by Sylvia True
“You’re warm and understanding.” He joins her. “You don’t push people away.”
“You don’t think I push Alicia away?”
“Of course not. You’re doing everything you can to help her.”
She spins a lone fork that was left on the table. “What if I’m not, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if being a good mother really meant that I should have left you years ago?”
He sighs and moves his hand closer to her. “If you want me to leave, I understand.”
“I don’t know what I want.” She’s back to feeling slumped. It’s hard work, this protecting, defending—pretending. “I blame myself,” she says.
“Hannah, don’t. None of this is your fault.”
“But it is. In part. I didn’t go into this blind. I knew I was marrying someone who was sick, and I chose to believe you were better. It’s what I wanted to believe. It was selfish on my part. I wanted to have children. I wanted to have a normal, happy family.”
He reaches to touch her shoulder, then retracts his hand, knowing it’s against her rules. “There is nothing selfish about you,” he tells her.
“Of course there is. I’m no better than all the rest of the parents who tell themselves they’re staying together because it’s best for the children. If I really wanted what was best for them, I would have left you when they were toddlers, when I found out you’d been screwing around again. When you gave me an STD. But no. I decided to believe you’d work it out. As much as you lied to me, I lied to myself. I told myself you were really going to get better. Because I couldn’t imagine living on my own with two babies.”
“You’ve done everything for them. And you can’t go backward.”
She hangs her head, looks at her blue flats. “True. I can’t know how my life would have been different if I didn’t marry a sex addict, or if I didn’t have children. I think about that. I think about how it was selfish to have kids.”
“Don’t spiral like this. You’re a great mom. We’ll work it out.”
“I hate when you say that. Like it’s all going to be fixed; like it’s just a broken spoke on a bike. What if we can’t work it out? What if I get a call from the principal and she tells me Alicia defecated on the bathroom floor today?” She flicks the fork and watches it careen off the table.
Adam bends to pick it up. “Alicia’s getting better.”
Hannah pushes back her chair and walks to the counter. “Last night at the dinner table, when you were making the mashed potatoes, Alicia called Sam cunt breath. Cunt breath. I mean, where the hell did she ever even hear that? She’s nine, for God’s sake.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to. But honestly, I couldn’t repeat the words last night. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. What if she’s just a bad seed?”
“Hannah, stop it. You know that’s not true. She’s—”
“What was that?” Hannah whips around. “Is someone here?” she calls.
Adam walks to the front door, opens it, and glances outside. “Nothing,” he says.
A shiver whispers through her, a warning. Or maybe it was just a cloud passing over the skylight, but when she looks up, all she sees is a relentless blue. She walks upstairs. Alicia’s door is closed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Adam usually closes doors, but she should check anyway.
The moment she looks into Alicia’s room, she sees the movement under the covers.
“Alicia,” Hannah says.
“Get out.”
That’s the last thing Hannah is going to do. “Honey, can we talk?”
“You hate me. You think I’m a bad seed.”
“I love you. I would never, never hate you. And I don’t think there’s anything bad about you. You’re my beautiful, precious girl.”
“You’re a liar. I heard you.” The words are muffled by the blanket.
Hannah tugs the comforter down. Alicia pulls furiously at her hair.
“I’m not lying when I say I love you.” She sits on the bed and pushes Alicia’s hands down. “Both your father and I love you more than anything.”
“But you think the principal is going to call you. You think I’m bad,” she shouts.
“I don’t think you’re bad at all. Maybe you’re going through a rough time. But you’re a wonderful, good person.”
Alicia’s blue eyes glisten with tears.
“Why didn’t you get on the bus?” Hannah asks.
“I forgot my homework.”
Hannah glances at the door. Adam is standing there, a mountain of shock. “Alicia heard some of our discussion,” she says. He walks in, stone-faced, and sits on the desk chair.
“Mommy and I were just talking things out,” he explains. “We love you and your brother. Nothing will change that.” His mouth barely opens when he speaks, although his face softens.
“Mom didn’t even want to have us.”
“No.” Hannah pulls Alicia toward her, holds her. “No, I always wanted you.”
“I’m never going back to school.”
“Of course you are,” Adam says.
She pushes Hannah away. “Leave me alone.”
“We’re not going to leave you alone,” Adam says. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you.”
“I don’t need help. And I hate that lady Beth. And I hate you.” She kicks her legs. “And Sam.”
“I thought you liked Beth,” Hannah says.
“Well, I don’t.” She pouts.
Adam scoots his chair closer to the bed. “Alicia, life isn’t always easy, and right now you’re going through a tough time. When you get through it, you’ll be stronger. But you know how you have to take medicine if you’re sick? Well, now the medicine doesn’t come in a bottle. You have to see Beth. And you have to go to school. It might be hard today, and tomorrow. But if you don’t go, it will only get worse.”
“What kind of medicine do you take?” Alicia asks Adam.
“I don’t take medicine,” he tells her.
“What’s a sex addict?” she asks.
Hannah sighs. “Where did you hear that?”
“You said it. You said Dad was one.”
“It’s something that…” She doesn’t have the slightest idea what to say.
“It’s something you’ll learn when you’re a grown-up,” Adam says.
“You think I’m stupid. I know what sex is,” she yells.
“And how do you know that?” Hannah asks, staring at one of the purple polka dots on the comforter.
“It’s on the computer.”
“What do you mean?” She keeps staring at the dot until it’s charred into her brain.
“Sometimes Sam turns it on when he’s playing his stupid games. He thinks it’s funny.”
Hannah glances from the dot to Adam. He knows computers and porn.
“What kind of things does he watch?” Adam asks.
“Gross stuff. It’s disgusting. People who do that are disgusting.”
“Does he watch it every day?” Hannah asks.
“I don’t know. Ask him. He thinks it’s funny. Like he thinks farting is funny. So now do you believe me? That I know what sex is?”
“I think you might know the wrong things about it,” Adam tells her. “After school we’ll sit together and have a talk.”
Hannah shakes her head. “I just don’t understand how he got onto those sorts of sites.”
“What’s important now is that Alicia goes to school.” Adam sounds measured. Hannah wonders if this is what people like Adam can do. Take all the stuff they don’t want to think about, zip it up, tuck it away, and act like life is fine. She can do it to a degree, but not as cleanly and efficiently as Adam.
“I’m not going back to school,” Alicia says. “Ever.”
“Of course you are,” Adam tells her.
“You just want to get rid of me so you can do what those people on the computer do.”
“
No, we don’t want to get rid of you,” Hannah tells her.
Adam walks to the bed and picks Alicia up. “It will be good to think of schoolwork and see your friends.” He’s firm, yet soothing.
“I don’t have any friends.”
“You have loads of them,” he tells her as he carries her out. “We’re going to have something yummy to eat, then Mommy and I are going to take you to school.”
Adam sits with Alicia in the kitchen, gives her a bowl of ice cream, and tells her a few knock-knock jokes. It takes about twenty minutes, but eventually she smiles and agrees to go to school.
On the ride there, Hannah keeps glancing back at Alicia. Her knees bounce, and her skin is pale. When they get to the building, Hannah instructs Adam to wait. She’ll walk Alicia in. No child wants a two-parent escort.
In the office, Hannah tells the secretary that Alicia wasn’t feeling well this morning, but she is much better now. Then she squats and hugs her.
“I love you.” She kisses her cheek.
Alicia shuffles away, defeated, head down.
Hannah wants to run after her, but she tells herself that taking Alicia back home right now wouldn’t help. Under that rationalization there’s another feeling, a feeling that terrifies Hannah—relief that she’ll have a few hours’ break from her daughter.
She gets in the car with Adam. As soon as they’re out of the parking lot, she screams, “Fuck.”
“No shit,” he says.
“And how do they see that kind of filth on the computer? I thought it was hard for kids to access.”
Adam shakes his head. “It should be. I really thought I had everything blocked.”
“What are we going to do?” she asks.
“We need to set up an emergency appointment with Beth.”
“Agreed.”
“We need to come up with a plan of exactly how we’re going to explain all of this,” he says.
“Goddammit. Why didn’t you ask her if she had her homework?” she asks.
“I did.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t see her.”
“I know,” he says, and grips the wheel.
They glance at each other. For the first time in forever, she feels like they’re actually on the same side.
Lizzy
Lizzy had some good moments in the last week, even some good hours. Hope comes, like photons, in small, discrete packets of light.
She makes manageable goals. Getting rid of clothes. Doing a fifteen-minute workout—she uses an old video. Washing all the sheets and towels. Poking around in her little garden, pulling up weeds. Researching Peru.
Then there are the things she tries to avoid but can’t. Like checking e-mail. Joe forwarded her the message he relayed to parents. It was vague and damning, stating she was on leave for personal reasons. She would rather he had said she had a tooth infection.
Greg has been out of touch. She’s texted, called, e-mailed. He hasn’t replied to anything, not even her suggestion they meet with his therapist. If she manages to go ten minutes without having a conversation with Greg in her head or checking her phone and e-mail, that’s a good run.
It’s ten A.M., Tuesday. Gail and Kathryn have checked in. She expects Bridget to call in the next hour.
Number one on her list today is to clean out the cabinets. In the kitchen, she pulls out cans of soup, spices, and old boxes of spaghetti. The doorbell rings, and she freezes with a jar of Ragu in her hand. She doesn’t have on any makeup, and she’s wearing cotton pajama bottoms and a tank top. She grabs a jacket from the front hallway closet, imagining greeting the police who are coming to tell her they have bad news about Greg.
After one deep breath, she opens the door. Standing in front of her is a middle-aged woman in a pink Lilly Pulitzer dress.
“Hi, my name is Anne Wadely. I represent the Breast Cancer Society.”
Lizzy smiles dumbly, relieved it’s not some do-gooder from school handing her a basket of “cheer,” herbal teas and chocolate chip cookies.
“We’re going door-to-door seeing if we can get people to join in the fight—”
“Of course. Let me get my purse.” Lizzy hurries inside, grabs her bag, and rejoins Anne on the steps.
“We always take donations, but the main reason for my visit is to see if you’d be willing to send out cards to your neighbors, asking them to donate.”
“No, I’d rather just give some money.” She rifles through her wallet. She only has a few dollars. Her life has been so fractured, she can’t remember the last time she went to an ATM.
“I’m sorry,” Lizzy says. “Let me write you a check. Who do I make it out to?”
“Breast Cancer Society. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to send out some cards to your neighbors?”
“No. Not right now.” She hands Anne a check.
“We have just found—”
“No, thank you.” Pink dress or not, this woman needs to stop. Lizzy closes the door and checks her wallet again. It’s time to live with some semblance of normality. She will go to the bank, get some cash, stop at the grocery store, and not hide behind the shades of her home.
It’s important to plow forward. Gail said that about Hannah. Granted it was in a different context, but the message still applies.
Her first stop is the bank. As she waits at the ATM, her nerves are skittish. She doesn’t want to run into anyone she knows.
When it’s her turn, she enters her PIN, then touches the screen to withdraw one hundred dollars. The machine declines her request. She tries again, feeling embarrassed that someone might think she doesn’t have any money. Again, she is denied. Flustered, she grabs her card and walks into the bank.
Over the past few years, she and Greg have saved nearly forty thousand dollars. So it can’t be that there’s no money. In fact, they have an appointment to consult with a financial analyst, someone who will help them invest.
A tall, young Indian man wearing a dark green turban approaches. “Hello, my name is Amrit, may I help you?” He has an American accent, but not East Coast, maybe Californian.
Lizzy shakes his hand. “I don’t know why my card isn’t working.”
He gestures to a desk that is partially partitioned from the main floor. She takes a seat across from him and gives him her card. The keys click and soon he’s studying her account on his computer.
“Ah,” he says. “It is because you have only a maximum cash withdrawal of five hundred dollars a day.”
“But…” She stops, not wanting to discuss her marital problems. “Can I make the limit higher?”
“Of course you may. We only do it to protect you.” He clicks a few more keys. “What would you like your maximum to be?”
“Can I make it anything?”
“Yes, of course.” His words are less languid, less California. A trace of impatience.
She feels ignorant. Her head has been firmly planted in the sand when it comes to money and finances.
“Uh … would it be all right if I took a look?” She is about to stand and walk around so she can see the screen.
Amrit motions for her to stay seated and turns the computer. It takes a moment to understand, but she sees that for the past week Greg has withdrawn five hundred dollars a day.
There’s a few hundred left in the checking account. “Can I see our savings account?”
“If you’d like.” Amrit inputs more information.
There’s only sixteen thousand. “This isn’t the entire balance, is it?” she asks.
He glances at the screen. “Yes, that is the correct amount. Do you have another account with us?”
“No.” At least none that she knows of. “Is there any way to see the deposits and withdrawals?”
“Ma’am, they are all on the screen.”
“Sorry. I’m not used to looking at these.” She can see that all her paychecks are direct-deposited. She can also see that significant sums have been moved to their checking account. She studies the transactions, feel
ing as if she’s a large, wet snowflake disintegrating as it hits the pavement.
“Ma’am, would you like to increase your withdrawal amount?” Amrit glances to the waiting area.
Lizzy sees there are a few people, but now isn’t the time to be submissive or polite and hurry away like a good girl.
“Can I open a new account?” she asks.
“Of course. You may do anything you like.” He bows his head. “We are here to serve the customer.”
“And can I transfer this money here into the new account?” she asks.
He clicks away, then nods. “Yes, you have the capability to do that. Either account holder can move the money.”
“Okay, then, I’d like to do that.”
“Checking or savings?”
“Can I make it just in my name?”
“Yes, if that is what you would prefer.” He pauses. “Checking or savings?” He doesn’t sound as if he’s trying to serve.
“Checking, please.”
She fills out the paperwork, enters a new PIN number, and leaves the bank wondering how long it will be now before Greg gets in touch.
Hannah
Hannah spent most of the day calming herself down. It helped that Adam called Beth and the three of them had an hour-long conference call. Beth assured them that they could work through this. She’s dealt with children who have seen all sorts of things, including porn. She’s also managed cases where the children have heard much worse than what Alicia heard this morning. The bottom line, Beth said, is that Alicia is loved, and if children are loved and cared for, and they know that, the other things can be worked through.
At five to three, Sam drops his backpack a few feet from the front door and barrels into the kitchen.
“Mom,” he yells. “I got a hundred on my spelling test.”
“Well, that deserves a treat. How about a brownie?” She made them for Alicia, to reward her for going to school after such a tough morning. But Sam could use one as well.
“Yay,” he shouts, and hops on a stool. She gives him a brownie and a glass of milk.
Adam is leaving work early. They’re going to sit with the children and have a talk before dinner. It won’t be a long, detailed lecture; rather they will explain that sex should be a beautiful, intimate act, not something you should watch other people doing. The hypocrisy of some of the things they plan to say isn’t lost on Hannah. But she will do everything in her power to ensure Sam doesn’t become a sex addict. With the explosion of accessible, anonymous Internet porn, she can’t afford to shy away from these difficult conversations.
