Old Wolfgang Amadeus, he said. The clarinet concerto. You know it?
He brought the tea to her reading spot in back. She was just sitting there listening to the music. She thought Josh would like it as much as she did, even though this was nothing like jazz. For a moment, she felt a great hollow yearning for him to be sitting there with her, sipping his hot chocolate, tapping out the beat or playing imaginary bass in the air the way he always used to.
I’m up to page seventy-four of that book you gave me, she said. It’s one of the best books I ever read.
I thought you’d like it, he said. The girl in the story seems a lot like you. Good imagination. She spends a lot of time on her own, too. Walking around, thinking. Not enough people do that, in my opinion.
I could give you a hand putting books away, she said. If you still need help.
Do I ever. I bought out a guy’s whole library yesterday. Don’t know what to do with them all.
He gave her a box of paperbacks. Just find the right place in the alphabet and squeeze them in the shelves where you can, he said. More or less in order is good enough.
She worked a couple of hours. Except for finding spaces to put the books sometimes, it wasn’t a hard job, and she liked the way the alphabetizing occupied her mind. Every once in a while as she was shelving, she’d stop and flip through the pages, so her afternoon became an interesting kind of grab bag of sentences and fragments of stories. A book on how to train a puppy written by a bunch of monks. A book about understanding the hidden messages in dreams. Vegan recipes. A collection of poems by a man named Rumi.
Now and then when customers would come in, she could hear Alan talking with them in the front, discussing some book they’d read or taking a special order.
How’s Tim? a woman asked him.
The usual, he said. I was up visiting on Tuesday. Sometimes it’s hard to know if he even notices I’m there, but I like to think he does. For Linda it’s just too difficult, though. She hardly ever comes with me anymore.
I can still remember him as a very little boy, the woman said. Jumping on that trampoline and talking about dinosaurs. You wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.
First three years nothing was, he said. You don’t realize how precious certain things are that you took for granted. Then they’re gone and what you wouldn’t give for one hour with that kid you used to take on the back of your bicycle, naming every single fact about the stegosaurus.
It’s probably harder on you than on him, the woman said. It’s like the people who got killed in New York. For them, it’s over. The people who suffer are the ones they left behind.
Eighteen
It never seems like you have any homework, Garrett said. Not that I want to start being your policeman. Just curious.
There are lots of study halls, she said.
A few days after she stopped going to school, she had typed a letter on Garrett’s old Smith Corona, as if it was her father writing, to say there’d been a change of plans. “My daughter will not be residing in the area after all,” she wrote. It wasn’t hard to forge her father’s signature.
She hadn’t fully expected the letter to work, but a few weeks had gone by and nothing had happened, so she figured the school had bought her story.
It’s probably not the most challenging educational institution going, Garrett was saying now. I’m betting that when your grandmother gets out here, she’s going to want me to check out some damn private school, someplace where you can finally put all those white monogrammed shirts to use. But it’s probably not the worst thing in the world to have a little time right about now just to take it easy and coast.
Right, she told him. The less said the better.
She’s flying into San Francisco Tuesday night, Garrett said. I figure we can give her a day on her own to do some shopping, then drive down to meet her Thursday morning. She’s taking us out for a holiday meal at the Fairmont Hotel. We’ll stay over, and head back Friday.
I haven’t seen my grandmother in years, Wendy told him. One time when she was going on some cruise, my mom and I met her for lunch in the city, but that was awhile ago.
She’s probably not as bad as I make out, he said. She’s just one of those people who always leaves you with the feeling you’ve disappointed her. The only two people I can think of her talking about with any enthusiasm or affection were Mamie Eisenhower and Rod Laver.
Who are they?
The wife of a president from fifty years ago, and her all-time-favorite tennis player, he said. The rest of us just never measured up.
Even from down on the street, Wendy could tell that Walter Charles was crying. She climbed up the two flights of stairs and rang the bell.
It’s open, Violet said.
She was sitting in the beanbag chair, trying to nurse him. Her shirt was unbuttoned and her hair was a mess. The TV was on and her baby book was open on the bed. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a long time.
I don’t know what’s the matter, she said. Whatever I do, he keeps screaming.
When my brother used to cry like that, my dad had this thing he’d do where he’d walk him around the room, making jazz rhythms in his ear very softly, Wendy told her. She reached for Walter Charles and put him over her shoulder, and tried to sound like Josh doing his bebop routine. She could feel the baby’s body relax against her own. He was still making little worried noises, but less desperately.
I’ve been losing my mind, Violet said. He was doing that all night. I was starting to think my mom was right and I should have signed the papers after all and let the rich people in San Francisco have him. I don’t know one thing about how to take care of babies.
You probably just need a change of scene, Wendy said. That was the same thing Amelia told her back in New York. Come on, Wendy said. Let’s get his diaper bag.
At Macy’s they took turns trying on clothes. They didn’t have any money, but it never hurt to pretend.
None of my shirts fit anymore, Violet said. I could probably get a job at Hooters if my stomach would just flatten out. I wish I was like you.
Wendy hadn’t realized how much thinner she’d gotten until she tried on the clothes. The strange thing was, she hadn’t even been thinking about it as much as before. It just happened. She wasn’t even starving herself now.
Violet didn’t try on any shirts. She knew they wouldn’t fit, she’d gotten so big on top.
Lucky you, she told Wendy, when she tried on a sweater.
They got a Cinnabon to share, and a Diet Coke. Sitting in the food court, which was crowded with mothers pushing strollers, they compared the babies.
Walter Charles is definitely the cutest, Wendy said.
You should have seen his dad, said Violet. Everyone said he looked like Brad Pitt.
I used to shoplift, Violet told her, reaching for the last piece of Cinnabon. But I don’t anymore.
Did you get caught?
I just decided to quit when I knew I was having a baby, she said. I wanted to be a good role model. But sometimes when I go into stores, I pick out in my head what I’d take if I was still doing that stuff.
Thinking it doesn’t really matter, Wendy said. Everybody thinks stuff.
You probably never stole anything in your whole life, Violet said. I can tell. It just goes to prove what I was saying about role models. Your parents kept you on the right track.
My little brother stole a Matchbox truck one time, Wendy said. When my mom found out, she made him go back to the store with her to return it. He was scared they were going to put him in jail, but she told him they didn’t do that to four-year-olds.
He must be so sad now, Violet said. Missing your dad. At least you two have each other.
Sort of, Wendy said. Just thinking about Louie made the hollow feeling come back.
People always think that just because kids are little, they don’t take things so hard, Violet said. Me, I remember every single bad thing from when I was little. At least when you’re ol
der, you can get out in the world and talk to your friends. Go to the mall. When you’re little, you’re trapped.
This guy I know has a son who was fine until he was three, and then he turned autistic, Wendy said. I’d die if that happened to my little brother.
It probably won’t, said Violet. But I’d definitely keep an eye on him.
Your brother’s started hitting at school, Josh said. Nobody’s making a fuss about it, but I’m worried.
What does he say when you talk to him about it? Wendy asked him.
He says the kids are mean to him. He says they hit him first. I don’t think I believe it.
Maybe it’s just a stage. Maybe he saw some show on TV that got him started. Maybe someone in his class teases him about his costumes.
He doesn’t want to go over to Corey’s anymore, either. He says he doesn’t like Corey’s room.
Does he talk about Mom?
Not anymore. When I bring up her name, he says he hates her. I’ve got him scheduled to see a therapist on Tuesday.
What does he say about me? she asked him.
He wants to know when you’re coming home, Josh said. He was silent for a moment. I don’t know what to tell him.
Garrett’s mother’s coming next week, she said. The one with the lawyer.
Josh sounded tired all of a sudden. Just do what you need to take care of yourself, Wen, he said. We’ll figure out our end of things here.
So where are you going for Thanksgiving? she asked him.
Kate invited us to her mother’s, and my sister’s having some friends over to her place, too, he said. My mom wants us to come to Florida, but that’s definitely out. I don’t know. We might just sit this one out. Hang around the house, watch the Sesame Street Thanksgiving special like a couple of wild and carefree bachelor guys. Heat ourselves up a couple of TV dinners.
If you ever see me buying one of those, he’d said to her mother one time when they were out shopping together and they passed the TV dinners in the frozen-food case, just have me committed, and make sure no sharp objects are within the vicinity. Because you’ll know for sure I’ve lost my mind.
Nineteen
Her mother used to say, when Wendy asked her to explain the divorce, that she and her father fought all the time. Living with Garrett, that was hard to imagine at first. Whatever she did or didn’t do, he never had a problem. She could leave the butter on the counter, and not just the butter but a whole pile of dishes, and her socks on the floor—no problem. Living with him, it was almost like the two of them were roommates. She didn’t have to eat a green vegetable every day. It would be great if you could get around to feeding Shiva, he said. That was pretty much it.
Slowly, though, it was beginning to occur to Wendy that even Garrett’s easygoing way of acting could get on a person’s nerves.
Nobody could ever have accused her mother of being easygoing. Her mother was on duty twenty-four hours a day, noticing everything. Wanting her to do better.
With her mother it would have been, Do you think we’re your servants here? I can’t believe a person could be so incredibly inconsiderate that she couldn’t even think to put one crummy dish in the dishwasher before going off to the movies.
Does it ever occur to you? her mother said. I spend nine hours a day in this fluorescent-lighted office, typing, while you glide around with your friend, trying on sweaters and thinking up names for your imaginary pets, and you can’t even be bothered to pick up the three lousy groceries I asked you to bring home?
Thinking about it now—all the times she should have helped out, but didn’t, how selfish she used to be—made Wendy feel sick. In the past, she had believed her mother was unreasonable, having all these expectations for her behavior. Living with Garrett, she almost missed them. She could do what she wanted now. But sometimes she wondered if it meant he was nicer, or just that he didn’t pay enough attention to notice.
I didn’t mean to be thoughtless, she said to her mother one time.
Hardly anybody ever means to be thoughtless, her mother said. That’s the whole idea about thoughtlessness.
There was this time, just last spring. Her mother wanted to see a matinee of the Mark Morris Dance Company at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and Josh had a gig. I need you to watch your brother, she said.
Most of the time it wouldn’t have been a big deal but that day it was. A boy in Wendy’s class named Jasper Sandstone had been telling everyone about the new home theater they’d installed in his dad’s apartment on the Upper East Side and a bunch of kids from their class were supposed to go over and watch a movie and have pizza and listen to music. There was this one record from back in their parents’ day, Pink Floyd, The Wall, that was supposed to be unbelievable when you listened to it in surround sound.
I’m really sorry you have to miss it, sweetheart, her mother said. I tried three other people to baby-sit. Kate got me these tickets for my birthday, and we’ve been planning this for weeks.
I’m always taking Louie, Wendy said.
I’ll make it up to you another time, her mother said.
Oh, right. Like you’ll take Louie and me to Disney on Ice or something. Woo woo.
Times like this, Wendy, she said. She said this very quietly, which was the worst. I wonder what I did to raise such a selfish, ungenerous daughter. I wonder if I even know you anymore.
When she said that, Wendy actually felt scared. What if she really had turned into this awful person? Maybe it was true. Everything about her family was getting on her nerves. Even Josh, who was always so easygoing. Louie, for sure. He didn’t even seem that cute anymore.
I’ll go to Disney on Ice with you, Mama, Louie said then. Even if Sissy doesn’t want to.
Sissy was just feeling a little upset, Lou-man, Josh said. He’d been in the other room, putting on the suit he wore to gigs, but now he came out, in his shirt and tie and rumpled pants—the too-long ones, not the too-short ones—and put an arm around Wendy. She brushed it off.
This family makes me sick, she said. Nobody here knows one single thing about how it feels to be me.
After they left—Kate and her mom to the dance performance, Josh in the van with Roberto for their gig—it was just Wendy and Louie, eating the grilled cheese Josh had made them. We’re going to have so much fun, just wait and see, Sis, Louie told her. When we play Candyland I’ll let you win.
Amelia couldn’t believe it when she came over and heard Wendy couldn’t go after all. Do you know how many people would die to get invited over to Jasper Sandstone’s? she said.
We didn’t exactly get invited, Wendy said. Seems to me you told him we were going to be at this modeling tryout you were invited to in his neighborhood and maybe you’d stop by after with a couple of the other models.
He was happy, she said. The more the merrier, he said, if you recall.
And what if we had showed up and it was just us and no models? Wendy asked. You still think he’d have been so thrilled?
This is why you don’t get invited to parties, Wendy, Amelia told her. You get too negative.
So they went anyway. They put Louie in an outfit like he’d been trying out for a commercial and slicked back his hair with gel. We tell them he’s this kid we met on a cereal commercial, Amelia told her. They’ll probably want his autograph.
Where do you get this stuff? Wendy said. And how are we supposed to explain it when he calls me Sissy all the time?
Okay then, he’s your brother. Your brother that’s been making an ad for Raisin Bran.
I don’t want to go on the subway, Louie told them. I like it here.
It’s just for a little while, Louie, Wendy said. It’ll be fun.
It’s fun here.
More fun. There’ll be pizza.
I had grilled cheese already. I’m full.
Louie, Amelia said. If you come with us, I’ll get you a treat.
What?
It’s a secret. You’ll find out after. But you have to be very good. When we get to th
e big boy’s house you can just lie down someplace and take a nap. That would be the best thing. And afterwards, if you promise not to tell your parents, Wendy and I will get you this awesome treat.
I hope it’s a Matchbox, he said. That or Pokemon cards.
It turned out there were only two other people at Jasper Sandstone’s. Both boys.
One was a boy Wendy and Amelia had never met, named Travis, who had rainbow-colored braces. Hey, he said. I thought you told me there were models coming over.
I didn’t say model whats, said Jasper. He was holding some kind of Coke drink that must have had liquor in it because there were a bunch of bottles of Jack Daniel’s and Absolut vodka and things like that out on the counter. No parents around.
Who’s the midget? Travis asked.
My brother, said Wendy.
He’s been working on a commercial, Amelia told them. Raisin Bran. With the money from the residuals he’s probably going to have enough to buy the whole family Jet Skis.
So, kid, Jasper said. Tell us your lines.
My sister’s getting me a treat after, he said. I bet it’s going to be a Matchbox.
You ladies care for an aperitif? Travis said. He had a bottle of Dr Pepper in one hand and a bottle of Johnnie Walker in the other.
No thanks, said Wendy. To Amelia she said, Let’s get out of here.
The movie’s just starting, Jasper said. You only missed a few minutes but you’ll probably figure it out.
It was a horror film called Child’s Play, where a doll named Chucky comes to life and starts killing people. One girl was dead already, but one of her arms was still lying on the floor. The doll had the kind of eyeballs like the Madame Alexander dolls at F. A. O. Schwarz. Chucky’s eyelids opened and closed, and he had fake-hair lashes and staring glassy eyeballs, but other than that he looked nothing like Cissette or any of those other dolls Wendy and her mother used to look at on their pretend doll-shopping trips.
The Usual Rules Page 19
