“Hi, Claudia. It’s Daniel. I’m here with my mom. She’s outside. They only let in one visitor at a time,” Daniel said, in a whisper, so as not to disturb his aunt. “I’m supposed to tell you things, normal stuff, like if we were just talking. But we don’t ever talk that much. I just wanted to tell you that I really like Ramsay, but I don’t think you’ve noticed. I also like Velcro. I hope you bring them when you come over to Bubbe’s so we can play. And maybe someday you’ll invite me to watch how they tape your show. I’m curious to see how they do it. If you make it out of here alive, we should definitely hang out more often.”
Daniel had a few more things to say to Claudia: how much he was into her taste in clothes and how he’d like to have a Malibu beach party in front of her house and invite all his friends, but he stopped suddenly and ran out of the room and into Patricia’s arms with eyes as big as moons.
“She squeezed my hand!”
Saturday, May 14th
So transparent was Olivia’s house that you could stand outside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and see the view on the other side right across the living room. At 7:17 A.M., just when the twins were having their breakfast in the kitchen, a mourning dove crashed against the sliding glass door and died instantly. Olivia would discover it later, its beak pointing sideways, its wing twisted and bloody. She’d hold it in her hands. She’d cry.
Wednesday, May 18th
“May Gray is not only a local climate phenomenon in Los Angeles; it’s a state of mind,” Oscar would mumble to himself sometimes, more so lately. He was well aware that depending on the weather conditions, it could take the form of a depressing marine layer over beach cities, annoying smoke from brushfires pushed by wind against the San Gabriel or San Bernardino Mountains, or a lingering cloud cover that tended to dissipate as the day warmed up. None scared him more than the smoke from a fire. He could guess how far away a wildfire was by the density of the smoke and the color of the haze. If a thin cover of ash lay on his car, he knew the distance was less than five miles, give or take. If he saw embers flying around, most likely it was time to evacuate. But on that day, an innocent marine layer covered the sky, and he sighed with relief.
That evening (last-minute unscheduled family dinner, no husbands), sitting at the head of the table with Keila to his right, an empty chair to his left (assigned to Claudia since birth), Olivia and Patricia in their respective chairs farther down, and Daniel at the far end, he wasn’t sure what state his mind was in. The hand-squeezing incident was still the topic several days after it happened, and everyone had an opinion. Keila thought it was just an involuntary impulse, while Patricia assured everyone that it was the first sign that Claudia was healing. Daniel, being the recipient of the hand squeeze, spoke with the highest authority on the matter: “She communicated with me. I believe she wanted me to know that she is aware of everything that’s going on and that she’s recovering.”
Oscar ate without his usual enthusiasm. On other occasions, he loved to dig into layer after layer of tamales de pollo smothered in salsa verde and Manchego cheese au gratin. But there was just too much turmoil in his head to allow himself to savor it. As far as he was concerned, Claudia’s recovery had stalled. Overwhelmed by a collection of feelings—a mélange of hurt, depression, annoyance to the point of irritation, heck, outright anger, and what felt like boredom but was probably hopelessness—he decided he had all the symptoms of the May Gray phenomenon. He excused himself and walked out of the dining room, leaving his food untouched.
“See what I mean?” said Keila, pointing at the dining-room door, still swinging. “He doesn’t care anymore. I’ve got a zombie husband.”
“What if he’s just sad, Mom?” Patricia came to his defense, reliving in her mind his warm embrace at the hospital.
“Yeah, he’s probably worried about Claudia,” said Daniel.
“I’ve been married to your dad for thirty-nine years, and the man who just walked out of this dining room has zero resemblance to him. So don’t try to protect him. All he talks about, if he says anything, is El Niño this and El Niño that. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Yes, Mom, we’ve noticed, we’re not blind,” said Olivia. “What have you done to help? Have you tried taking him to a psychiatrist?”
Keila wiped her mouth with the napkin and left the table without saying a word.
Thursday, May 26th
“I’m going to walk Ramsay. Come with me, Dad,” said Patricia from outside Oscar’s bedroom door.
“Tomorrow,” said Oscar with his usual raspy morning voice.
“Eric is coming over tomorrow. I haven’t seen him all week. We’re spending the weekend together. Let’s go now.”
“I’m in my pajamas.”
“Throw something on.”
Oscar came out of the room in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his abundant gray hair messy like an abandoned vulture nest, and followed Patricia to the street.
“We better not bump into the Sellys, what with your fashion statement,” she said jokingly under a cloudless sky while she strapped Ramsay’s leash to his fake diamond-studded collar.
Oscar smiled quietly, not giving a damn about his neighbors’ opinion. Patricia, his baby, had been the one daughter whose company he cherished the most. They had an implicit alignment of the minds, never discussed, but always acknowledged by both of them.
They walked down the sidewalk quietly, side by side, stopping briefly to allow Ramsay to sniff the neighborhood’s dogs’ pee on every tree trunk of the jacarandas that lined the street. It was that time of the year when the blossoms fell to the ground and blanketed the streets of Los Angeles in exuberant shades of violet, as if wanting to add pizzazz to people’s strolls.
“Look at this,” said Oscar, pointing at the ground covered in lilac. “It’s better than any Hollywood red carpet.”
“It’s our very own purple carpet,” added Patricia, gently pulling at Ramsay’s leash.
“A magic carpet. It’s a shame we don’t get the jacaranda blooms in the fall anymore. I remember as a kid, they used to bloom twice a year. I wish Washington politicians felt the effects of climate change as much as the jacarandas do.”
Patricia took her father by the arm and screwed up her courage. The conversation she was intending to have with him was long overdue.
“Something’s eating you, Papi, we all know that,” Patricia finally said as they turned the corner. “Mom is at the end of her wits, and you just cruise along, keeping everyone out. And it’s not just what’s happened to Claudia. This started way before the tumor. I really thought you trusted me. Want to share?”
Oscar knew that when Patricia wanted to get something out of him, he had no choice. That’s just who she was; never gave up, never accepted no for an answer. He knew there was no way he could keep the orchard a secret indefinitely; at some point he’d have to come clean with Keila and his daughters. And Patricia was the only one in his entire family whom he felt it was safe to reveal his secret to. So after years of him enduring a paralyzing fear of being found out, the time had come. He stopped, closed his eyes as if he were about to plunge into an abyss, and uttered: “We might lose the crop.”
There. It was said and there was no going back.
“What crop?”
“We have an almond orchard in Kern County.”
“Wait, what?”
Once he started, Oscar confessed the entire situation to Patricia: the secret purchase of the orchard, the drought, and his fear of losing the entire family patrimony, his ancestors’ inheritance.
“Your mother is going to leave me if I tell her about the orchard, and she’ll leave if I don’t.”
Patricia listened quietly, ignoring the constant vibration of her cellphone in her pocket.
“You cannot tell anyone about this until I sort it out. Promise me, Pats.”
“Promise.”
After dutifully picking up Ramsay’s poop and doubling down on her decision never to own a dog, she walked back home with O
scar. It was unfair to her, she thought, to make her an accomplice, the lone person privy to family secrets: first Olivia, with her divorce under wraps, and now her father with the almond orchard. Next thing I know, my mom will be confessing to me that she has a lover, she thought.
Friday, May 27th
Keila locked herself in her studio, fixed her hair, and video-called Simon Brik.
“I wanted to see you,” she said in an unusually tender voice.
“I’m so glad it’s you. I’ve been worried about your daughter.”
“She’s still in a coma, but at least she’s stable. I can’t think of anything worse than losing my child. If she dies, I will die right after her.”
“I wish I could assure you that she’ll be all right.”
“No one can guarantee anything at this point, not even the doctors.”
“And you? How’s your little heart? Are you taking care of it?”
“I am, but sometimes I have the urge to run to your gallery and look into your eyes.”
“You know where the gallery is. Hop on a plane. Come and look into my eyes all you want.”
“With a little encouragement, I would.”
Keila realized that by saying those few words she had advanced her relationship with Simon a million miles toward the intimacy he always wanted.
“Oh, yes? Well, you certainly need a break from the terrible situation you’re in. It’s the only way you can persevere and be there for your daughter for the long haul. No one knows how much care she’ll need when she recovers, and you’ll need all the energy you can muster. I can be the island of peace you need right now to recharge. Just come for a couple of days.”
“You’re so convincing, it’s scary.”
“Do it.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think I can leave Claudia just yet.”
“I know. It’s just my hope talking.”
After Keila hung up, she stared at her cellphone screen, realizing that she hadn’t felt her heart thump, her stomach churn, her breath evaporate since she’d had a devastating crush on Aaron Bergman, a high school classmate who never even said hello to her. The adolescent feelings were like electricity, and unlike Aaron Bergman, Simon Brik was all hers. She launched the search engine in her computer and typed “LAX-MEX direct flights.”
Saturday, May 28th
The white sheets that wrapped Olivia that morning felt like a child’s hideout, safe from the monster, the T. rex. She’d had a disastrous meeting with him the previous afternoon and had cried all evening. Between sighs and weeping bursts she’d managed to write down her feelings. It’s what she did in times of distress. Seeing them spelled out on paper soothed her, even though they were infused with slander and rage. Still, she couldn’t accept the scenario he had described to her and played the scene in a loop.
“I want you to be aware that Felix might get custody of the girls,” said the T. rex, sitting behind his desk. Olivia noticed a family portrait of him, his wife, and three teenagers on the credenza against the window and wondered who’d be so brave or suicidal to marry this monster. “He’ll bring out their near-drowning accident under your parents’ watch as a reason not to entrust you with their care. He will probably demand that the embryos be destroyed, claiming that he cannot be forced into fatherhood. He could keep the house for himself or make you sell it to get half the proceeds.”
Olivia, trying not to break down in front of him, sat across the desk, quietly listening to his darkest scenario, suppressing whatever it was that was boiling inside of her.
“Under these circumstances, we have no choice but to go to court,” he said.
“I refuse. That was my only condition when I hired you.”
“If you don’t accept my counsel, I’m afraid I will have to fire you.”
“When does an attorney fire his client?” She raised her voice, shocked. “You said I could keep custody of the girls without having to escalate the legal process!”
After finally accepting the necessity of going to court, she had left his office defeated, and now she was hiding under the sheets, avoiding the sliver of sunlight that snuck through the drawn blinds and fell on the pillow.
She wasn’t going to answer her cellphone, but it was Gabriel calling from New York.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. It’s fine. I was just getting up.”
“What’s the latest on Claudia?”
“This is not a film project we’re talking about here! Aren’t you in touch with the doctors?” she asked, suddenly furious. “You’re her husband. You’re the one who should be informing us. You should be permanently lashed to her hospital bed. Instead, God knows where the hell you are that’s more important.”
“I’ve been swamped. I’m so sorry.”
“Can you hear yourself talking? Your wife is dying! I just don’t understand what’s going on with you!”
She hung up the phone with a metallic taste in her mouth, as if she’d been sucking on a penny. It wasn’t just that Gabriel had angered the entire family by giving the impression that he preferred his wife to be dead than disabled. Here she was basking in her own misery while her sister fought for her life. She got up, put on some clothes, and drove to the hospital.
Sunday, May 29th
Felix picked up the twins early in the morning to take them on a picnic to Will Rogers Park. Olivia prepared their bags with treats and sandwiches, bottles of milk, two changes of clothes, and several toys. For a moment she was tempted to include a sandwich for Felix, but stopped her impulse immediately. When she closed the door at 9:00 A.M., the house became silent, blissfully silent. Lola had gone home, so she had the entire house for herself to sulk and suffer with compulsion. She went to her bedroom, drew the drapes, and lounged in her bed for twelve hours, only to find that the refrigerator was turned off and everything in the freezer had thawed.
“Ha!” she said in a spark of realization. Why hadn’t she understood what had been happening lately with her home’s smart systems, their bizarre passive-aggressive behavior? Appliances mysteriously turning off on their own, devices acting as if they were alive. Was she too distracted by Claudia’s medical crisis? The divorce? She was furious at her naïveté, at her lack of presence in the real world. No, her house was not haunted, her appliances were not out to get her.
She remembered the morning she woke up covered in sweat. She’d been having a feverish nightmare about Death Valley rattlesnakes creeping around the dunes, leaving their markings in the sand a few feet behind her. She had sat up and checked her forehead with the palm of her hand. Was she sick? Was a fire engulfing the house? She removed the soaked sheets, got up, and noticed that the thermostat was set at eighty-five degrees. Then a couple of days later, after a long drive from Westlake Village, where she was decorating a house, she’d come home to find her garden flooded with water, the irrigation system still going full force. Alarmed at the waste, she looked everywhere for the automatic-sprinkler panel to shut it off, but couldn’t find it. She called the gardener, who came two hours later and fixed the problem by launching an app on his phone and shutting off the water with one click.
But the worst event had come the week before, and this is how it went down: At exactly 3:27 A.M., the live recording of Manowar’s “The Dawn of Battle” began blasting in Olivia’s ears. She jumped out of her bed, still disoriented and half asleep, and wondered if the neighbors were having a wild party. But the music was inside her house. She rushed to the sound-system panel in the living room and tried to turn it off, but didn’t know how. Where were the buttons? She stared at the blank screen on the tablet attached to the wall and tapped it with her fingers, hoping an off button would light up. She wished Felix had installed the app on her phone. Why hadn’t he taught her to use this equipment? Why had she never asked? Now it was acting on its own and pushing her to a state of madness. So much for smart devices. Within a minute, Lola walked in, holding the twins in each hand. The girls ran into Olivia’s arms, scared, whimpering, co
vering their ears.
“What’s going on?” yelled Lola.
The heavy-metal music was so loud Olivia could only raise her arms in disbelief.
“It’s Felix’s music! This is the stuff he listens to in his car!”
But Lola couldn’t hear her. She took the girls out to the patio while Olivia tried to turn the system off. By 4:33 A.M., and only after listening to Manowar’s “Kings of Metal,” “Fighting the World,” “Hail and Kill,” and “Metal Warriors,” she finally found a way to bring up an off button on the screen.
Now, she was in front of her thawed refrigerator cursing Felix in tears of anger and decided to save her rage for when he came back from the park.
“How dare you harass me that way? You’re a monster! A creative one, I admit, but a disgusting man, nonetheless!”
The twins had run inside on Olivia’s instructions to change clothes, as they were going for dinner later at Keila and Oscar’s.
“What are you talking about?” said Felix, widening his eyes for effect.
“The heater, the fridge, the metal band, the sprinklers! Don’t pretend you don’t know. You’ve been manipulating the smart systems remotely just to mess with me. And the girls, I might add.”
“You should thank me for bringing a little excitement to your life.”
Olivia thought of saying “fuck you,” but there were more fitting words to insult him, so she chose: “You subway rat, decomposing roadkill, subhuman specter, toenail fungus, blood-sucking leech, root canal gone wrong, pus-bursting zit, monkey cum, infected hangnail, sidewalk phlegm, underdeveloped penis, and yes, fuck you too,” she calmly said before hearing Felix say, “Now, that was creative.” She slammed the door, her chest cavity burning as if with fever.
Monday, May 30th
Because it was Memorial Day there were more visitors than usual at the hospital. The bustle of family members visiting their sick drowned the beeps and chimes of the vital-sign machines. Children raced along the hallways and nurses reprimanded them. Claudia’s room was oddly quiet. No one had shown up yet except Eric, who stopped by early in the morning on his way to the airport.
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