom," Caitlin told them. "It said the clinic was closing and under California law, Mom had a right to her medical records. There was a form to fill out."
"You forged her name?" Aaron sounded awestruck.
"No big deal," said Caitlin. "Well, the records arrived today. That's why I set up the diversionary tactic with Mrs. Strict. I needed her out of my hair."
Brick wondered how his sister could pronounce "diversionary tactic" without stumbling. He also wondered what it meant.
"You're not going to believe this," Caitlin said. "Mom had a problem with her ovaries."
"Ovaries?" said Aaron.
"It means she couldn't have kids," Caitlin explained impatiently.
"We're adopted?" Aaron asked.
"No way," scoffed Brick. "There's a picture of Mom in the scrapbook when we were in her tummy."
"Not her tummy, her uterus, but that's right," Caitlin said. "She did get pregnant, but another woman gave her the eggs."
The two boys stared at her. "You mean like bacon and eggs?" said Aaron.
Brick knew better. "No. People eggs."
"That's right," Caitlin said. "You see what this means?"
They didn't.
"It means," she said, "that we have another mother who’s still alive."
The boys sat in silence, trying to puzzle this out.
"An other mother?" Aaron asked.
"Biological mother," amended Caitlin. "It has to do with genes. She's what they call an egg donor."
Biological had to do with animals at the zoo and stuff like that, but what was this business about jeans? "Somebody gave her pants with eggs in them?" Brick asked.
"Not that kind of jeans," snapped Caitlin. "G-e-n-e-s genes."
"She said egg doughnuts," Aaron ventured. "Is that like egg bagels?"
"You guys!" Caitlin's voice got shrill. "Listen to me. Mom carried us in her tummy, okay? But we started growing inside another mommy, and we're also hers."
"Who is she?" Brick demanded. "Did the clinic tell you?"
"Not exactly." Caitlin favored him with a superior grin. "I had to hack into their records. It wasn't easy, but I found her name."
Brick had no idea how to hack anything. Some mornings, he could barely persuade his fingers to tie his shoe laces. On the other hand, he noted a flaw in his sister's reasoning. "Isn’t there more than one lady with the same name?"
"That's what I thought," said Caitlin. "So I Googled her. I only found one lady who’s local, so I called her."
Aaron’s mouth dropped open. "You told her about us?"
"Of course not. I pretended to be hunting for someone else by that name." Caitlin looked like she might burst with pride. "I said I had this aunt who was an astronaut."
"An astronaut? That's stupid," Brick scoffed.
"No, it isn't," said Caitlin, who planned to be an astronaut herself. "Besides, it got her to talk. She told me she isn't an astronaut, she's— Oh, you guys don't really want to hear this."
She had them where she wanted them. Brick joined Aaron in saying, "Yes, we do. We do."
"Okay." Caitlin beamed at her own brilliance. "She's a teacher, and guess where? Serena Academy!"
Chapter Two
The beach was not an ideal place to rehearse a dance, but by seven o'clock in the evening the tourists had gone home, most of the surfers had departed and the shops were shuttered. In July, there was still plenty of light, along with space and relative privacy. That had been Robin's theory when she scheduled the rehearsal here.
Their summer-session class tomorrow was going to be preempted by a fire safety assembly, and she couldn't invite the children to the school's theater at night. The building, older than the rest of the campus, was set in an isolated grove of pepper trees. Robin loved the setting, but not when the area was deserted.
Her apartment, despite its high rent, was tiny, and there was no room for dancers inside her mother's place. Gigi owned a small store, flatly labeled Fortunes Told Here, and lived above it in a cluttered one-bedroom unit. However, she'd given permission for Robin to invite the summer school students to her beachfront address, and offered to provide refreshments.
Now, a dozen youngsters varying in size and age cavorted on the sand, playful but self-conscious in their leotards. "Settle down, everyone." Robin tried to ignore an elderly man in a toga and long braided white hair who paused to watch. A typical beach weirdo.
The kids quit hopping around and stopped poking each other.
"You'll be performing our dance for the school board," Robin reminded them. "People will judge our program by your actions, so behave like professionals. Places, everyone!"
She turned on the boom box, and music from Vivaldi's The Four Seasons hummed into the evening air. The youngsters leaped and twirled until two of them collided and flopped onto the sand, yowling more in outrage than pain.
Robin clicked off the recording and ran to inspect their injuries. "Everybody all right?" she said, and diverted their mutual accusations of blame by adding, "These things happen. Let's start over, okay?"
A middle-aged man in a business suit and thong sandals approached with a large black dog on a leash. The dog sniffed the boom box and lifted his rear leg, while the man stood by indifferently.
"No, you don't!" Robin planted one jogging shoe on the dog's flank and shoved. Giving her offended glares, the dog and the man stalked off.
How could her mother live in a nutty area like this? But then, Robin reflected, in what other kind of area would Gigi feel at home?
She started the music at the beginning. For a change, the prancing children followed her choreography. Despite a few near misses, there were no further crashes.
She supposed that, to the untrained eye, the youngsters might appear to be jumping at random. In reality, the children had to count out the movements and execute them to the music.
Dance, like life, was deceptive. The trick had been to capitalize on each child's strengths, compensate for weaknesses and require them to stretch themselves mentally and physically.
In her summer school class so far, one twelve-year-old girl had overcome her preadolescent awkwardness and discovered a measure of grace. One boy had stopped clowning in class and applied his outgoing nature to his dance gestures. They were growing, each in his or her own way, developing the inner discipline essential to support artistic freedom. Still, forced to choose between harshness and excessive exuberance, Robin would choose joy every time.
As she applauded the dancers and signaled Gigi, watching through an upstairs window, to bring the snack, Robin's thoughts swung to the annoying Dr. Harris. His strong face and condescending expression had popped into her mind with al
arming frequency since their confrontation this afternoon.
She could imagine what he would think of her students. His lip would curl, his gray eyes would ice over and he'd tap his fingers in impatience.
How did his wife put up with him? She hoped the woman managed to soften his rigidity around their children. Otherwise the poor kids would either rebel or turn into automatons.
As Gigi appeared with a tray of oatmeal cookies and juice, the children ran whooping onto the boardwalk. Abruptly, staring at the refreshments, they fell silent.
"Purple cookies?" said a boy.
"That juice is green," one of the smaller girls observed.
"A judicious use of food coloring." Gigi handed out the cups. "It tastes fine."
A boy wrinkled his nose and sipped the punch. "It's apple juice," he said.
The small girl nibbled a cookie. "That’s pretty good."
The white-haired man in the toga wandered up and helped himself to a cookie. The children fell back.
"Don't mind him," said Gigi. "He's the reincarnation of Julius Caesar."
"You mean he’s a ghost?" asked an older boy. "There aren't any ghosts."
“It’s, um, not quite the same,” Robin put in.
"These cookies are okay," said the white-haired man, "but I prefer chocolate chip."
“Me, too!” the little girl said.
He high-fived her.
To Robin's relief, the parents arrived a few minutes later and the children departed. "We're having a séance later tonight," Gigi told her daughter as they waved goodbye to the students. "You should stay."
"Mom, you know how I feel about that stuff." Robin respected her mother's chosen profession. That didn't mean she had to believe in it.
"I've had a strange feeling all day." Gigi ate one of the cookies, balancing the tray on her left hand. Even if Robin hadn't known that her mother had worked for years as a waitress, it would have been obvious from that skillful gesture. "A spirit is trying to contact me."
"Maybe you're coming down with a summer cold," Robin said.
"Very funny."
When her mother began dabbling in spiritualism fifteen years ago, Robin hadn't known whether to be merely skeptical or alarmed. The change began during a trip Gigi's folk-dancing group took to Greece, where they visited the ancient oracle at Delphi.
Gigi swore the thing had spoken to her, although she would never reveal what it said. "The oracle speaks in riddles," was the most she had shared.
She had tried tarot cards, tea leaves, astronomy and, finally, séances. Gigi claimed to commune with disembodied entities, emerging with pronouncements about the future so vague that they were sure to come true.
Boom box in hand, Robin followed her mother up the steps. She didn't want to hear about the spirit, but, around her mother, there was no way of avoiding it.
"I think it's a man," Gigi said, ushering her daughter inside. "He’s searching for someone. Isn't that exciting? I love mysteries."
In Robin’s opinion, Gigi's apartment resembled a nineteenth-century San Francisco house of ill repute, from the flocked scarlet wallpaper and heavily draped lamps to the black lacquer tables and cabinets. A beaded screen separated the bedroom from the living-dining area.
Robin found her purse behind the gold velvet sofa. "Thanks for your help, Mom," she said. "You coming to the board meeting tomorrow night?"
Gigi shook her head. "My friend Irma is having a birthday party for her spirit guide. He's two hundred and fifty years old."
"Sorry to miss it." Robin gave her mother a peck on the cheek and fled.
*
Gigi watched her daughter out the window. Robin strode along the sidewalk like a young woman confident about where she was going.
She has no idea, Gigi thought. She thinks she walks through open air, when she walks among celestial entities.
What she had told Robin was true, that a male spirit sought contact. But there were other things Gigi couldn't say because she knew her daughter would stick up her chin and utter some acid comment.
Robin had always been a private person, keeping her own counsel and holding even her closest friends and relatives at arm’s length. It might be easier for Gigi to explain the feelings she'd been receiving recently if she knew more about Robin's private life. There was something unresolved in the past, and it had to be related to this new spirit. Gigi sensed that he had chosen her as his medium because of her closeness to Robin.
Forces set in motion years ago were coming together for a reason, whatever it might be. If Gigi told her daughter this, however. Robin was likely to do the opposite of whatever her mother suggested.
Guiding her required cleverness and subtlety, neither of which was Gigi's strong point. But she would do anything necessary to set her daughter on the right path.
Whatever that turned out to be.
*
Robin was fishing the keys from her purse when her fingers bumped the envelope. Startled, she realized she'd been carrying it around for weeks.
As she climbed into her aging green compact, Robin pulled it out. She was surprised it had reached her. In nine years, she had moved a couple of times, and the envelope bore several forwarding notations.
She'd almost forgotten about the clinic. Or tried to.
Robin had found it through an ad during college. The state had just raised tuition, and her waitressing job fell far short of her costs. Although a small inheritance from her grandparents had helped, she feared taking on a burden of debt that would haunt her for years.
The opportunity to earn thousands of extra dollars and help a deserving couple have children had overcome her initial reservations. In addition, the clinic had offered a free medical exam, something Robin couldn't afford. The pay wasn’t actually for the eggs, but for her time and discomfort, which seemed fair enough.
After the checkup, a psychological workup and other tests, she'd followed the rigorous regime of hormones necessary to coordinate her cycle with the recipient’s. Robin had chosen not to have direct contact with the couple, and they had had no interest in meeting her, either.
She’d undergone minor surgery to harvest her eggs. A girlfriend had driven Robin home, where she’d quickly recuperated.
She'd wondered if any of those eggs had resulted in a baby. If so, was it a girl or a boy? What did it look like? Was it happy? She wished there was a way to be sure the child was loved. But although she’d given up something precious, the questions had faded over the years.
Seeing the envelope from the clinic had brought back her concerns and questions. Still, since the soon-to-be-defunct clinic couldn't ethically disclose the fate of her eggs, Robin didn’t see the point in obtaining her medical records.
Torn by indecision, she'd stuffed the envelope in her purse. Now, starting the car, she wondered why she hadn't simply thrown it away. Yet suppose she ever needed details of what hormones she’d taken?
Impulsively, she decided to send for the records. What harm could it do?
*
Shoving aside his newspaper, Flint glared at his children. "Is anyone going to let me eat breakfast in peace?" he demanded.
"You already ate your breakfast," Caitlin said.
Flint glanced at his plate. The frozen waffles had disappeared, but he didn’t remember tasting them. "Okay," he said, "but I didn't enjoy it."
First Caitlin had nagged about wanting to enroll at Serena Academy. Then Brick had joined the chorus, claiming he hated his old school and never wanted to go back. That didn't make sense, since his marks were excellent.
The only one who hadn't pestered Flint had been Aaron. The boy was surprisingly quiet this morning.
"Here." Flint pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to Aaron. "You're the only one who's been good.... You aren't sick, are you?"
Aaron shook his head.
"Is there some reason you aren't talking to me?" Now that he'd vented his annoyance, Flint was starting to worry.
Aaron nodded.
"Can you tell me what it is?"
Aaron shook his head.
"He wants to be an actor," Caitlin interjected. "Maybe you could drop by Serena and talk to the theater teacher."
"You should meet her," Brick said. "You might like her."
"As a teacher," Caitlin added quickly.
Flint lifted an eyebrow at Aaron. "Since when do you want to be an actor?"
The little boy shrugged.
Flint had no intention of paying a call on a teacher today or of encouraging his little boy to pursue such a frivolous career. On the other hand, Caitlin's suggestion had jogged his memory.
On a previous visit to Serena Academy, Flint had noticed the theater building sitting in a grove separate from the main campus. The brick structure looked older than the others and therefore potentially more dangerous, but he'd assumed it must have been reinforced.
What if it hadn't? He needed to determine that before he even considered enrolling his children. Besides, being able to report on a clear-cut problem would bolster his presentation to the board.
It was only seven a.m. Flint decided to swing by the campus before work, and before the school filled up with students.
Since he had no meetings until tonight, he put on slacks and a polo shirt. As soon as Maureen arrived, he promised again to advertise for a nanny, then drove to Serena.
Leaving his car in a central lot, Flint strolled down a pathway toward the drama building. Towering trees filtered the early morning light, providing a sense of entering a mysterious realm. No wonder someone had named the place Serena.
As he rounded a corner of the two-story stucco building, Flint was surprised to see a modern addition. The glass-walled studio jutted onto a lawn surrounded by a tall hedge.
From it came the tinkle of piano music. It was a catchy Scott Joplin ragtime number.
Standing in the shadows of the hedge, Flint could see someone dancing inside the studio. Judging by her shapely figure and graceful movements, she was too mature to be a student.
Flint gritted his teeth. He’d arrived early to get a discreet look around, planning on finding a custodian to let him inside. He didn't relish having an instructor watching over his shoulder, but perhaps he could slip past her unnoticed.
Yours, Mine and Ours Page 2
