by Tish Cohen
The clippers dropped to the ground again. Swimming with Tabitha Carlisle? Could there be any better offer on earth? “Mom! Mom!” Janie tore over to where Rachel was working. “Tabitha just invited me swimming! I have to go!”
Rachel stepped back to assess Janie’s progress. She crinkled her nose. “You haven’t made much of an improvement with that dogwood…”
“Please Mom! I’m so hot. I’ll help you after, I promise.”
“Are there any boys over there?”
“No.”
“Are any boys on their way over?”
“No!”
Rachel twisted her mouth to one side. “Okay. Go. Your bathing suit is in the antique trunk on the upstairs landing. But no diving. These backyard pools aren’t deep enough.”
The door slammed behind her as Janie tore up the stairs and yanked open the battered trunk. She dug through last year’s clothes, tossing T-shirts, shorts, and sundresses all over the hallway. Her bikini was not in the trunk! The only suit Janie could find was a ratty old one-piece Speedo.
Damn!
She raced into her room and looked out the window. Tabitha was making her way down the pool steps into the water. Janie yanked open her bottom dresser drawer and ferreted through the jumble until her fingers brushed against cool Lycra. Her bikini. But the whole thing was puckered and shredded at the edges. She shrieked. The bikini looked like it had been clawed apart by wild animals.
She threw open her window. “Mom,” she called. “What the f—What happened to my bikini?”
Rachel shaded her eyes from the sun and squinted up at Janie. “Did you just swear again?”
“No! What happened to my bikini?”
“I don’t know…oh yes! I’m sorry, honey. It went through the dryer with Dustin’s running shoes. But don’t worry, I’ll take you shopping for a new one soon.”
Janie slammed down the window. Shit!
Tabitha giggled from the shallow end while Janie pulled off her shorts and T-shirt. “What are you? Some kind of lifeguard?” Tabitha asked, looking at the enormous red Speedo.
“My mother destroyed my bikini in the wash.” Janie rolled her eyes. “Typical.”
Tabitha said nothing, just let her head drop behind her, drenching her long hair. Tabitha didn’t have to say anything. Janie knew what she was thinking. She was thanking God she had a way cooler mother. The kind of mother who probably buys her daughter three bikinis at a time. The kind of mother who says, “Fuck the eroding shoreline” and builds a pool in her backyard. Then, Janie thought, glancing at the crew of sweaty guys digging in the garden and sneaking peeks at Tabitha, hires a team to build you a waterfall. Janie could put up with any amount of leering for her very own waterfall.
And Tabitha had to be thanking every god, from the ancient Greeks forward, that she had a mother with such killer genes that she could buy skimpy little bras from hot lingerie boutiques, instead of reinforced chest girdles from Sears.
Tiptoeing down the cement steps, Janie shivered. The water was freezing. Quickly, she ducked in up to her shoulders, hating the icy cold but loving being camouflaged from the neck down.
“My mom doesn’t turn on the heater until the last day of school,” Tabitha said, tossing Janie a purple noodle while she floated toward the deep end. “Two more weeks. I don’t mind. I love the cold.”
Janie dunked her head, then followed, teeth chattering. “Me too.” She became aware of one of the diggers, an older balding guy with a dark tan and a scraggly beard. He eyed Tabitha as she propelled herself forward with a smoothly executed dolphin kick.
“I love swimming,” Janie heard herself say.
“Are you going to Veronica’s pool party tonight? Everyone will be there.”
Veronica Hamilton was having a party and hadn’t invited her? “Nah,” said Janie. “I’m so over pool parties.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not going either. It’s my dad’s weekend. He says he wants me to be there to bond with Kristina’s little mucusmakers at some indoor amusement park. But what he really wants is free babysitting so he and his, his…”
“Babe-chick?” Janie suggested.
Tabitha disappeared under the water, then resurfaced, grinning. “Yeah. He and his babe-chick can walk around holding hands and creating everlasting memories.”
“Whoa,” said Janie, waving her hands beneath the surface. What she said next was important. Tabitha was in a vulnerable state. She needed a friend. Someone to turn to in times of pawn-of-divorce stress. The Goddess article wouldn’t help. The one and only time Janie had followed it’s advice she’d been led away from Tabitha, the opposite of where she’d like to be.
Of course, her mother’s parenting advice had worked like a charm. Janie thought back to what Rachel always said about separating battling siblings. She looked at Tabitha and squinted. “You’re not going to your dad’s on the same weekends he has Kristina’s kids, are you?”
Tabitha nodded.
Janie threw her head back and groaned. Then, without success, attempted to shift her noodle to flatten her chest. She made a nasal buzzing noise. “Ehhh. Bad answer. Think about it. If they have all the kids on the same weekend, who do they have the next weekend?”
“No one?”
“Right. You need to divide and conquer. Do you really want your dad having forty-eight hours of uninterrupted time with the woman who trashed your family?”
“I never thought of it that way before.”
“What about your mother? Does she have a hot new man?”
“Yup. Sean. But he’s all right. He’s in charge of our backyard remodel.”
“Does he have kids too?”
“Nope.”
“Lucky,” said Janie. “You won’t believe who my mom’s dating. You know that girl who runs around school in her boot liners?”
Tabitha shrieked. “Your mom’s dating Olivia Bean’s dad? Oh my God!” She flopped backward and floated on her back, clutching a pink noodle and laughing. “That’s so BAD!”
Okay. So maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to share. “You can’t tell anyone, promise?”
“Maybe she’ll become your sister and you can get matching footwear!”
That wasn’t funny. Not remotely.
“At least you can find out where she gets those SpongeBob sweatpants!” Tabitha rolled over and faced Janie now, her giggles causing her to choke on water, the top edge of her bikini top being stroked by waves. “Are you messing around with me?”
Janie couldn’t answer right away. She found it nearly impossible to stop the subliminal images her brain kept flashing before her eyes, especially the one where she tossed aside her Styrofoam noodle and grabbed hold of Tabitha, tickling her and getting tangled in her wet hair. “No. It’s true. But you can’t tell anyone.”
Tabitha giggled one last time, then said. “I won’t. I swear.”
Okay. As Rachel would say, there was a wrong time and a right time to implement your own agenda. While a child was calm and open to negotiation was the right time. Janie yawned. “So, uh, what about next weekend, if you’re around, and as bored as me, do you want to go see that slasher movie?”
“I can’t,” said Tabitha, gliding toward the deep end. “That’s the weekend my dad’s free. I need to trash it for him.”
Damn it.
Under the diving board, Tabitha stopped, turned around, and looked back at Janie. The white of the board’s underside made the water’s turquoise glow flicker across her face. She reached up and gripped the board, her blond hair fanning out on the water’s surface. Like a mermaid.
It was impossible for anyone to be that gorgeous.
Janie felt like an ogre, squinting back at Tabitha in the glaring sun, her colossal mammaries floating up to the surface, bobbing around like buoys, threatening to smother her. It would be her luck—to be suffocated by her own breasts.
Tabitha sighed. “This is boring. I should go do my geometry.”
“No!” Janie treaded her way to the edge. “Let’s
play a game.”
“All right. Truth or Dare?”
There was no way Janie was going to accept any dares in her bathing suit. “I’ve got a better one. Million Trillion.”
“Huh?”
Janie explained the rules, which took very little time, since the only rules in existence were that you had to offer two choices and one of them had to involve a million trillion of something. At least one choice had to be horrific, the other had to be embarrassing. “It’s best played in the dark,” said Janie. “Locked in a closet.”
Tabitha looked skeptical.
“It needs to be that dark. I play it with my brother. But we usually bring in one small penlight. We tape it to a stupid troll doll so it points straight upward. I guess that part’s kind of lame.”
“I used to have a troll. With green hair.”
“Ours is green, too!” said Janie, encouraged by the coincidence. “We call him the Seer of All Truths. He keeps you honest.” “Sounds weird.”
“It’s way cooler than Truth or Dare.”
Tabitha scrunched up her face like she’d smelled something rotten, then shrugged. “Whatever, okay.”
Janie floated closer and whispered, “Cool. What would you rather do—open your locker right before the morning bell and have a million trillion tampons fall out, or give Ethan Beechers a blow job?” There. That was a good one.
“Eww!” Tabitha shrieked. “I have to choose one?”
Janie nodded.
“Is everyone in the hallway?”
Janie nodded again.
Water lapped against Tabitha’s throat as she thought about it. “I’ll have to go with Ethan. If it’s as small as they say, it wouldn’t take long.”
Not the response Janie had been hoping for.
“My turn,” said Tabitha. “What would you rather do—walk in on your own father doing it with his babe-chick or pull on a boot filled with a million trillion scorpions?”
The scorpions in the boot were a little lame, but she was still learning. “Easy. Boot. My turn.” This time, no attaching Tabitha’s lips to any male body parts, large or small. Janie thought for a moment. “What would you rather do—be tied to a beach chair, naked and soaked with honey,with a million trillion fire ants crawling all over you, or…um…kiss another girl?”
“Gross!” Tabitha squawked.
It seemed pretty straightforward to Janie. “Answer. And remember, the Seer of All Truths might not be here with us physically, but spiritually, he’s right on the end of that diving board.”
Tabitha shrugged. “Okay. Fire ants sting real bad. My cousin got bitten in Florida.”
“It would probably hurt even more if they were inside your nose.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
Janie floated away, pretending for all the world that she didn’t care. Kiss another girl. Kiss another girl. Say it!
Tabitha sighed. “Well…I have a big phobia about bugs, so, kiss another girl, I guess.” She floated closer, squeezing her lips into a knotted smile. “Who knows? Could be kinda fun.”
Beaming inside, Janie let go of the purple noodle and let herself sink down under the water. Then, when she was deep enough that she was absolutely sure she couldn’t be heard, Janie Berman screamed.
CHAPTER 21
Matzo Ball Soup at Milton Street Deli
Milton Street Deli was famous for two things. First, the tattoo on its husky owner, Saul—a near life-size pastrami on rye, complete with festive toothpick and pickle. Second, the matzo ball soup. Languishing in a broth loaded with strips of chicken, diced onions, carrots, celery, leeks, and Saul’s mystery ingredient, were two matzo balls so light not only were they said to “walk on water” on top of the broth, but they dissolved the moment they touched the tongue.
It had been his parents’ idea to take Len out for lunch before Olivia finished school for the summer. They’d seen him twice since…the verdict, both times with their granddaughter flitting in and out of the room. Not that it was a bad thing. With Olivia around, Grace and Henry had been forced to hold their emotions tight—Len didn’t think he could have taken anything beyond the looks of horror on their faces.
It was what had stopped him, many times over, from telling Rachel. He loved the way she looked at him—sly, sexy, loving, admiring—did he really want that to change? For her to look at him with pity? Or, worse, continue seeing him out of pity? The thought of it made him sick.
He couldn’t remember exactly how he’d broken it to his parents. On the way over to their condo, he’d analyzed a slew of possibilities—start by saying he’d had a wonderful life? Or begin with the headaches and launch right into test results, using dispassionate medical terminology? Lay out the prognosis as a simple fact? In the end it just came out, quite unremarkably.
One minute he was sitting in a chair asking if it was okay that Olivia watch TV in their bedroom. The next minute he’d said it. His mother clutched her throat. His father set down his pipe. “No,” Grace said, her face drained of blood.
“Are they sure?” asked Henry.
Before Len could answer, Olivia raced into the room, holding People magazine over her head. She parked herself on the floor nearby and flipped through the pages.
Grace muttered, “How long?”
“One to two years,” Len said.
Henry dropped his head into his hands. “I’m canceling the cruise.”
“No,” said Len. “Don’t cancel. You’ll be back in a few weeks—”
“What’s a cruise?” asked Olivia.
Henry and Grace didn’t speak. Len said, “A cruise is a big ship. It’s going to take Grandma and Grandpa around Europe soon. Portugal, Italy…”
“We’re staying,” said Grace.
“We’re staying,” said Henry.
“Italy?” Olivia shrieked. “There’s rats there. Rats climbed onto a ship from Italy in 1347 and they were infested with diseases.”
Grace said, “Maybe we should go into the other room…?”
“Maybe you’ll get to have rats right on your ship. They can get into your room through a hole,” chirped Olivia. Then, without warning, she scampered out of the room and into the kitchen. They heard the sound of her rooting through the fridge.
“How long have you known?” asked Henry.
“Not long. A couple of weeks.”
“But there has to be some kind of treatment. What are they going to do for you?” asked Grace.
“It’s gone too far.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said. She looked at Henry. “We’ll get a second opinion. We have some very renowned doctors at the club.”
“This isn’t the kind of thing you take lying down,” Henry said. “You can fight this, Len. We’ll fight it with you.”
“Roof rats climb into really high up buildings,” Olivia announced as she came back into the room with a mouthful of apple. She wandered to the window and looked down. “Just like this one. So if you don’t find any on the boat, you’ll probably get one at your apartment anyway. And rattus rattus can fall twenty-five feet without dying or exploding. But you have to remember to access to water him every single solitary day…”
Grace put her arms around Len, her hands caressing the back of his head. He could feel her thin body heave with sobs.
“And he has about thirty-five to a hundred and eighty droppings in one day…what’s Grandma doing?”
Henry stood up fast. He blew his nose and tucked the tissue into his pocket. “What about mice, Olivia? Think you can identify their droppings?”
Olivia looked as if she’d been handed a ticket to Disneyland. “Sure!”
“Come back into the kitchen,” Henry said, holding out his hand. “I need your rat researcher opinion about something I found under the sink.”
Olivia scrambled off the couch and followed her grandfather. “When the droppings are real fresh, they’re all shiny, but old droppings…” They disappeared into the kitchen.
Grace pulled back from Len and glanced aft
er them, “Does she know?”
Len shook his head.
Grace smiled through her tears. “She’s such a good girl.” Cupping his face with her hand, she added, “And you’re a good boy.”
Milton Street Deli was unusually quiet for a weekday lunch hour. Saul himself was out from behind the deli counter. “Ahh, the Bean family,” he said as he approached, pulling a pencil from behind his ear and a notepad from his shirt pocket. “My favorite legume.”
No one at the table spoke. Eventually, Henry said, “Just soup for us, Saul. And coffee.”
Shaking his head, Saul muttered, “Oy. At this rate, I’ll never retire.” He parked his pencil and disappeared.
“So?” said Henry. “What did Doctor Peterson say?” Dr. Keith Peterson, a well-respected neurologist, was a close relation of Marshall Peterson, the golf club treasurer. He’d agreed to offer Len a second opinion.
“He agreed with Dr. Foxman.”
Grace and Henry were quiet for a moment, absorbing the dissolution of their last hope. “He’s absolutely sure?” asked Henry.
Len fiddled with his dirty silverware and nodded, forcing himself not to rub the side of his head, where the pain was pulsating in time with Rod Stewart’s “Do You Think I’m Sexy?” which was pumping through the air at the deli. He was careful never to touch his head in front of his mother, not even to scratch. It sent her into a pointless panic.
“Your father and I have been thinking, talking,” said Grace. “We want you to know that Olivia will be just fine. We’ll raise her the very same way we raised you. She’ll never want for anything. She’ll never feel unloved. You need to know that.”
Len turned his attention to the ketchup bottle now, tearing at the label. They hadn’t discussed Olivia until this moment. He’d been hoping they were just avoiding it. They couldn’t handle their granddaughter for half a day. Imagine what a lifetime would do to them. Worse, what it would do to Olivia. “Mom, I know you love her—”
“We were thinking you should probably move her in early—and you, too, of course—so that way you’ll…so there’ll be a smooth transition. It might be less disruptive than”—Grace paused, unfolded her paper napkin, and spread it over her lap—“than waiting.”
