“Tell me,” Paul said finally, “how you expect to make a living. You and Jenn.”
“We charge a small fee for our workshops. Even now one can live simply in India.”
“What happens when life gets more complicated? Jenn’s accustomed to comfort.”
“I know you have offered her every convenience. But she tells me material things have never been her focus.”
Burger done, Paul started on his fries, twirling them one at a time in ketchup, licking the grease and salt from his fingers, watching Arun’s face for a reaction.
Arun continued, “I admire Jenn’s commitment. She often says she learned the value of discipline at home. I must thank you and Mrs. Adler for raising her so beautifully.” Arun wiped hands on his napkin and placed it, folded, on the table.
Everything Arun said rang false. Jenn was no fashion plate, but no one would call her ascetic. She liked gobs of chunky jewelry with her secondhand clothes. She liked her pie à la mode and two sugars in her coffee. Evidently, she liked Arun’s brand of sugar. Paul pushed his plate away and stood.
“We’d better get back. Maggie will wonder what I’ve done with you.” He picked up the check, intending to leave a magnanimous tip.
As they climbed the steps beneath the portico, Maggie opened the door to greet them. She looked wilted despite her Sunday clothes.
“Arun, Jenn is waiting for you upstairs. She wants to show you something.” Turning to Paul, “I gather you’ve had lunch? You’ve been gone a while.”
“Yeah, we ate at the club.”
Arun nodded thank-you and went inside. Maggie beckoned and Paul followed her through the living room onto the porch. They sat in plastic chairs with floral-print cushions—a housewarming gift decades before. Sunlight warmed them, although the breeze was cool. Paul glanced at the weathered wooden swing set at the back of the yard. They’d had a lot of fun with it when Jenn was young, and the neighborhood kids had come round.
“Well?” Maggie said.
“I didn’t get much. He said Jenn wants to go to India with him to work in schools. Doesn’t sound like a winner to me.” Paul didn’t want to be grilled. He didn’t want to spend an hour going over the lunchtime conversation in excruciating detail, as Maggie would want. He rose. “She’s too smart to fall for flimflam. Maybe it’s temporary, the lure of the exotic. She’ll get over it.”
Maggie leaned forward and hugged her chest with both arms. “I don’t think so. Have you noticed that nothing riles her? Her sauciness is gone. She doesn’t argue with me. It’s like she’s floating above things.”
“That’s because she’s a vegetarian.”
Maggie didn’t smile. “I don’t think that’s the explanation.” Her eyes searched his face.
“I’m gonna go do some real science. Inoculate myself against what we’ll hear over dinner. If he plays poker, after dinner I’ll clean his clock.” Paul turned into the house.
“Be careful, Paul,” Maggie said to his back.
Picking up the briefcase he’d left at the top of the stairs, he descended to the basement. He turned on the lights and fired up the old computer at his desk. When the blue screen appeared, he opened a browser and searched on “Hindu sages.” A mess of pages appeared—some in curlicue script with a line along the top; some studded with links to long words in which all the syllables contained the letter a. The articles read like gibberish, strings of long names that referred to one another. Too much to swallow. He’d take this guy on later.
He clicked over to his email. There at the top of his inbox stood the name Hope Caldwell. He deleted it.
EIGHT
Maggie pulled up outside the two-story colonial that housed the domestic shelter for which she volunteered, Arun beside her in the passenger seat. She parked beneath the bare branches of an oak, and they walked to the front door, painted deep pink against the light pink of the facade. Maggie explained that the original population of battered women had wanted a color that signaled safety. Arun replied that his mother was one of the first to sponsor breast cancer awareness in Bangalore, and he understood the value of pink. He opened the door for her to pass and followed her into the foyer.
In an imperious voice—the voice of the adventurer who had gone off to India—Jenn had insisted that Arun accompany Maggie on pet therapy duty. Maggie had demurred, but Jenn said it would be a great way for them to get to know each other, since helping was a value they shared, and Arun joined his palms in front of his chest in what Maggie took to be a gesture of supplication. So she’d called the shelter to ask if she could bring a man with her, just this once, just to observe. When she told Paul the plan, he asked if she’d enjoy Arun kissing her ass. Maggie told him to stop talking testosterone and resolved to make the best of the visit.
The house smelled like an elementary school, like sweaty children and cafeteria cooking. Kids’ drawings covered the foyer walls; the furniture and paint were nicked and scuffed. They could hear a radio playing and dishes clinking somewhere in the background.
Two boys about waist high tumbled downstairs from the second floor and ran around Maggie’s legs, exclaiming, “Jupiter, Jupiter.” She laughed and lifted her tote bag to safety overhead. Arun looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“The dog’s name is Jupiter. The kids can’t wait to see him.” The boys ran to the door, pushing each other aside to grab the latch handle.
“I too. I look forward to seeing the therapy a dog can provide.”
“Jupiter’s just a dog. These kids don’t have pets, so he’s special to them. Louise and I do the therapy part. Someone from the shelter sometimes sits in with us, mostly to control the kids.”
“And have you been trained to give therapy?”
“No, neither of us. But it’s not hard to see what to do. The kids need so much, and so many of them are scared.”
A chubby girl who looked to be about ten approached from behind and circled arms around Maggie’s waist. Maggie twisted shoulders to face her. “Hello, Britney. Are you excited to see Jupiter?”
The girl nodded. “Can I hold the leash?”
“Sure. In fact, we’re going to need your help today with the younger kids. Miss Louise has a tough project. You’ll be the leader.”
Britney let go and skipped over to the door, taking charge of the handle. The boys gave way and disappeared around the foot of the staircase. Britney smirked and waved at Maggie, as if to signal her command of the situation. Maggie waved back.
“The young lady seems to know you,” Arun said.
“Louise and I bring the dog here every Monday, and we get to know the long-term kids. The shelter tries to move the women into permanent situations as quickly as possible, but it’s not always possible. I’ve gotten fond of Britney. In another setting, she’d show a lot of promise.”
“But she has already shown promise. To you.” Arun inclined his head two inches and joined his palms.
Maggie didn’t know how to reply. He must have understood her meaning, yet he had turned it around into a comment about her. She felt her guard rise. She didn’t want to banter with Arun. She wanted to stay objective, the better to protect Jenn. She took off her old leather jacket and hung it in the closet beneath the staircase while Arun waited in the foyer.
The front door opened and Britney squealed. Jupiter trotted in, Louise right behind him. In a flash, the two little boys reappeared. The three children hugged the dog, a big, reddish retriever who stood patiently. Louise, a lean woman in her sixties wearing an orange sweatshirt and carrying a big turquoise bag, clapped her hands and said, “Everybody into the playroom. Britney, take the bowl out of my bag and bring Jupiter some water, hon. Isaac, go get your brother and sister.”
They followed Jupiter into what would have been the parlor when the building was a home, a bright, bare room with a linoleum floor, shelves along the walls holding books and bins of playthings, and a round table with plastic chairs. Louise smiled hello at Arun and ushered the children into a circle around the tabl
e, placing her bag in the middle. Arun stayed back while Maggie fished pencils out of her tote. Without warning, Isaac rushed past Arun, followed by two smaller children holding hands, looking wide-eyed at the dog.
“Who knows what holiday is coming up later this month?” Louise asked in her “take charge” voice.
“Thanksgiving,” Britney said. “Everybody knows that.”
“Right. And we’re going to get Jupiter ready. Last week you helped Miss Maggie and me give Jupiter a bath. And he liked it, didn’t he? It feels good to be clean.”
Still holding hands, Isaac’s siblings inched closer to the dog. Jupiter’s bushy, wagging tail swiped their chests. They stepped back and giggled. Together they reached grubby hands toward the tail. Maggie bent down to ask them to join the circle at the table so they could take part in the activity. They hesitated, then went to stand on either side of Isaac, who leaned so far over the table that his stomach crunched on the edge as he fingered the brushes, papers, scissors, and ribbon that emerged from Louise’s bag.
“We’re going to groom Jupiter. That means brush his hair and look for any bad spots on his skin, like a sore. And then we’re going to make him a Pilgrim hat.” Louise held up a photocopy of a Chihuahua wearing what looked like a fedora with a buckle above the brim. “It fits over the ears. Isn’t it cute?”
“Can I use the scissors?” Isaac said.
“You’re too little,” Britney said.
Handing her orange construction paper, Maggie said, “Britney, why don’t you show Isaac how to use them properly. I’ll make sure everyone stays safe.”
Maggie backed the car out and headed for the boulevard while Arun sat silent, hands folded in his lap. It had been a good visit: Britney and Isaac had gotten along better than in past weeks; she’d taken a charming photo of Louise and the kids crowding around Jupiter wearing the dumb hat. She’d email it to the shelter for their newsletter. Perhaps she’d print it large, frame it, and bring it next time. She smiled, thinking about the commotion it would create among the kids. They’d be so proud.
Arun’s voice intruded. “The children seemed to enjoy themselves. May I ask, Mrs. Adler, why you do this work?”
“Louise needs another person to help. Things can get out of hand pretty fast.” She checked the mirror and steered the car into the left lane. She didn’t want to share confidences with this alien man, but it would be churlish not to explain.
“I met Louise years ago when we had a retriever. She and I used to exercise our dogs together. After we had to put Silly down, I kept in touch. When she started doing pet therapy, I agreed to help.” At the time, Maggie had guessed that Louise wanted to work at shelters to expiate her own past abuse. But her brassy bravery struck a chord; the two women volunteered together without belaboring the past. Over time, pet therapy had become just as important to Maggie. The kids needed all the mothering they could get. She wanted to be the stranger whose gratuitous loving kindness made an impact, if ever so slight, like the fairy godmother she’d read about as a child and wished she had. She couldn’t alleviate poverty, but she could give hugs.
“I think we make a difference. It takes a while though. There’s so much working against these kids.”
“What is the difference you make?”
“The kids open up. We teach them to give. It’s easier to give to the dog than to each other.” She toggled the turn signal for a left. “The dog disarms them. My husband would say it’s genetics, biophilia. Humans evolved in nature and so we love it. I’m not sure why it works, but when we tell them, ‘Treat the dog the way you would want to be treated,’ their faces soften and they treat each other better.” She completed the turn.
“And does this carry over to the rest of their lives?”
“Louise thinks so. The shelter staff thinks so. The board thinks so. I hope so.” She thought about the kids they had just seen. “Isaac’s mother has three kids under the age of five and no money and no education. She’s twenty-four, works nights, and her boyfriend is in jail. Her kids don’t trust the world, and can you blame them? You can already see how wary and tired they are in their eyes. They seem to know they’re in for more grief.”
They stopped at a red light. Maggie looked at Arun, who sat with fingertips touching in front of his chest. He turned to her.
“Perhaps the children will discover there’s opportunity in grief.”
The light turned. Maggie stepped on the accelerator, and the rental car lurched forward. “Are you saying adversity builds character?”
Arun spoke softly. “People build character. But they can be helped. Wise men and women over the ages have examined the human condition. I have studied their wisdom, and I’ve shared my findings with your daughter. Mrs. Adler, Jenn and I wish to help children like Britney, whatever their circumstances. We believe the path to greater happiness is available to everyone.”
“Isn’t happiness elusive when you’re a homeless kid who sees his father beat his mother?”
“I think you will find that true happiness and misery are equally distributed among all classes and castes.”
Maggie stared straight ahead at the traffic. The conversation was going nowhere. What a pedant! And wrong. Crappy parenting damages children. Period. She took two deep breaths to loosen the tightness forming in her chest. Jenn must be listening to this cant. How much did Jenn actually believe? She would stick to small talk with Arun, or no talk at all.
The Adlers’ driveway was almost bare of fallen leaves. As they left the car, Arun thanked Maggie for the opportunity to observe pet therapy. She returned thanks for his interest in the visit. Jenn met them in the foyer, all smiles.
“Did you make friends with the dog?”
Arun laughed. “No, there was no time. He was occupied. Your mother’s work is very like ours.”
“I thought you’d think so.” Jenn leaned in to peck his cheek. She looped her arm around his and drew him toward the living room. “Come sit with us, Mom. I want to hear all about it.”
Maggie mumbled something about seeing to dinner and moved toward the kitchen, her turf. As she hung her jacket in the mudroom, she caught a glimpse of the two of them seated on the couch, his hand stroking her cheek with such evident tenderness. She scurried into the kitchen.
Late-afternoon sun slanted in through the window, warming the oak flooring and the crazed yellow tile. Early evening was usually Maggie’s favorite time of day; she would imagine everyone hurrying home or to a restaurant or a class, where something cheering and orderly would happen. This evening she took no comfort from the kitchen’s glow. Arun’s presence in the house, and in Jenn’s affections, darkened her mood.
She took vegetables from the fridge, and onions and a cookbook from the pantry. She forced herself to concentrate on the recipes. She turned pages to e for eggplant and began to organize ingredients. Jenn limped into the room and took a seat in the breakfast nook, propping her sore ankle on the bench opposite. Her long skirt fanned out, smelling faintly of patchouli. Perhaps it wasn’t patchouli. Perhaps it was some Indian thing even more potent.
“Arun’s doing his email. Can I help? I’m pretty good with spices.”
Maggie handed her the book. “Find an eggplant dish Arun will like. I’m broiling some fish, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. I like fish. Oh, I forgot. A man called about your car. He didn’t leave a message. Said he’d call back.”
Maggie caught her breath. This was the second time since the accident that Brian Sayler had tried to contact her. She would have to talk to him to make him stop. If she wanted him to stop.
“Do you have a more modern cookbook, Mom? The only decent thing here is ratatouille.”
“I’ve used that recipe. It’s good. I think I have enough tomato. Would it be okay for Arun?”
“Of course. If you like it, he will too. He’s not from another planet.” Jenn lowered her leg and faced her mother. “Did everything go okay at the shelter?”
Maggie hesitated. “Yes. Louis
e gave a good lesson. She dressed up the dog in a Pilgrim hat. Corny, but the kids loved it.” She placed a cutting board on the counter and reached for a knife and sharpening file. Hands raised to sharpen the knife, she paused.
Jenn said, “But?”
“I’m not sure Arun approved. He said something odd in the car. About opportunity and adversity. As if there’s no difference between the shelter kids and the kids who go to Pelham Country Day.”
Jenn stood and brought the cookbook to the counter. “He told me he thought you and Louise did a great job.” She leaned on the counter. “Arun’s approach is different. He doesn’t believe that evil is a force. What we call evil he calls the lack of good. He believes everyone can manufacture more good, but some people need help. I’m not doing his ideas justice. You have to hear him explain things. He makes it work, Mom. He makes things better.”
“And do you agree with him?”
“I still think some people are evil. But Arun’s philosophy works at least as well as Reverend Stevens’.” She straightened up. “Can I help?”
“You can peel the eggplants. They’re a little tough. In the sink.”
Jenn half-limped across the room to the sink through a slanted column of golden light. She ran a hand through her curls, pulling them back off her face, and surveyed the vegetables.
Maggie angled the knife blade on the sharpening file and drew it hard across. She took a dozen fast strokes, then wiped the blade on a dish towel. Her mother had taught her how to sharpen a knife decades before, and the scene flashed through her mind every time, even now when she was distracted. She picked up an onion, sliced off the bottom of the bulb to get a purchase on the skin.
She had never heard Jenn criticize Reverend Stevens or their church before. In fact, she’d seemed receptive to its teachings. True, she had brought home disrespectful young men and women one after another, but she had never adopted their bad manners or selfish habits. Maggie had been proud of Jenn’s generosity and her ability to respond to the best in others. But now, Arun. A missionary without a church. No, a swami, and Jenn under his spell.
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