by Robin Page
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Simon
1
WHEN HE FLIES INTO LAX, HE DOESN’T BOTHER GOING HOME. HE GETS food and water and goes straight to see Lion. The dog is not on the shoulder of the highway. It is true that he is visiting at a different time of day, but he couldn’t wait, not after such an emotional trip. He finds that he has missed the dog. He wants to sit with the dog.
He walks about the grassy berm calling, “Lion, Lion, Lion,” but the animal doesn’t come. Simon sits on the ground waiting. He tries to assuage his panic. He has opened up the food bag. The water is fresh. He calls again. He thinks of fast cars, of people texting. Once, he saw a village dog with its uterus out. The car that ran it down didn’t even stop. Pets are a luxury. In Kigali they do not live inside. No barking after the genocide, he thinks again, as he often does. The corpses of the dogs were piled up, solid as cords of wood, like some strange taxidermy exhibit.
“Lion,” he says again, but he is certain the dog is dead.
The food is there. The water is there.
“I am here,” he says. “Please come,” but the dog is nowhere in sight.
Chapter Thirty
Jocelyn
1
CONRAD AND LUCY ARRIVE EARLY, BUT THEY ARE NOT IN THE ROOM when Jocelyn comes back for lunch. The morning has been full of tennis. Kate has managed to keep Missy in a different group. The lack of contact makes it seem as if they might get away with it. There’s no evidence. Her word against theirs.
Jocelyn assumes Conrad and Lucy are swimming or eating or getting into whatever trouble the two of them get into when she is not around. When I am not around, she thinks. There is no habit here. This is the first time. My daughter is fine. I will not be hard on myself.
There are tiny shoes strewn all over the floor and toys dumped by the French doors that lead outside. Jocelyn sits on the edge of the bed looking at her daughter’s things. The maid has turned down the bed, scrubbed the bathtub. There is no trace of Kate here.
She counts six tiny pairs of shoes—too many for one weekend. In the bathroom, there is a tiny pair of Hello Kitty underwear. Without being beckoned, thoughts of Conrad and Mr. Baird and men come to mind. The moments her daughter might be violated when she is out of her sight. She hates this—the full-color memories, the potential present, the half-formed future. She sits, closes her eyes, starts the tapping before the trauma takes hold.
The imprint of Jocelyn’s perpetrator lives inside her. She is aware of this. The girl too. They are like conjoined triplets. If she tries to kill one of them, she will kill them all.
She opens her eyes. Her heart rate has slowed. She focuses. This is my life, she thinks, staring at the tiny shoes. I can keep her safe. This is what I really want.
But there is that other thing too. She wants it and doesn’t want it. There is that other thing too.
Part IV
Always you will arrive in this city. Do not hope for any other—
There is no ship for you, there is no road.
As you have destroyed your life here
in this little corner, you have ruined it in the entire world.
—C. P. CAVAFY, “THE CITY” (TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK BY RAE DALVEN)
Chapter Thirty-One
Jocelyn
1
THEY ARE BACK IN THE PALISADES FOR JUST A DAY WHEN MISSY GOES TO the director of tennis at the Miramar Club. She speaks as if she is concerned for some moral code within the club’s rules. Coaches and students, she says, especially when married. Jocelyn can picture it: the press of intent, the joy of the revelation, even without proof. Missy reminds the director that Palm Desert is a charity event with sponsors, not a brothel. How will it look for the Miramar Club? My concern is for the children in transition, she might say. Jocelyn has heard her say this phrase on court.
Kate is questioned. She texts Jocelyn after her meeting, giving more brief details:
KATE: If I were a man, if I were straight, can you imagine how many tennis ladies have been fucked by the tennis director?
JOCELYN: I’m so sorry.
KATE: I told him it wasn’t true. But Missy isn’t letting up. We’ll have to take a break. They threatened my job. Delete, delete, delete.
You mean stop, Jocelyn thinks. You just don’t want to say it to me.
JOCELYN: I understand. I’ll see you soon.
She waits and waits for another text. She can’t imagine that they will just go on without even texting.
When there is nothing more from Kate that day, she scrubs the kitchen floor. She worries that Conrad might find out. The malaise she feels is like a heavy anchor tied to her waist. She feels herself sinking. The depression is familiar. Fear exerts itself. She knows what it can lead to. I am bound to the Before. I cannot undo myself.
We’ll have to take a break, she reads again, over and over, and then lies down in her bed.
I don’t know if I can stop, she thinks. I don’t know if I can be without her.
2
THE SCHOOL CALLS. “BRING A CHANGE OF CLOTHES.” SHE HEARS THE voice like a throbbing. Bring clothes. It takes her a moment to register meaning. She goes with a tiny outfit. The nurse’s office. A brown paper bag. Tiny panties, wet with urine. The bag has an animal smell to it, something other than pee. She leans her head into the bag sniffing. The nurse looks at her with disturbed eyes.
“It’s not unusual,” the nurse says, pointing down the hall. Jocelyn rolls up the bag.
Lucy is on a little cot. Jocelyn’s heart is in her throat.
“What happened, my love?” she asks, gently.
Her beautiful daughter looks away.
“What happened, my love?” she asks again. “Did you have a little accident?”
Her daughter sighs. A flash of embarrassment. Jocelyn grips her tiny hand, wanting her to feel that it’s all right.
“I was playing,” she says. “And, they all started laughing.” Tears are shining in the beautiful brown eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart. It happens. It happens.”
She does not ask about the details until later. She waits until they are at home, having a snack. The scenarios move in and out of her brain before then.
“Where’d you get the bag from, lovey?”
“What bag?”
“The bag that had your panties in it.”
“Mr. Baird,” Lucy says, and Jocelyn can’t tell if she looks away.
“Oh really?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Baird help?” Jocelyn says, trying to be neutral.
“He told me to take my wet panties off. See, my uniform was long enough,” Lucy says.
She watches her daughter take a slice of cheese and a cracker. She constructs a little sandwich, nibbles. Lucy hasn’t lost a tooth yet. The baby teeth are firm and set in her little jaw, although the dentist says it is unusual.
“They got a little stuck, but he helped me. We have a bathroom in our classroom. Did you know that?”
Jocelyn holds still. Of course she knows that. She is there all the time, with her eyes wide open.
“Was the door open or shut?” she asks.
Lucy looks at her as if she were speaking a different language.
“Shut,” she says, and then a little panic. “I don’t know what you mean.”
A dullness settles over her. And she sees the hand, and its inevitability. The hand she has seen her whole child life. Why my child? Why my child? Why my child? And the question grows and grows. And the answer blurs and comes clear. You have done this to her. You are me and she is you. Gladys and her consequences. All the things that Jocelyn deserves.
Kate crosses her mind. Another trick. Another setup. A reason to punish her, a sin to suffer for. Why my daughter? Why my daughter?
Fly right, Gladys used to say, and I won’t have to hit you. Why do you make me hit you? A T-shirt, Saturday-morning cartoons. Panties. Young enough not to be thinking about how exposed her body is. She weighed forty-eight pounds when she
was eight years old. Six times eight is forty-eight, Ycidra would say. You got to be smart to get out of here, Jo. A hairbrush, flat and hard on the back of her head. Ycidra begging, screaming for her mother to stop. Hit me. Hit me. The sparkle of stars in front of her eyes, like fireworks, a cheerleader’s pom-poms on the third hit. Flintstones—Meet the Flintstones. And then Gladys, a word for every stroke. Get-Some-Clothes-On-You-God-Damn-Slut.
“Can I have some more cheese?” Lucy asks.
“Yes, my little darling. I’ll get it for you right away.”
3
SHE CANNOT SLEEP FOR MORE THAN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AT A TIME. When she wakes, she can think only of Mr. Baird and Kate, think only of the punishment she deserves. She goes to the balcony and looks out at the sea. Why didn’t he just send her to the nurse? Why did he undress my daughter? She feels dazed. She thinks about going to the principal, but what can she say? How can she stop this? There will be another one, another school, another man, maybe the principal. She knows they are everywhere.
Minutes go by and then hours. There are animals in the sea at night, pelicans, gulls, and even the shadow of whales unmoving, maybe sleeping, in the water. She sees Kate at the bottom of the ocean, her mother deep in a grave, a man’s fingers, pinching tiny panties.
A tap on her shoulder. She jerks and flinches.
“It’s just me,” Conrad says. “Please don’t be afraid.”
She has fallen asleep in the chair.
“Come on, honey,” her husband says. “Come to bed now. You’ve got to get some sleep.”
HER HUSBAND WATCHES HER. SHE KNOWS HE IS TRYING TO CONTROL HER descent. She would like to tell him it is impossible, but he is such a hopeful man.
“Stay busy,” he says. “It’s physical, Jocelyn. It’s just something you have, like straight teeth. You have to fight against it. Are you going to therapy?”
She listens to his lists, his invitations, his solutions. She takes Lucy to the club. She is patient with her homework. They drink Shirley Temples and order on the family tab.
I am doing what he tells me, she says to her reflection in the club’s bathroom. Her cheeks are flushed like a fanatic. I am doing what he tells me. Am I being good enough? Around every corner, she is worried she will see Kate.
Following the directions will keep her safe. Behaving will work to protect her daughter. I should not have sinned, she thinks. If I am willing, if I behave, then it will stop.
She doesn’t go near the courts, but just stays in the pool area. She and her daughter jump. One high-dive jump after another. I am the best mother in the world, she tells herself, devout as a zealot. She jumps again and again, as many times as Lucy wants. She will do anything for her daughter. She does it for her daughter, until Lucy is tired.
THE RELATIONSHIP IS OVER. THEY DO NOT TEXT. THEY DO NOT SPEAK. IT ended when it ended, just as they said. It is a rupture, without transition. It is the tearing away of flesh. It takes a while for her to realize though. She is like the machinist who in the minutes after losing his arm, still feels the itch on the wrist.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Simon
1
HE LOOKS FOR THE DOG EVERY DAY. HE WANTS TO DRAW IT TO HIM. HE brings a large travel crate, a soft cushioned bed inside, his own dirty shirt. He will smell me, even when I’m not here. He leaves.
He comes back every day, even though he tries not to. He realizes it’s a compulsion. Insanity. How long will it go on? On the seventh day, he brings a pig’s ear and a cow’s hoof—two very smelly items. The Pet Express employee claims dogs cannot resist them. He sets the items in the crate. He leans into the crate. He smells the blankets to see if Lion has been inside. It does not smell like dog. He straightens the blankets. Lays his own body there. He drifts off to sleep.
He hears the sound of the animal before he sees it. The breath is like a bull’s, forceful and low. He lifts up, bumps his head on the ceiling of the crate. He hears the soughing of the muscular body and the quick pounding of feet. Simon pulls his head out. The dog is running toward him from the east, from the dilapidated greenhouse. He seems wild. Is he baring his teeth? Simon stands quickly. He thinks of rabies, of bugs in the brain. The sleep has made him disoriented. Is he coming for me? Is he coming for me?
Simon slowly backs up, forgetting the crate behind him. The backs of his knees hit it. He falls on his ass.
“No,” he says. “No, no, no!”
He keeps his eyes on the dog, feels a pain in his left wrist. He crab-walks on all fours, tries to scuttle away, but he has sprained something. He has injured himself.
He lifts his hurt wrist. Holds it in his good hand. The dog moves in circles around him. The circle closes, the mouth, the jowls. Simon can see the spittle spewing from side to side.
“Please no, Lion,” he says, but the dog is upon him. “Please no.”
Simon attempts to protect his face. He squeezes his head behind his arms. He thinks he should stay covered. He thinks how stupid he is, how afraid he is. Why would he ever trust a dog like this?
He closes his eyes, waits for the bite. He waits and he waits and he waits. There is the sick smell of the dog’s breath. Seconds pass as the dog sniffs him patiently, all over. There is the tickle of whiskers on his forehead. The spray of spit. Simon stays perfectly still, perfectly quiet, playing dead. He opens one eye, closes it, and then suddenly, a lick. Light and tentative. The end of it like a soft thistle. Tongue to cheek next. Then tongue to his tender hand. Simon looks out through his fingers. The dog sniffs again. Finds the center of Simon’s palm and licks again. He must smell the ear, the hoof, Simon thinks. He sits up slowly, dust sticking to his wet hand. The dog freezes. He is there, his head as big as his own. They are face-to-face. Simon looks down. He thinks he has moved too suddenly.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he says as if the dog can understand.
There is another lick then, right across Simon’s nose, totally intentional, a head bow, as if in worship, and then the dog’s rump in the air. His shape is like a small slide. Simon works up the nerve to reach out, but when he moves to touch the dog, Lion barks and canters away.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jocelyn
1
“SO?” MAUD SAYS, JUST THAT. THEY ARE IN JOCELYN’S CONDO—DINNER, a playdate for the kids. Conrad has planned it with Scott. A Sunday-night surprise for the wives. Jocelyn hates it.
“So, what?” Jocelyn says.
“Come on. Tell me. We’ve all heard.”
“What have you heard?” Jocelyn asks, feeling completely defeated. When Maud says nothing, Jocelyn says, “God, I hate her.”
Maud says, “I told you. Why don’t you listen to me? Tennis makes everyone twelve again.”
“Ha!” Jocelyn says, but her voice is without humor. “Did she say anything to you?”
“She knows better than to say anything to me, but she’s insinuating. We all just laugh. I mean those of us who know you. Nobody believes her. It’s too ridiculous.”
Jocelyn finds herself reaching out and squeezing Maud’s hand.
“You’re too sensitive, Jocelyn. You can’t let this shit get to you. You worry about everything.”
“She hates me. I don’t even know why she hates me. She’s not going to stop saying stuff. She has it out for me.”
“Who cares?”
Jocelyn doesn’t speak for a moment. She feels tears coming to the surface and doesn’t want to cry. She is so tired. She longs for sleep.
“Tennis was making me better, you know. I’ve just been under things. My mom dying, and Conrad is gone all the time, and it’s just all so hard. It’s so hard to be a really good mother. I want to be a really good mother, but I can’t do anything right.”
“Honey, it isn’t true. Don’t let her do that to you. If people don’t talk about you, then you should worry. That’s my motto.”
Jocelyn sighs and Maud goes on. “Missy is just weird about Kate. She’s been like this. I mean before you even started playing at th
e club. We used to make fun of her. I should have warned you. It’s a girl crush.”
Maud pauses, and Jocelyn feels uncomfortable, exposed.
“I’m not sleeping. I have to figure out a way to sleep.”
“Let’s have a shot,” Maud says. “You need to loosen up. I have Ambien. I’ll give you some. Don’t even worry about it. You need to give yourself a break. You’re too hard on yourself. Go get the tequila.”
“Okay,” Jocelyn says. “I’ll get the tequila.”
She gets two shot glasses, the salt shaker, and two lemon slices. She is pleased that Maud has defended her. They throw the shots back perfectly and slam the glasses down on the table like two sorority girls.
“One more,” Maud says, and after that one, Jocelyn feels a buzz in her body, not just in her head. The tingle of tequila.
“The thing is, Jocelyn,” Maud says. She is whispering, leaning into her more closely. “Whether you are fucking Kate or not . . .” She puts both hands up in a gesture of submission. “You should come back to drill. The fact that you don’t hang out anymore, you don’t come to tennis at all, makes you seem guilty. It doesn’t look good. You’ve got to go. Let’s go tomorrow—together. Trust me. I’ve been there, done that.”
Jocelyn feels her face drop for a half a second. She isn’t clear what Maud is confessing: Sex outside her marriage. Sex with Kate. Her face grows hot.
“Oh, my,” Maud says. “Oh my! Are you doing it?” she whispers intensely. “I had no idea.”
Maud pours a third shot, swigs it back, and sort of laughs.
Jocelyn doesn’t want to go to drill, and she can’t have this conversation.
She points at her own empty shot glass. Maud fills it and then fills her own again.
“Wow,” Maud says. “Cheers, girl. You are a mystery. Let’s get drunk. I think I’m sleeping over. We’re all sleeping over.”
2
MAUD’S FAMILY STAYS IN THE LARGE GUEST SUITE, AND IN THE MORNING through her hangover, Maud tells Jocelyn they will never speak of it again. They are standing side by side in front of Jocelyn’s master bathroom mirror, putting on makeup, getting ready for drill.