Not of This Fold

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  I spent hours dripping sweat in a hot kitchen and tasting melt-in-your-mouth crust and fillings so I didn’t need to worry about lunch.

  I started to think about what to bring as a gift to the Hopes’ dinner. Outside of Mormondom, the proper thing for a dinner guest to do was to bring a bottle of wine. Obviously, that didn’t work when you had the Word of Wisdom to follow. Nonetheless, I wanted to be gracious to our hosts. What would be right? Maybe a bottle of sparkling cider? Some Mormons had rules about soda, and others just didn’t like the idea of soda served out of a bottle that looked like it held wine, but those lines didn’t make sense to me.

  I finally settled on a fancy box of roasted nuts that cost so much I grumbled out loud at the store.

  When Kurt came home that evening, he showered again and put on a tie and jacket. He sat there and stared at me until it was clear he expected me to change out of the sweatpants and T-shirt I’d worn all day. So I threw on a skirt and the most obnoxious Christmas sweater I owned, with red satin reindeer and real clinking jingle bells. We’d bought it last year for the bishopric’s ugly holiday sweater contest, which I’d won. It might be a little early, but these days, the holidays kept moving up, and I figured I’d just be seen as excited to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

  When Kurt saw it, I swore I could see a smile twitch across his lips. “Ready, then?” he said.

  We drove over in his truck, and he knocked on the door.

  The house was already bright with Christmas lights; traditional white twinklers lined the rooftop and swirled around the trees in the yard. There was no snow yet, but it would only make the lights sparkle more charmingly when it came. The house was large, as many of the houses on our side of the mountain were, but it wasn’t much bigger than ours. It certainly wasn’t as big as some of the other houses with Celestial Security systems.

  Bishop Hope answered the door in a light-gray suit and pastel-blue tie. I tried not to react to my memory of his glittering, malicious stare the last time we’d met. He seemed effusive and welcoming again, the perfect host.

  Once we came inside, he introduced his wife, Maria, who was waiting in the entryway. She was a petite woman with long dark hair that seemed to overwhelm her with its thick waves. She wore a skirt and Christmas sweater under her apron. It wasn’t until she took off the apron at her husband’s urging that she and I realized we were wearing the same sweater.

  We both laughed, though I was pretty sure she was wearing hers unironically. It suited her earnest air.

  “It is the best way to celebrate Christmas, don’t you think?” she said with a slight accent.

  “Of course,” I said, feeling a little bad that I’d worn mine with such ill intent.

  The front room was small, with a glossy black baby grand taking up almost the entire space. I was a little jealous, comparing it to my own pedestrian instrument. But I reminded myself that I was perfectly happy with my house and my piano, especially considering what else went along with this house.

  Kurt and I sat on a microfiber sofa of a rust color that fit with the overall décor. The carpet was tan, but there was the same burnt orange-brown in the floral curtains and on the border of the wallpaper surrounding us. I thought it looked odd. Not old, but like maybe someone had talked them into taking the least popular style by claiming it was “up and coming.”

  We chatted a little, and I became more and more conscious that English was the only language spoken here. There were no asides in Spanish, even if Hope spoke it fluently. It seemed an odd measure of control, but not out of the character I’d seen so far in him.

  “Young men!” called Hope as he looked at his watch. His voice was booming as he stood and moved to the stairs.

  Young men?

  Seconds later, I heard small feet hurry down the stairs and collect in a line at the threshold of the room. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Captain von Trapp in The Sound of Music, introducing his children to the other Maria. These three little dark-haired boys seemed as well behaved, and as in need of some fun. They stood at attention, stiff, with their arms behind their backs.

  “Connor, Jason, and Lee,” Hope said, sweeping his hand toward them. The names were very Anglo, with no hint to their Latino heritage. They seemed close in age, and definitely under eight years old—maybe four, five, and six? “This is Bishop Wallheim, and Sister Wallheim.”

  The children echoed our names in unison. It felt far too formal, and some part of me wondered what Bishop Hope would have done with a daughter. All three boys seemed much more like their mother than like him, with dark eyes and olive skin, though there was something of their father in the sharpness of their jaws.

  Once they’d been introduced, they were commanded to “go wash up for dinner,” which they hurried off to do without a word of complaint.

  I presented my box of nuts to Bishop Hope. He took them with a nod and handed them to Maria, who whisked them away to an undisclosed location.

  Then we were called for dinner, and I got to see the open kitchen and dining area, with vaulted ceilings that again recalled the ones in most celestial rooms in temples. I felt a twinge of unease and hoped that I wouldn’t get the same sense as I had at Celestial Security that we were being sold something.

  Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs with salad and garlic bread. It was one of the most common meals I’d eaten at church dinners, and it wasn’t badly made, though I found myself comparing the blandness of the sauce to my own homemade tomato sauce’s more robust flavor. I wondered if Maria had felt obliged to cook something that wasn’t Mexican to show how “American” she was. Maybe she always cooked like this for her husband.

  Maria came and sat down next to me, and she seemed anxious for my approval, so I said, “Thank you so much for inviting us. The food is delicious.”

  I tried to remember the last time I’d been to anyone’s house for a social occasion unrelated to church. When Mormons got together, it was usually in big groups that could only be accommodated at the church building. Kurt and I used to invite other young couples over for dinner in the early days of our marriage, but it had to have been at least twenty years since we’d either gone to someone else’s house for a meal or invited them to ours.

  Kurt and Greg Hope moved to the living room and were involved in their own conversation, so Maria and I sat on the opposite side of the room and talked privately.

  “I hope the children aren’t too loud,” Maria said, glancing over at her boys, who were clearing the table with no horseplay, virtually silent.

  Was she joking? No, she seemed serious. “I remember when I had five boys at home. I assure you, mine were much louder than yours,” I said

  “Oh?” She brightened and sat up a little straighter. “My husband complains they’re disrespectful and says I should discipline them more, but I love them so much, I don’t really care.”

  “You shouldn’t! This is the most wonderful age for boys. They’re not babies anymore, but not teenagers yet.” I said, feeling a wave of nostalgia for when my boys were this age.

  In a whisper, she confided, “I don’t want my sons to think of me as a doormat, like Greg says I can be. But isn’t doing what he says as much being a doormat as doing what they say?” she asked.

  I felt unexpected empathy for her. I’d expected to find her false and saccharine, like Serena at Celestial Security. Instead, she seemed vulnerable and painfully honest.

  I noticed that Kurt had taken out a business card and given it to Greg. What were they doing? I thought this was just a chance to share bishoping war stories.

  I turned my attention back to Maria. “They say that boys who love their mothers never outgrow it. They’ll be easy as teenagers,” I said reassuringly.

  Maria smiled warmly. “That is very kind of you to say. I hope it is so. You have grandchildren, then?”

  “Two,” I admitted. “And they are just as wonderful as
they say. But that’s a long way away for you. I won’t pretend that I didn’t wish for them to grow up faster when they were younger.”

  “And now you wish they were children again?” she asked.

  I hesitated. “Not often, but sometimes,” I said.

  She looked at her boys, and I could see her pride in them. She was right to feel it; they were good boys, which reflected well on her as a mother. Beneath Maria’s reserve, I sensed a quiet strength, completely different from her husband’s. I wondered how she and Greg Hope managed to get along.

  Maria went over and spoke to the boys until they were settled on their beanbags, silently reading. She’d spoken in English, which made me wonder how much Spanish they knew. The books they were reading were old English classics, The Berenstain Bears, Arthur, and a Shel Silverstein poetry collection with that ghastly photo still on the back. Those weren’t the books I’d purchased in anticipation of when Carla would be interested in reading with me.

  After a few minutes, Maria came back to me. “My husband says we should buy a bigger house so they have more space, but I love this home so much. Why do we need a bigger one when it’s just more space to clean?”

  But surely they would have the money for housecleaners, if she wanted? Hope’s business seemed like it was doing gangbusters. “Would you be moving far away?” I asked.

  “No, just another home in the area. Celestial Security hasn’t done as well beyond Utah, and we wouldn’t want to leave the ward.”

  She must have enjoyed being the bishop’s wife of this particular ward. Maybe that was part of her husband’s continuing appeal?

  Maria told the boys to go get pajamas on and get ready for bed. Then she came back and told me a few stories about trouble her boys had gotten into. I trumped those with the story about when Adam had driven Kurt’s truck into the river when we were on a family camping trip. He’d just put it in the wrong gear and then got out. No one thought to look back until they heard the sound of the truck hitting the water.

  At this point Kurt and Greg finished their conversation and rose from the couch, and Maria took that as a cue to bring out a blueberry, cream cheese, and whipped cream combination with a nutty crust. She called it, appropriately enough, “Luscious Dessert.”

  “My mother-in-law gave me the recipe,” Maria explained. “It was Greg’s favorite growing up.”

  Of course it was.

  As we ate, I considered what would happen if Maria let her sons have this. Blueberry was particularly bad at staining. Almost as bad as beets, which I’d given up for many years when my boys were young. But she never called the children to have any.

  By then, it was clear that Maria needed to get back to her sons’ bedtime routine and Kurt seemed ready to go, so we said our goodbyes.

  Back in the truck, I asked Kurt why he’d given Hope his business card. Kurt informed me that Hope had asked if he would be interested in doing accounting work for Celestial Security.

  “What did you say?” I asked. Had this been the real reason for the dinner, the one he hadn’t wanted to tell me about?

  “I told him I’d think about it,” Kurt said.

  I wished he wouldn’t. “Aren’t you worried about getting entangled with that kind of business?” I asked. Kurt usually steered clear of multi-level marketing schemes and anything he deemed remotely questionable. I certainly thought Celestial Security qualified. Not to mention all the questions I still had about Gabriela’s murder, which I didn’t bring up.

  Kurt looked away. “I don’t see why I should be, as long as it’s legitimately run. I still have space in my client list.”

  He’d lost a big client last year when an insurance company had pulled out of Utah. Was he embarrassed that we’d lost income? We hadn’t had to cut back on expenses, just our investing.

  “You shouldn’t take someone on out of desperation if you don’t like their business model,” I said. Especially not this someone.

  “I won’t, Linda. Don’t worry,” Kurt said. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  And whenever I made those kinds of promises, did that make him feel better? I thought not.

  Chapter 34

  The next day, something in the back of my mind gnawed at me as I worked on pies. I got on my laptop and went to the Celestial Security website again. If Kurt was thinking about getting into business with Greg Hope, I really should do some digging to lay my fears to rest about his company. Or the opposite.

  This time, I figured that instead of getting official, sanitized information, it might be better to ask actual customers what they thought. I could have asked Gwen to come with me, but I was worried she was letting this case get to her, so I decided to do this alone.

  There were hundreds of photos of houses on the site. Every time I had a break, I came back and looked through a few more of them, until I finally found one that looked familiar. I stared at the view of the mountains behind the house, trying to place where I knew it from. It didn’t work. I wished Samuel were here. He’d have found some trick online to pinpoint the location of the house.

  Then finally, remembering Samuel’s lessons, I managed to use Google street view to look through a section of Sandy that I thought was the right place, going south a few times, and then east, until the mountain line in the photo matched exactly. I found the right house (or what I thought was the right house) and then checked my watch. It was lunchtime, but I’d snuck so many bites of pie that I wasn’t hungry.

  I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d get people to talk to me, but hoped my natural housewifely demeanor might just make their defenses fall. I drove down to the street I’d found on Google street view, amazed at how big the houses here were in person. Every single one on the block looked like it must be 20,000 square feet inside. Not much property, though. The gardens were tiny, but immaculate, reminding me of what Anna’s husband Tobias had done with their yard when he’d been alive.

  I went to the house number I thought was right, and was pleased when I saw the Celestial Security sticker on the bottom corner of the front window nearest to the door. I rang the bell, half expecting a servant to answer.

  Instead, it was a fit woman with perky breasts wearing expensive-looking sweatpants, her hair damp from exercise. “Oh,” she said, visibly disappointed. She glanced around me. “You weren’t the delivery person I was expecting.”

  “My name is Linda Wallheim,” I said. “I was driving by when I recognized your house from the Celestial Security website. You use their company, right?”

  She was taken aback. “Why, yes, we do.”

  “Do you mind if I ask about the service? My husband and I are considering signing up, but we want to know if it’s worth it,” I lied. “The monthly fees are very expensive, aren’t they?” I tried to look conflicted. “But is that what’s necessary in this neighborhood, do you think?”

  She smiled and patted at her hair, then invited me inside. The house was exactly the kind of picture-perfect inside that it looked outside. I thought some of the decorations were over-the-top in size—that giant Coke bottle savings bank, for instance—but who was I to tell someone else how to live? She introduced herself as Sylvia Loveland, and led me past the living room and into the kitchen.

  “We’ve loved this house and this area. Celestial Security came along just as we were closing, and I must say that it’s been worth every penny, just to have the sense of security they offer. When you own a home like this, you worry about it. But in the ten years we’ve lived here, we’ve never had a break-in, and we’ve become evangelists of a sort for their system. If our neighbors are well secured, too, it makes us all safer. Our children especially,” she said with an air of someone who enjoyed being in the know.

  I wished I could ask if she got a bonus for referring people. Not that she seemed to need the money. “Thank you. I really appreciate your honest opinion,” I said.

  “A
re you thinking of moving here?” she asked.

  “We’re looking at a house up the way,” I said, gesturing vaguely. But I wished I hadn’t lied, because she stared at me like she was evaluating me for a position in her ward Christmas program. I should have put on something nicer, though I didn’t think I owned anything that would impress her.

  “Well, this is the best neighborhood in the Salt Lake Valley. We looked everywhere, I assure you. And everyone here sings the praises of the neighborhood and our security systems.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” I said, making a note to myself not to ever sell our current house. If I thought I had problems in our ward, they could always be worse.

  She stood up and walked me to the door. Yes, I was clearly of no interest to her anymore.

  “Anything else I should know about Celestial Security?” I asked, because this woman seemed the type not to notice me prying for too much information.

  She leaned in and said to me in a confiding and superior tone, “I know the owner, Greg Hope, and his wife, Maria. They are just wonderful examples of upstanding citizens. You can trust people like that.”

  I thought again about the Hyde I’d seen the last time I was at Celestial Security, and the Jekyll at dinner last night. She must have only ever met the latter.

  “What about the monthly service?” I asked.

  She waved a hand. “Oh, that. It’s worth every penny. The maintenance people come every year to do updates and make sure everything is working well. There are never any problems, and I just appreciate knowing that people with my values are earning money doing something that’s so important.”

  So she saw the protection of her massive home and valuables as of paramount importance. I refrained from responding. This woman was the kind of person I’d expected Greg Hope’s wife to be, though I knew it was unfair to make that kind of snap judgment about a stranger. I had a prejudice against women who cared so much about their appearance, though I knew that for many women, it was what they were expected to do, especially in Mormonism.