The Whole Golden World (28 page)

40

R
ain hated Free Class Week.

Beverly loved the people cramming the Namaste Yoga Center, buying trinkets and cutesy T-shirts with clever sayings; she loved the boost in class enrollment that always followed. She served free tea and cookies baked with organic ingredients and talked chakras to anyone who would listen.

But to Rain, it meant that many more bodies crammed into the studio, extra sweaty feet all over the store mats for public use, and a spike in nervous giggling about any reference to pressing the pubic bone to the floor in cobra pose.

And this time, this particular early May week, she felt sure that she'd get gawkers. People who'd figured out that “the teacher's wife” worked there. Her pregnancy was undeniable now in her yoga clothes, which she'd had to order special over the Internet. This should have been beautiful. She used to fantasize about it, in fact, what she'd look like with a graceful arch of belly. Used to be that she couldn't wait for stretch marks.

But now her baby would end up the object of gossip:
Did you hear his wife is PREGNANT?
They'd text each other, and type OMG.

When Rain walked into the full class, it was as bad as she feared. The room quieted as she strode in. Some of them were nakedly gawking. She'd put on a baggy sweatshirt on top of her yoga leotard, though she knew it would get in her way and overheat her, trying to keep her baby out of the rumor mill as long as possible. Even a sweatshirt wouldn't work for much longer.

Her mother had said on the phone last night, “Well, fuck them, then,” but then that was her advice for all Rain's problems. Fuck everybody. Well, isn't that what got them into this mess? Rain arranged herself in a seated position on her mat, rooting down into the floor, reaching the top crown of her head up to the sky. That's how she always thought of it, extending toward the sky, not the ceiling. The sky was always there, anyway, and seemed a much better thing to reach for. Her neck stretched long and she sighed, grateful for the extra space in her spine.

As she began her
unjjayi
breathing to settle herself for class, she remembered hissing into the phone to her mother, who'd insisted she just give up and move back home, “It's not that simple.” Leave TJ? Let him go to jail? Going through labor without TJ by her side? No matter what else he'd done, this baby was part of him, too. This baby that they'd hoped, prayed, and tried so hard to bring into the world, together.

God help her, she was planning to lie on the stand if she had to. She just couldn't abide him going away. Not now. The future would have to take care of itself.

She raised her voice above the chatter and slipped a serene smile into place. “Good morning,” she began, “and welcome to all the new faces . . .”

 

When she spotted one person slip in and linger awkwardly, as the rest of the class trooped out, Rain thought nothing of it. This often happened during Free Class Week. Someone would be curious about yoga and feel the need to pepper her with questions. Often, Rain could send the person off to Beverly, who was better equipped to answer earnestly about the benefits to the lymphatic system and blood flow to vital organs.

Rain had forgotten to tell the new students to wipe down the store's public-use mats, so she set about with the spray bottle and towel to do the job herself. The chemical sting of the cleaner clashed with the smoldering incense cone still going in the burner next to her. She would usually light one at the end, for
savasana,
if only to drown out the sweat smell.

Yoga might be graceful, but twenty-five straining, stretching, barefoot bodies in a warm room for an hour did not smell pretty.

Rain found herself distracted by the lake outside. Usually she had her back to it, leading the class, and if she were walking through the room helping adjust postures, she was concentrating on the students. It was as glassy as a polished stone, unruffled. It seemed to be waiting and serene, knowing that no disturbance was so great that the water wouldn't again settle against its edges, achieving perfection of a level surface only possible in nature.

Rain shook her head. Now she was envying a lake. Good God.

Finally, the woman approached, as Rain wiped her third mat, crouched with her knees up around her belly, which was still shrouded—she hoped—behind her big gray sweatshirt.

She cleared her throat, and Rain looked up, attempting her serene smile again. “Hello.” The woman looked to be in her forties, but trying to seem younger. Long dark hair, recently highlighted, fell in chunky layers. But more than that, this woman looked so nervous Rain wondered briefly if she were going to throw up.

Rain dearly hoped she wasn't one of those types who thought a yoga teacher was a therapist.

“I hope I can talk to you,” she began. Her voice sounded slightly raspy and deeper than Rain would have thought. “I hope you will listen, for just a few minutes, before you react.”

Rain stopped wiping, stilled now with the towel in her hand. “Who are you?”

“I'm Dinah Monetti.” A pause while Rain's mind scrambled like radio static. “Morgan's mother.”

Rain was crouched, so the best she could do was crab-walk away, toward the glass wall that faced the lake. She shot a look toward the class door, on the other side of the room. It was closed, and they were alone.

Dinah dropped down to sit. “I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not going to hurt you, goodness.”

“You shouldn't be here.”

“I know.”

“You could get arrested or something. Witness tampering. Intimidation.”

“I'm not trying to intimidate. But, yes, I know I could get in trouble. I'm desperate.”

“What are you so desperate about?”

“My daughter.”

“I don't want to talk about her.”

Rain had her back pressed up against the glass. The morning was cool outside, and the smooth glass felt steadying. She sat cross-legged and resigned herself to Dinah's presence. She'd throw her out soon, or just leave herself. Dinah did not seem to be physically threatening, though her presence sent waves of adrenaline crashing through Rain's system, even so.

“I know you don't. Look, she thinks she's in love.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“I'm going to lose her. She hates all of us for interrupting her . . . romance. She's all but announced her plans to run away the day she turns eighteen. I may lose her forever. She could get hurt out there; she's not as mature as she thinks she is.”

“Why are you telling me this? And why should I care? Forgive me, but your family has played quite a large role in ruining my life.”

“As yours has done to ours.”

Rain stood up. If this nutcase followed her, she'd call the police, or she'd call Alex. She wasn't sure how exactly, but their lawyer would have a field day with this incident.

Dinah stood, too, and suddenly her face crumpled, anguished. “No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that . . . I blurt things out without thinking; it's my biggest fault. If I can convince my daughter he didn't love her, I can get her back. I can help her see this for what it was . . . I can get her back. It's danger she's in, maybe not literally, as if she's hanging off a cliff, but she might as well be. If she runs away, someone is going to zero in on how vulnerable she is and . . . She'll be prey. Again.”

“So my husband is a predator.”

“I don't know. I don't know what went on . . .”

Rain knew she was lying. That's exactly what she thought.

“I don't know what you think I can do. You are nuts to come here, and if you don't get out in ten seconds, I'm calling the police and our lawyer and telling them you're trying to intimidate me.”

“She's confused. My daughter is lost, and, and . . .”

And then the lady fell apart. Shaking and pale, she folded down on the floor, curling up like she'd gone catatonic. She was muttering to herself something Rain couldn't hear.

And just like that, Rain was in her place, for just a moment, and the compassion rushed through her as quickly as the adrenaline had.

“Okay. I won't call the police. I won't tell the lawyer you showed up. But you really have to get out of here. We can't be seen talking, and I can't help you, anyway.”

Dinah sat back, cross-legged, and held her forehead in her hand. She said, in the voice of someone living through the despair of an idea that only sounded good in her head, “I wanted you to tell her that your husband loves you.”

Rain laughed, looking up at the ceiling. Definitely ceiling, not sky. “Yeah, that would work out perfectly.”

“I guess I thought, if she could see you, if you were real to her, and not just some story he told about a cold, loveless marriage . . .”

Rain drew back. “That's what he said?”

“That's what she told me. That you'd withdrawn from him and stopped loving him because you couldn't have a baby. Don't hate me, I'm just repeating what she told me.”

Rain stepped back again, almost touching the wall, looking down on Dinah still folded up on the floor. “Don't hate you? You come here, to my place of work, stalk me, really, to accost me and demand that I explain to your daughter—who slept with my husband multiple times—that he really loves me, and not her. You're crazy.”

“Not the first time I've been told so.”

“Leave. Right now before I change my mind about calling the police. Don't ever contact me again.”

The lady followed a winding, nearly drunken path to the door, almost crashing into the next free class people. One or two of them looked at her a little too long, and Rain prayed that none of them would recognize her.

 

Rain encountered TJ at home, and he rushed to her with a hug and offered to draw her a bath. His hair was wet from the shower, and Rain remembered the day she'd come home unexpectedly to find him behaving oddly, freshly showered at a strange time.

She nodded numbly to the offer of a bath.

TJ kept asking if she was okay. She nodded and pointed to her throat as if it were sore. “Talking too much,” she said. And he made her tea.

Slipping into the bath, under the bubbles, Rain pictured the girl in her home, in her bed, maybe even in this tub. A wave of nausea rolled through her.

She imagined TJ raking his hands through his hair—his classic gesture of distress—as he confided in the girl, this child, about their infertility. Using the deepest pain of their marriage like a gambit.

The mother could be lying, of course.

But why would she? In fact, that was incredibly foolish of her to show up there. Rain felt sure if she told Alexandra about this, they could get the mother in some serious trouble. If the mother was stalking her, that wouldn't exactly look good for the prosecution's case. It would make the whole family seem deranged and unstable.

Rain rubbed soap bubbles across her itchy belly, which despite everything, made her smile. The baby would be born not caring about any of this. The baby would just love her; the baby would be ignorant of anything but love, and brief hunger, maybe. Sleepiness. Messy diapers. This was the simple world of newborns.

But the baby would grow into a kid, and maybe not be perfect. TJ had seen enough imperfect kids struggling through his classes. Kids with learning disorders and physical deformities. Kids whose parents died of cancer, who resorted to cutting themselves to cope. Kids who grappled with depression, even in the bloom of youth. A musician honor student who thought it was just fine to sleep with her teacher.

Even though she'd resigned herself that somehow, improbably, TJ had actually had an affair with a student, in her mind this girl was a beautiful temptress. A siren. In fact, Rain had given in one day to a sick curiosity and looked up her picture online, finding it in an old news story about some music competition, and her beauty had almost knocked Rain out of her chair. Not to mention the long, dark hair worn much the same way Rain herself wore it now—straight, side-parted, no bangs.

It's easy to hate beautiful girls, and so she did. TJ was going through something, and the girl saw a chink in his armor and charmed him. He was technically wrong, she would allow, but just a few calendar months was all that stood between TJ who briefly fell from grace, and TJ the sex offender. It was all a technicality.

The baby kicked her, and she rubbed the spot as if truly stroking her baby's soft skin. “Shhh,” she said, soothing the baby or herself, she didn't know.

41

W
hen Dinah saw the envelope, she assumed it was another attempt from Helen Demming to buy her business. The formal, neat cursive “Dinah Monetti” on the cream-colored envelope shoved under the door at the Den was perfectly in character.

“Bitch,” she muttered, and picked it up.

Janine was off for the day, and so Dinah was opening the Den herself, just like when she'd first started and didn't have enough revenue to hire much help. She could afford just enough to hire a couple of minimum-wage kids to cover the hours when the kids got home from school. She would dash home for the boys and Morgan, help them with homework, cook dinner, and usually fly back to the Den to help close, not trusting the kids who worked for her to count out the cash drawer or do a thorough enough job cleaning.

It was usually one of the best parts of the day, back then, having sent her employees home, having the whole place all shined up and spotless, ready for the next day's business.

Now she had Janine, and a few shift managers she paid a little more, but the place did not belong to them, and they never could pay it the same loving attention. Crumbs would gather in the corners, tables would get sticky. It never was a dump—Dinah would have knocked heads and fired people over that—but it wasn't the same. If only she could clone herself and have a whole Den-ful of Dinahs.

Dinah ignored the envelope as she set up the cash drawer, accepted delivery of the pastries, and brewed the first pots of coffee. She could stand it no longer, then, and sat at the couch near the fireplace to open up Helen's latest salvo.

In the deliberate, even handwriting of a child just learning cursive and wanting to do it perfectly, she read the following:

You may call me on my cell phone and we'll talk.

That night, for once, Dinah had not minded that Joe was out at a baseball game, cheering on the AV Tigers. She'd plied the boys with some extra TV time after they finished their homework and joined Morgan in her room.

Dinah had rehearsed her speech and swore to herself she would not deviate or blurt impulsively. If she did this wrong, everything could get much, much worse.

Morgan had her cello in place, her eyes closed and her earbuds in. The fingers of her left hand were flying over the strings, but her right arm held an invisible bow. She sometimes did this silent practice, if she felt her instrument would be too noisy for the household. Such a considerate girl; everyone had always said so, since kindergarten when she'd share her crayons, even while they were still pointy and fresh.

Dinah moved into her field of vision. Morgan's eyes stayed closed. She swayed with the music, and Dinah could tell from the sound leaking out that this was her Elgar concerto she was supposed to have played at solo and ensemble, accompanied by Mrs. DeWitt, who was replaced by a college accompanist who turned out to be fictional. An alibi of sorts.

In all that had been lost these last months—all her college applications accepted, for instance, which should have been cause for throwing confetti but now passed with only bittersweet acknowledgment and uncertainty—this competition had been shuffled to the bottom of the list. She could see Morgan mourning now for what she missed that day. It rent Dinah's motherly heart, but she also thought,
Good, maybe now she's starting to see what this cost her.

Dinah finally touched her daughter's shoulder. Morgan gasped, and her eyes snapped open.

“What?” she yelled, and yanked out her earbuds. “It's so humiliating not having a door. You know, I never did anything wrong in here.”

Dinah bit down her next thought, about how she was sending him text messages from this room, planning their assignations.

“Morgan, I have an idea. It's risky, though. Dangerous. And you can't tell anyone.”

Morgan's eyes widened, and she dropped her indignation. She set her cello carefully down on its side in front of her desk. Dinah settled on the edge of her bed, and Morgan remained on her chair, though she scooted it close.

“I did something reckless. I talked to his wife.”

“What? And how? How did you even . . .”

Morgan's breathing shallowed. Dinah placed a steadying hand on her daughter's knee, and for once, she didn't stiffen or flinch.

“I went to her work. But listen: This could get us in a lot of trouble, so you can't tell a soul. But . . . I think you deserve some answers, don't you? And he's not going to tell us the truth right now, maybe not ever. But I think his wife will.”

“Why would she talk to me anyway?”

“Maybe she wants some answers, too.”

“I'm sure she read the police report.”

“That's not the same.”

“What if she, like, tries to beat me up or something? I mean . . .”

“She won't. She seems like a kind soul, actually.”

Morgan shook her head and sat back. “No. Forget it. Something's fishy here. She wants to trick me, to talk me out of testifying.”

“You already said you wouldn't.”

“But she doesn't know that.”

“It's crazy, I know. Forget it. Never mind. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“Why would she tell me the truth anyway?”

“Why wouldn't she?”

“To keep him.”

“Would you want to keep him, if he'd cheated on you with a teenage girl?”

At this, Morgan huffed and turned away, arms folded like a barricade across her chest.

Dinah slumped. It was a stupid idea. She'd risked the case against TJ and getting arrested herself, and it was all for nothing. She began to stand. “I'll talk to your father about the door. He was upset that day.”

“Mom?”

“Yeah?” Dinah turned back at the doorway.

“Did you really do that? Go find her and talk to her?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, well. Lot of good it did.”

Morgan shook her head slightly and picked up her cello again.

 

Dinah was washing dishes when Morgan appeared at her side, rubbing her scar.

“Yeah, okay” was all she said.

Dinah dropped a glass back into the water. Warm soapy bubbles splashed onto her abdomen, soaking her shirt. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Very secret. Top secret. Not a soul else.”

Morgan regarded her with the cool weariness of someone much older. “I can keep a secret just fine. But will she?”

“Yes, I believe she will. She could get in trouble, too.”

Morgan looked down at the floor. “Mutually assured destruction. Learned about that in world history.”

“It's worked so far. The earth is still here.”

Morgan picked up a dishcloth and started drying, without being asked. Dinah wanted to cry. For the simple normality in this action, for all the normality that was lost, for this time that should have been special and precious. They'd gotten their preordered graduation announcements in the mail just yesterday. It was another milestone they should have been relishing but instead struck fear into Dinah at the thought of her daughter graduating in front of everyone, having been publicly shamed. Even as the legally acknowledged victim, there was no doubt that there was shame clouding the air around her like mist. She knew there would be a cadre of parents and faculty who'd rather she just stay home and keep the scandal from marring such an event. God help her, if it had been some other girl, she'd probably have said the same.

Part of Dinah—a bitter shame of her own—wished they would stay home and hide.

Morgan said, her voice sounding small and brittle, “Why did he tell on me?”

“Who? Ethan? Maybe he didn't.”

“Mom . . .”

“Okay, fine. Let's say he did. He told because he cares. He really does love you.”

“Whatever, Mom, he's gay.”

Dinah shook her head in a double take, then shrugged. “Well, so what? He still loves you.”

“Mom? Hello? He loves dudes.”

“Not all love is romantic. Ethan is a boy who cares very deeply. It must be really hard for him to be gay and not be able to care openly like that.”

Morgan grumbled something, and Dinah had to ask her to repeat it. She finally said, louder, “I wasn't supposed to tell you. I didn't mean to.”

“I won't say anything.”

“Not even to him, to say, like, it's fine or something. Okay?”

“I won't, I won't. I promise. He'll come out when he's ready.”

Moments passed when the only sounds were quiet splashing. Then, from Morgan: “It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's not fair.”

“I know, baby. I know. I said the same thing when the boys were born so early.” Dinah shook the water off her hands and put her arm around her daughter. “But things get better.”

“Yeah. Things are so great that Jared drew a marijuana leaf in Sharpie on the inside of his locker.”

“What?”

“Oh. Thought you'd heard.”

“Not that one, no. How did you hear?”

“I checked on him in the freshman hall.”

“You did?”

“You always want me to check on them. I never stopped. Mom, I'm supertired. I need to go lie down.” And with that, she was gone, trotting back up the stairs.

Joe came in just as Morgan was going up. Joe made to talk to her, his arms opening for a hug, but Morgan tossed a curt “Hi” and retreated up the stairs. The pained longing in Joe's face made Dinah want to cry all over again. Instead she wrung out her dishcloth. She was so tired of crying, and it never accomplished a damn useful thing.

“Did they win?”

Joe snapped his attention back to her. “Yeah. Might go to State. Our pitcher did a damn near perfect game. It was something.”

“How were . . . How were people to you?”

“Fewer pitying looks than normal. I think they're kinda getting over it until, well. Later.”

Joe went on, “Ya know, I think Morgan was right about going back to school.”

“You should tell her that.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“No, you should. We haven't given her enough credit.”

Joe scoffed and leaned on the counter, looking at his shoes. “We gave her too much damn credit, doncha think?”

“I mean now. She's courageous to go back into that school.”

“You're doing it again. Unbelievable.”

“Doing what?”

“Putting everything our kids do in the best possible light, making them look perfect. With Morgan you were right most of the time, but you did it with the boys, too, and look where it got them.”

“Where exactly did it get them? Okay, Connor got in a couple fights and Jared got suspended once, but . . .”

“There should be no ‘but'! It's always with the ‘but' with you! But they had unreasonable teachers, but Jared's legs hurt, but Connor has a temper. You know, I deal with parents like you all damn day at school, who come in there and never want to admit there's ever a problem with their angels; it's all someone else's fault.”

“I can't believe you're blaming me for this.”

“I'm blaming the teacher! That Hill, I'd crush his throat if he were in front of me now. After I put his balls in a vise. But you are so quick to look on the bright side and you have to admit that for once, there is no goddamn bright side. Our daughter slept with her teacher, is planning to run away, and we will all be humiliated again in June when the trial starts.”

“Maybe we can ask Henry to reschedule for . . .”

“The trial date is not the point!”

“So what is the point? Tearing me apart because I don't feel bad enough already?”

Joe slumped and crossed his arms. “We all feel bad, Dinah.”

“But you seem to think I should feel the worst of all. I'm doing my best; that's all I've ever done.”

“Me, too.”

“So why are we at each other's throats? Why aren't we in this together?”

Joe kept staring at his shoes. Dinah thought his refusal to look at her might be the very worst part. “We are. But what do you want? Want me to lie and act like I think everything we ever did was perfect? What good would that do?”

“Can't we at least get through this before you pick me apart? All across Arbor Valley people are tearing me apart, and I can't believe I get it at home, too.”

“Believe me, I'm no saint. I'm not saying it's all on you.”

“But it's me who ‘coddled' the kids.”

“Well, yeah, Dinah, it was you. But I wasn't here, as you're always pointing out, so it's not like I'm some big hero.”

“So if you'd been here to supervise me, it all would have turned out perfect.” Dinah tossed down the dishcloth. “I'm going out for a walk. I need a break.”

“Oh, come on . . .” Joe said, the words drawn out with irritation. He stayed where he was, not making a move toward her.

Dinah went right out the door without her phone or purse. If anything fell apart in her absence, Joe would have to deal with it all himself and see how easy it was to be the parent performing triage all the time.

In the driveway, as Dinah shuffled into the spring dusk, already muggy with impending summer, she thought if she'd detected one glimmer of genuine affection from Joe, she wouldn't have walked out. She'd have thrown herself into his strong chest and sobbed, like she'd done before they got old and tired.

She glanced back at the house, the windows aglow with warm light. The sight of her home looking so normal arrested her right there at the edge of their yard, and she stared at the scene, as the equal and opposite impulses to run home and run away rooted her in a kind of stasis.