by Kris Ripper
“It’s on me. Show me to the door, let’s make sure it all fits together before we take it out. I could probably still return it, but why put in the time?”
Show him to the door, right. Her door. To her bedroom.
He’s just helping. He’s a nice guy.
All true. But he had those damn dimples.
“Lisa’s door is the first on the right.” Singer turned pointedly to Jake. “Do you think Miles would like popsicles? Or is he too young?”
Jake shook his head. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Mom you’re buying Miles popsicles.”
“Good tip.” Singer looked over his shoulder at her and made a face, wide-eyed and insistent.
Oh. Right. Her door.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “This way.”
Emery followed without speaking, and Lisa was grateful that he didn’t try to brush it off or make ridiculous small talk.
“This is—my door.” She had a strange, almost irresistible impulse to add, “This is the church and this is the steeple,” like that old rhyme they used to do as kids, hands folding into a church, then opening to display all the people inside.
Lisa, focus. Hot guy trying to install something you need.
“Um. Here. I can get the lights.” She flicked the hall and bedroom lights on and realized that the side table was still pushed in close, where she left it when she wasn’t there for ease of shoving back in place. “Oh god. Sorry. I didn’t think— No one ever comes back here—”
“Totally all right.” Emery dropped to a knee beside the door. “Yeah, so this lock will work fine.” He opened the bag and handed her the plastic-packaged doorknob. It was a regular sort of twist lock, but with a keyhole.
“I could lock it when I left the room.”
“I figured there wouldn’t be much point in getting you one that you could only lock from the inside. And that it might make it easier for you to leave, if you could lock up.”
“Yeah.” She put the doorknob down and sat on the side table. Sitting on the bed would feel weird. She had to get into the habit of closing it up, if only to make it less likely she’d crawl back inside in the middle of the day. “I need to get a job, you know? But I haven’t worked in … a long time. It’s hard to start again. Hard to even imagine it.”
“I don’t know much about the place where you lived, except that everyone seems happy you’re out of there.”
“They say it’s a cult.” She swallowed, watching him slice open the hard plastic with a pocketknife, one long straight line, consistent pressure. Emery’s movements were efficient and smooth.
“Was it? I mean, I don’t know exactly what makes something a cult, but I’m pretty sure no one wakes up in the morning and decides to join one. How did you end up there?”
Was there a good answer to that? Probably not. But unlike when Mother’s specialists asked, Lisa felt like talking.
“It made sense, at the time. The people seemed so nice. And there was a man.”
Emery smiled at her. “Isn’t there always a man?”
She hesitated. Was Emery gay? Did it matter?
“He was beautiful. Not physically— Well, yes, physically, in a kind of Jesus way, which I guess was probably what he was going for.” And she’d fallen for it. Had they all fallen for it? Had Di known what he was doing to them? The other men, Tad, John?
“But was he one of those charismatic guys, like even if he’d been ugly, he still would have been attractive?”
“Yes. Yeah, that’s exactly it. Because I thought he was so magnetic. And there was this idea that—I don’t know if anyone said it or I just believed it—that if you devoted yourself to the family, you could be like that. Special. God, that sounds so pathetic.”
“I don’t think so. Everyone wants to be special.” He was unscrewing the old doorknob now.
“I guess so. But you didn’t follow a guy who looked like Jesus to a farm and live there for three years, Emery.”
“Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t have, at certain points in my life.” He shrugged. “I was never without Alice. She’s probably the reason I lived this long. I used to drift a lot, but she’s never let me get far.”
“Is that why you’re here? I mean, I can tell you guys aren’t from California.”
“New Jersey by way of New York City.”
They didn’t sound strongly like New Jersey, or at least not like the New Jersey in movies.
“And kind of. I always wanted to move to the West Coast, but Alice thought it’d make us soft. Then she fell in love with Carey, and the rest is history.” He smiled up at her. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d ever leave New York.”
“She doesn’t sound all that … New York.”
“Oh, she does sometimes, but Alice adapts. When she’s with all you California kids, she talks a little slower, with a more laid-back rhythm. Go stand on a corner in Queens with her and you’ll hear a different Alice. Actually, it’s always the same Alice, but her voice tricks out to match whatever she’s doing.”
“I always wanted to travel. When I was younger. I would have loved to move to New York.”
“Why didn’t you?” Emery pulled out the last screw and jiggled the knob until it came loose. “Not that I know anything about your family, really, but it doesn’t look like you guys were deprived when you were growing up.”
“No. We weren’t. I’m not sure. I think I was afraid to do something so out of the ordinary, even though it wasn’t, really.”
“I’m not a huge fan of ordinary. I’m pretty much never satisfied unless I’m looking at the next shiny thing. But we moved to the West Coast, which I’ve wanted to do since I was probably six or seven years old. The beaches all looked so clean in the TV shows, you know?”
She offered a smile. “That’s why I went to LA for school. I thought I’d be at the beach like every day.”
“I dreamed of doing that, too. Is that how it was?”
“Not exactly. The farm—the place where I lived—was on the coast. It was fantastic. We grew our own food, and we had this huge property to ourselves, owned by this rich old couple who gave all their money over to the family. The kids ran around naked as long as it wasn’t cold out. I actually helped grow plants—food, you know—with my hands, and it was amazing. I had no idea I could do that.” She paused, knowing it sounded foolish, but unable to stop. “I mean, you know, now I think about it and it was straight out of some weird hippie commune dream, but at the time it seemed so … unique. It felt like we were the first people to ever live in harmony, almost like we’d invented it.”
“I wonder if that’s an element of human behavior. That thirst to be the pioneer.”
“Yeah. It felt like we’d discovered a little utopia.”
Emery began on the screws for the new doorknob. “That sounds pretty amazing, Lisa.”
Was he messing with her? Trying to trick her? No, be rational, trick you into what? But he seemed so sincere, and what did that sounds pretty amazing mean?
“I’m not trying to recruit you,” she whispered, leaning forward until her bangs hid her eyes. They were far too long, but not long enough to pull back.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry.” He swiveled on his butt toward her and put down the screwdriver. “I’m so sorry if it sounded like I was mocking you. I wasn’t. If some pretty man had serenaded me with all that, I can totally see myself going for it.”
She looked at him through the imperfect curtain of her hair. “Are you gay?”
“Bi. Does that bother you?”
She shook her head.
“I, uh, didn’t mean to act flippant, Lisa.”
“No. I believe you. For whatever that’s worth, which isn’t much.”
“It’s worth something to me. I’m almost done here, then we’ll test it out. I’ll leave the other doorknob, though, because I’m not sure how a loc
k like this would affect your resale value.” He turned back and finished the job while she watched.
Could Anthony have changed out a doorknob? Probably, but he wouldn’t have. Could she?
She surveyed the tools, went over the steps in her head.
Yes. She could have done this. It would have taken longer, but she could have done it, if she had to.
Lisa sat back up. Was that foolish? Surely anyone could change a doorknob. Still, the sudden certainty that she could have done this insignificant thing filled her with satisfaction. Probably undeserved satisfaction.
“There you go. Okay, I’ll stand outside, you lock it.”
“Okay.”
The door—her door—shut between them. She flipped the lock and Emery tried the knob. No go. She unlocked it and opened it again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Here, try from the outside.” He pressed two keys into her palm, and for a second she didn’t want to let go of his hand. “Pretend you’re going somewhere. Maybe with me. Lock up like we’re leaving.”
Lisa blushed and slipped out. The keys worked. She tried both, just to make sure.
“I can’t— I’m not sure how to thank you for this.”
“You already did. I’m glad it helps.” He gathered his things and packed the old knob in the Home Depot bag, which he handed her. “You might stick this somewhere.”
“Okay.”
Emery caught her eye and smiled. “It was cool talking with you, Lisa.”
“You too. Thanks for not … judging me.”
“I figure judging people mainly demonstrates a lack of perspective, you know? I try to have perspective.” He mimed framing something in front of him with his camera. “Anyway, I’ll see you around.”
“Great.” Oh jeez, did she really just say that?
He dimpled at her, and she forgave herself for sounding like an idiot.
She walked him to the door and tried to ignore Jake and Singer, but they were staring at her like she owed them something.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jake said.
“Or maybe something,” Singer added.
She held up her two keys, stuck between her knuckles like claws. “Don’t make me cut you.”
Singer laughed out loud. Jake grinned at him like his laughter was the best thing that had happened all week.
Enough of being out. She waved and retreated to her room.
Yes. The door locked. She held the only two keys right here, in her hand.
After a second she pushed the side table up against it just because it made her feel better.
The memory of Emery’s smile stayed with her for the rest of the day. Even Mother’s announcement that they’d be going back to therapy didn’t dent the reality of that smile.
17
Singer
32 days with Miles
Singer went into work again—and he hadn’t volunteered this time, but he also hadn’t complained—and circulated the new round of photos on his phone. He endured the questions and excitement with patience, part of his brain worrying about what was happening back at the house and the other part entirely relieved to be anywhere else. He’d left four messages for Brandi, who wasn’t returning them, to ask how things were going and when the next court date would be.
When he sat down to actually run the round of reports he only had access to on the internal server, he took a second while the computer was booting up to check for messages again. And to text Alice.
At work. Check on J&M for me?
Sure thing, little brother.
Alice was technically an only child. She’d been mystified and exhilarated to find herself folded into the Derrie melodrama.
Should he tell her to check on Lisa, too? But no, Lisa, at least, would be safe behind her lock. He supposed it would be strange to install one on the master, even though it was tempting. Brandi might have questions at the next home visit if keyed locks started showing up on all the interior doors.
Oh, god. They had a visit scheduled for next week, and it was looking far less likely that Mother would … spontaneously decide to leave. They’d been up front about Lisa (“A temporary guest shouldn’t be a problem,” Brandi had said, emphasizing temporary guest), but Mother moving in might make them look like a halfway house for wayward relatives. How was he going to explain that away?
A throat cleared. “Sorry I missed your arrival.”
Singer forced himself back to the present moment. “Hi, Victor. It was a repeat of last time, no worries.”
“Kara keeps telling me to quit smoking, so I only do it when I’m here. I’m beginning to think going out every forty-five minutes for a cigarette lowers my productivity.” He smiled ruefully.
“Can’t quit, though?”
“It doesn’t feel like I want to, yet. Aside from the health risks, the expense, and the constant badgering. I guess I don’t want to enough.” He raised his eyebrows. “She keeps asking when you guys are coming to dinner.”
Dinner with the Republican Christians and their three adopted children. Kara would be blond with bright highlights and perfectly pressed clothes. The kids would be mixed-race and impeccably presented. Singer wasn’t sure how to politely decline until it occurred to him that Mother couldn’t possibly follow them to Victor’s house.
Of course, they’d be leaving Lisa. But she had a lock now between her and Mother. She’d be fine.
“That sounds great. Our schedule’s pretty open, so name the day.”
“How about next Saturday? Will Miles be okay for the drive?”
“I think so. He seems—mostly placid. Is that odd, in a ten-month-old? Or, eleven months now.”
“Do yourself a favor and don’t look at all those lists about what’s normal for each age. Maybe they work well for children who, uh, have no challenges, but you can go crazy comparing your kid to them. Kara spent a lot of time on websites that told her Rache was up to this standard or not up to that standard, and none of it was in any way helpful.” He shut his mouth, like there was something else he wanted to say and then didn’t. “Anyway, Saturday. Early, so the kids are in good spirits. Say, four?”
“I’ll make sure when I talk to Jake, but that sounds good, Victor. And—thank you.”
“Thank Kara. I’ll text you the address.”
Singer nodded and went back to his reports.
*
“A family date!” Frankie crowed.
“Kindly keep your voice down, Frances,” Singer mumbled, shooting a look at the guesthouse.
They were eating takeout Indian food around the back table. Miles was sitting on Alice’s lap picking at her food while she described it all to him. Emery had taken the seat beside Carey and across from Lisa. Singer reminded himself that despite Mother’s presence, he still had a right to have friends over.
It was almost hard to remember back when they’d first been in the house and informal dinner parties had happened all the time. This shift in customs could not be laid at Mother’s feet; once Frankie moved out, the house took on more of a “couple” vibe than a “group” vibe, and the Irregulars had stopped dropping by with quite the same frequency.
“We haven’t done movie night in a long time,” Singer said.
“Movie night?” Carey asked.
Frankie waved her hand, which was holding the phone she hadn’t put away since she set down her fork. “Damn, we haven’t done movie night in a really long time. We should do it again, boys. I’ll bring the booze. Not next weekend though, because you two have a family date. Ah ha ha ha!”
Miles spit out whatever it was Alice had given him. Alice burst into laughter. After a second, Miles grinned and stuck his tongue out again.
“I guess it would be a family date,” Carey said thoughtfully. “Huh. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.”
�
��I like it,” Alice added. “Do they have black kids? It’d be cool for Miles to know some other black kids being raised by white parents. That feels like something you’d want to make sure he was aware of.”
He glanced at Jake, who was staring at her.
“Whoa, this just got real.”
They’d had months to read and research and come up with plans, but so far in the month since Miles arrived, they hadn’t put any of it into action.
“We underestimated how exhausting this would be.” Singer glanced, again, at Jake.
“Hey, remember when we were all, ‘Oh, we’ll find a black community center, and we’ll get the books and the dolls and stuff.’”
“Or a Latino community center, or an Asian one. I remember.”
But parenting hadn’t left them time to even think about any of that. Everything that wasn’t formula, diapers, adoption, or sleep had been pushed from their minds. And this was with two of them home almost all the time; in another month they’d start back part-time at each of their jobs, an arrangement that had seemed so reasonable when they’d organized it all with their incredibly wonderful, supportive employers.
“That’s a good idea.” Emery pointed his camera down the center of the table. Singer resisted the urge to wipe food off Miles’s face. “I think that kind of thing helps with the potential isolation of adoption.”
“Are you adopted?” Lisa asked.
“Oh. No. I guess it’s more that I’m invested in weird families. Right, Alice?”
Alice ruffled his hair. “Damn right. Thank god for Mrs. Murphy, or me and Em wouldn’t have eaten as kids.”
Jake smiled. “Thank god for Mrs. Murphy or we would be heating our bottles in pots of water on the stove. And the microwave hasn’t messed him up yet.”
The door to the guesthouse opened, and the table fell silent except for Miles, who’d started slapping his hand down on Alice’s plate. She pulled everything too splatty out of the way and let him make a mess with what was left of her chana dal.
“Quite the party.” Mother didn’t slow down on her way into the house.
“She’s so uncomfortable,” Alice murmured once the door slid shut. “Every time I see her I feel her anxiety.”