My phone chimes. Another text from Sweet Caroline:
wht hpnd!?!
I ignore it.
“I need to talk to the guru,” I tell Crystal.
“He’s in private session,” Crystal says. “He can’t be interrupted.”
“This is important.”
“If you can wait an hour—”
“Where is my mom?”
“She’s not here.”
“When will she be back?”
Crystal looks at the schedule.
“She has class at seven a.m. tomorrow.”
My head is spinning. I think about going home and waiting for Mom, but I can’t talk to her about this. I need to talk to the guru. I have to ask him about India, if he was serious about it.
“I just remembered. I have to get something from my mom’s locker,” I say.
“Do you know the combination?” Crystal says.
“Of course. She gave it to me.”
Goal weight. Actual weight. Goal weight.
That way she never forgets.
I rush down the hall.
“Take your shoes off!” Crystal calls after me.
I peek through the window of the big studio, but there’s a class in there, a sea of tanned flesh and muscled butts.
I check the smaller studio. There’s a class in there, as well. Women with their backs arched over giant yoga balls.
I remember there’s a private room in the back behind
the office. Sometimes Mom goes in there to meditate before her class.
I walk towards the office, glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody is watching me.
There’s a handwritten sign on the door of the private room:
DO NOT ENTER.
PRIVATE SESSION IN PROGRESS.
I ignore the sign, and I open the door.
The guru isn’t there.
Instead I find Sally meditating in the middle of the room with her eyes closed. She’s wearing a giant skirt, fabric spilling onto the floor around her.
“Ohhh—”
Sally moans loudly, and her head swings from side to side.
I start to back out the door, when something under her skirt moves. It takes a moment to understand what I’m seeing. There are two colors, the white of the skirt around Sally’s waist, and the blue of the fabric peeking out beneath it—
The blue fabric moves, and Sally moans again.
“I’m looking for the guru,” I say.
“What?!” she says, and her eyes pop open.
She jumps up, and I see a flash of her bare legs, then two other legs as the yards of blue fabric pull
away from her. A head pops out as if being born from between her legs.
The guru’s head.
He blinks as his eyes adjust to the light in the room.
Then he sees me.
“Sanskrit,” the guru says.
I turn and run.
Ohhhh—
I can still hear Sally moan in my mind.
I race past the stinky yoga women’s shoes and out the front door of the Center. I’m ready to run home, but my stomach clenches and I think I’m going to throw up, so I turn into the alley between the Center and Le Pain Quotidien restaurant.
I double over with my hands on my knees, trying to breathe, trying not to throw up. I smell baking bread from the restaurant, and it makes me gag.
“Sanskrit, why did you run?”
I turn to find the guru standing at the head of the alley. He looks at me innocently, as if he’s confused by my reaction.
“That was disgusting,” I say.
“Not disgusting,” he says. “But unfortunate. It was not meant for your eyes.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
“You’re not a child. I know this,” he says.
“The least you could do is lie, tell me it wasn’t what I thought it was.”
“I don’t lie,” the guru says. “But it might not have been what you thought it was.”
“I thought you were in love with my mother. Why would you do that with someone else?”
“I do love your mother.”
“So she knows about this?”
“She knows I love people.”
“Mother Teresa loved people, too. She didn’t have sex with them.”
“You’re right.”
“So Mom doesn’t know,” I say. “Yet.”
The guru holds up his hands, trying to calm me. But I won’t have it.
“You said we could go to India! We would start a new life together.”
“We can,” the guru says. “The invitation stands. Is that why you’ve come? To tell me what you decided?”
He smiles. He steps towards me.
“What have you decided, Sanskrit?”
“I’ve decided you can go to hell,” I say.
“How do you know you can trust the guru?”
That’s what I ask Mom when I get home. I want to tell her what I’ve seen, just blurt it out the minute I get into the kitchen, where she’s arranging arugula leaves on a plate, but I think that would be a mistake. Mom might accuse me of lying to her, making things up to ruin her life.
“How can I trust him?” Mom says.
She holds out an arugula leaf for me to take a bite.
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“Please try it,” Mom says.
I open my mouth and let her put it in.
“How does it taste?” she says.
“It’s spicy.”
“How did you know it was okay to eat?” Mom says.
“That’s a weird question.”
“How do you know it wasn’t poisoned, for instance?”
“You’re freaking me out, Mom.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you gave it to me. You’re my mother.”
“Mothers go crazy. You see it on the news sometimes, how they drive into a lake with their kids in the car.”
“Remind me never to drive with you again.”
“I’m just saying you ate it because you trust me. You know me, and you trust me. It’s as simple as that, right?”
“Maybe.”
Mom smiles, puts more arugula on the plate. “That’s how I feel about the guru.”
“What if he did something to make you feel differently?”
“Like what?”
“Like something.”
Mom looks concerned.
“What are you telling me?” she says.
I try to find the words, but I can’t.
“Nothing,” I say.
Mom puts down the tray and comes over.
“You’re worried about me,” she says. “I think that’s sweet.”
She hugs me tight.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“I’m hugging my son,” she says, like it’s something she does all the time.
It doesn’t stop at the hug. She keeps her arms around me, pulling me close to her. She plants a kiss in my hair.
“Cut it out,” I say, and I twist away from her.
“You’re too old for a hug?”
“Not too old,” I say. “It’s just weird.” Mom rolls her eyes at me, then goes back to her salad.
I watch her moving lettuce around on the tray, cutting cubes of baked tofu to lay around the perimeter. She hums softly to herself as she does it.
Softly.
Ever since Mom met the guru, her energy has changed.
She’s softer now, more open.
She sings to herself. She dances around the house. She’s nice to me.
That’s when it hits me: Mom’s happy.
If I tell her what I saw at the yoga studio, she’s going to hate me. That’s if she even believes me.
I consider not saying anything. I could leave Mom alone, let this all happen like it’s going to happen. If God is really in charge like Herschel says, then I can let him take care of it, can’t I?
But what if he’s not in charge and I let my mother go to India with a guy who is cheating on her?
I can’t tell her, but maybe I can show her.
A plan is coming together, a way I might be able to get my mother back. But I’m going to need Sweet Caroline’s help.
“We’ve got a surprise for you, Mom.”
I’m listening in on the phone as Sweet Caroline talks to Mom.
“What kind of a surprise?” Mom says.
“If I tell you, it’s not a surprise!”
Sweet Caroline doesn’t know what the real surprise is, but this is part of the plan we worked out last night. I took her aside for a sibling meeting and broke the news to her. I didn’t tell her about the guru sleeping around, only that he wasn’t giving up on Mom.
“You said you’d get him to leave Mom alone,” she said.
“He was going to, but he changed his mind,” I said. “But he promised.”
“People don’t always keep their promises,” I told her.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sweet Caroline said.
She said it like some tough kid in a movie about
runaways, and I almost hugged her. Which of course would have been a mistake. “I’ve got another idea,” I said.
“Tell me what I should do,” Sweet Caroline said. And I laid out the plan. At least her part of it.
That’s what got me to this place. It’s early afternoon, and I’m on a street south of Olympic, close to Santa Monica College. It’s not a bad neighborhood, but it’s nothing like Brentwood. Small houses, some of them with bars over the windows. That’s how you know the quality of the neighborhood in Los Angeles. Check the first-floor windows.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Sweet Caroline says over the phone. “Mom’s getting her keys.”
“There’s a church on the corner. Meet me in front,” I say, and I hang up.
The plan.
I knew the guru would be careful after I walked in on him at the Center, and I was right. I followed him to this neighborhood yesterday.
He’s here again today.
I start to have second thoughts. But Mom and Sweet Caroline are already on their way. It’s too late for second thoughts.
I sit on a bench in front of the church and wait for them.
There’s a statue of a saint looking out over the garden.
God is everywhere. That’s what Rabbi Silberstein says.
Maybe it’s true, and maybe it’s the problem. God has so much territory to cover that he can’t focus on any particular thing.
I look to the saint in the garden for guidance, but he’s got nothing for me. He’s staring straight ahead, lost in thought. A bird lands on his head, flapping its wings twice before taking off again.
Mom’s Volvo pulls into the parking lot. I motion for her to pull into an empty space.
“What are we doing in a church?” Mom says when she gets out.
“We’re not going to church. We’re going to someone’s house down the street.”
“What are you up to, Sanskrit?”
“It’s a surprise,” I say.
“I told you, Mom,” Sweet Caroline says.
Sweet Caroline gets out of the wagon. She smiles, excited about it all.
“Down the street,” I say. “Follow me, everyone.”
Mom holds Sweet Caroline’s hand, then reaches over to take mine, but I pull it away. The new, happy Mom does crazy things like trying to hold her kids’ hands in public.
“It’s the little green house over here,” I say.
“Whose house is this?” Mom says.
“Mom, just let us surprise you,” Sweet Caroline says.
We walk down the driveway. I’m thinking we could ring the front door and see what happens, but I’ve already checked and I know the gate to the backyard is open.
“We have to go around to the patio,” I say.
“Does my hair look okay?” Mom says.
I give her a look. “Just in case,” she says.
I open the gate silently, make Mom walk in ahead of me. Then I step in front of Sweet Caroline.
“Let me go first,” I whisper.
“I want to see,” she says.
“Please,” I say. I’m trying to protect her, but she’s not making it easy.
She slumps her shoulders and lets me go in front of her.
I guide Mom up the three steps onto the back patio behind the house.
“It’s in there,” I say, pointing to the big picture window and the screen door leading into the house.
The sound of laughter spills out from inside the house.
Mom’s face goes pale.
I glance through the window.
The guru is in there. So is Sally. This is her house.
She’s sitting on his lap, kissing him.
Mom doesn’t move. She stares into the house, not saying a word.
She turns back to me.
“You did this,” she says.
“What happening?” Sweet Caroline says. She’s trying to come up on the patio, but I’m blocking the steps.
“You set me up,” Mom says.
“No,” I say. “I just wanted you to see the truth.”
“What’s going on, Mom?” Sweet Caroline says.
“Stay there!” Mom says, holding up a hand to stop Sweet Caroline from coming onto the porch. Mom’s face is bright red.
“What did you do?!” Sweet Caroline says to me. “You made things worse!”
Mom points her finger at me.
“You did this,” Mom says. “I don’t know why, but you did it and I’ll never forgive you.”
“I’m sorry!” I say.
But why am I apologizing? I’m not the one cheating on Mom.
Mom pauses for a moment, caught between opening the door to the house and something else. What else?
She jumps from the porch, grabs Sweet Caroline, and rushes away, pulling Sweet Caroline the whole way.
I stand on the patio not knowing what to do. I look inside again. The guru is kissing Sally. Suddenly, he turns and looks at me. He rubs his eyes for a moment like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Sanskrit?” His lips form the words.
He shifts Sally off his lap. He gets up and walks towards me.
I take off.
I hear the door open behind me.
“Stop, Sanskrit!” the guru shouts after me.
But I don’t stop. I run.
“Mom is upside down, and it’s all your fault.”
Sweet Caroline confronts me on the front stoop to the house. She must have been watching through the front window, waiting for me to come home.
“Did you hear me? It’s your fault,” she says.
“Leave me alone,” I say.
After I saw the guru, I ran until I couldn’t breathe, until my sides were splitting, until I didn’t recognize the neighborhood anymore.
Then I drifted through Santa Monica for a few hours, thinking about things. I considered going to Dad’s, but how could he help?
“What was in that house?” Sweet Caroline says. “Mom wouldn’t tell me.”
“You’re too young,” I say.
“I’m not too young!”
“Fine,” I say. “It was the guru. With another woman.”
“Oh.”
That’s all she says.
“Now you know why Mom didn’t tell you.”