I’ve heard of brown recluse spiders before, and I know they’re poisonous, but I’ve never seen one. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this information.
“What?” Casey screams.
“Did it bite you?” Dan asks her urgently.
“What?” she says again looking panicked.
“Did it bite you?!” he shouts at her.
“I don’t know! I can’t tell. I was lying in bed, and I felt it on me!”
Dan grabs her arm. “Shit! There’s a bump here. Does it hurt yet?”
“Hurt?” Casey is in shock. “I don’t know! No, I don’t think so.”
“Does it itch?”
“Itch?”
“Yes! That’s a bad sign if the itching has started.”
“I don’t know. Yes, I think it itches!” Casey is now crying.
“Do you feel dizzy or hot or confused?” he shouts at her again.
Looking very confused, she sobs, “Yes, I think all of those things! Is it dangerous?”
I’m panicked myself. This seems bad. Danny is carefully examining the bite, and Casey is nearly hysterical.
“Jesus, I think it’s starting to swell,” Dan says, turning to meet my eyes, which, I’m sure, are the size of saucers.
“What should we do? Should I go to the hospital?” Casey cries.
“I’m not sure we’ll make it. Sarah, go grab my phone!”
I’m so shocked; I just stand there. “Go!” he says urgently.
I run to grab his phone off the nightstand in his room. When I get back, Dan is trying to suck venom from the site of the bite. Casey is as white as a ghost.
I hand him the phone, my hands shaking. He takes it, taps a few things and starts videotaping poor Casey.
“What are you doing?!” she screams. “Call 911!”
“In case you don’t live, I want your family to see how beautiful you were in your last moments.”
Casey freezes.
She’s a mess–eyes running with mascara, hair wild, and she’s pale as a ghost.
But in an instant, everything changes. I watch as her face turns bright red, and her eyes go from panicked to venomous.
Danny bursts out in uncontrollable laughter, so hard he has to put his hands on his knees to keep from falling over.
“You little shit!” Casey screams. “You are such a little shit!”
Danny can’t respond. He’s crying, he’s laughing so hard. “Should I go to the hospital?” he says, in a rather unflattering girl voice.
Casey narrows her eyes at him for a very pregnant pause. And then she, too, bursts out in fits of laughter.
“I really hate you! You are the worst little brother of all time! I’m not kidding!”
Then, turning to me. “See what I had to live with growing up? He’s a monster!”
Danny regains some control, and wipes tears from the corner of his eyes, still smiling like a jack-o-lantern.
“You know, you’re three times more likely to be killed by a flying champagne cork than you are from the bite of a venomous spider.”
“No, nerd, I didn’t know that. And I don’t give a crap.”
He sits down on the bed next to her, wrapping his arm around her, and kissing her on the head. “You love me,” he coaxes.
“I really don’t,” she declares emphatically. “And, ew, gross, you’re practically naked.”
It’s a funny thing to share a gene pool with someone. When I see Danny practically naked, “Ew, gross” is about the last thing I think. It would be right up there with “Put some clothes on.”
“And look, you scared Sarah,” she says pointing at me. “Now she knows what an ass you really are.”
“I already knew what an ass he is. On our first date, he made me put a piece of pasta on my face. He claimed that’s how you check it to see if it’s done cooking.”
Casey turns to Dan with renewed respect. “Did you take a picture of her?”
“I did!” he responds enthusiastically, scrolling through his phone for the photo. Upon finding it, both of them are rolling in laughter at my expense. And just like that, I’m the butt of the joke! How the hell did that happen?
“You are both very annoying!” I say, pointing at them.
Danny laughs unabashedly, and stands to grab me up in his arms.
“Ew, gross, you’re practically naked,” I grumble.
“I’m about to get much more naked,” he cracks as he drags me back down the hall toward the bedroom.
“Come on!” Casey shouts behind us. “I did not need to hear that!”
Chapter 17
Sarah
IN EARLY DECEMBER, STANFORD PUTS on its holiday concert, a spectacular culmination of four months of intense practice.
In the crowded lobby afterwards, I locate Danny–standing with his back to me, and his hands in his pants pockets. He’s a striking figure in a navy tailored suit with his strawberry-blond hair and crisp white shirt. Some suits wear the man, but Danny’s has definitely been brought to submission by his broad shoulders, and naturally confident bearing.
As I make my way towards him, I notice a stunning brunette step into view. She’s leaning in close, smoothing his red tie in what seems to be a very intimate gesture. She’s model thin, and dressed to the nines in a sleek, figure-hugging sheath dress in a rich, cabernet color. I can’t quite place her ethnicity, but she looks very exotic; perhaps she has Russian or Eastern European lineage.
Over the past six months, I’ve grown used to seeing women gawk, flirt, and get downright handy with my man. I can’t blame them; he’s gorgeous. I’m not usually jealous about these things, but something about this woman–this particular one–bothers me. I try not to let that show as I reach them.
Danny instantly draws me into a tight embrace, and then tucks me to his side with his arm around me.
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, while he eyes my body appreciatively in Selene’s red dress.
Then he turns to the woman and introduces me.
“Sarah, this is Carolyn Martin.”
The shock of those five little words knocks me off balance for a moment, and I’m thankful for his arm to steady me. I hadn’t expected to meet Danny’s ex here tonight. And she doesn’t appear any better prepared to be meeting me. In her expression, I see a flash of hostility. It lasts only for an instant before she smiles widely and extends her hand.
“You were wonderful,” she gushes.
I smile weakly back at her, not sure what the protocol is when meeting an ex who may, or may not, secretly hate your guts.
Fortunately, the awkwardness doesn’t last long, as we’re joined by Carolyn’s date for the evening. He’s tidy and slight, handsome in a non-descript sort of way, and he seems oblivious to any feelings of discomfort among the rest of us.
“Peter Gale, this is Dan Moore. Peter is an analyst with Columbia Management,” she says by way of introduction. “And Danny is a long-time friend and Ph.D. candidate here at Stanford.”
The fact that she intentionally didn’t introduce me to her date answers any question I may have had about her feelings towards me. And the emphasis on long-time was obviously there for my benefit. Still, for Danny’s sake, I make a conscious effort not let any hint of irritation show on my face. What actually bothers me the most is that she focused her introduction of Danny on his Ph.D., despite the fact that his primary occupation, and great love, is a nearly 10-year teaching career. That profession clearly doesn’t rank as highly as financial analyst in her book, and it speaks volumes to me about their relationship. It’s obviously not lost on Danny either; no wonder he dumped her. I bite my lip with a strong urge to tell her off, and Danny squeezes my hip gently as if he can hear every thought.
Whatever he may be thinking, outwardly, he’s calm and gracious, as always. He shakes Peter’s hand warmly and turns to me.
“May I also introduce my girlfriend, Sarah Kyle?”
Danny throws a sharply chastising glance at Carolyn, who wilt
s under the unspoken reprimand. “Sarah performed this evening. Incredibly, I might add.”
“Yes, of course,” Peter says, shaking my hand. “You were terrific.”
“So, you’re a student, Sarah?” Carolyn inquires pleasantly, drawing the attention back to her.
Within the context of this conversation, her slight emphasis on the word student feels like an opening to the female version of a pissing contest that I really want no part of. I realize that could just say yes, or I could explain that I am also planning a career working with children with special needs. But she’s not asking because she’s truly interested. Her inimical reaction to my presence suggests that this episode has nowhere to go but downhill.
So, rather than answer her phony questions, I just smile mildly at her. Then, I turn to Danny, taking his handsome face in my hands and pressing a firm kiss to his beautiful lips.
“I love you.” And I’m so proud to be with you. He gets it; I see it in his expression. “I have to get backstage. I’ll see you at home.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” I offer to an indignant Carolyn and her oblivious date. And then I make my way back through the crowd.
Chapter 18
Sarah
SELENE AND I HAVE SOME last minute gifts to buy, so we head out to the Stanford Shopping Center with about a billion other people on the last Saturday before Christmas. Crazy–I know–but also the only opportunity I have to get through the rest of my list. Danny and I leave for my mom’s tomorrow, and he’ll stay for a couple of days before flying back east for the holiday.
After fighting crowds for hours, I’m ready to get back to Danny’s and put my feet up. But each time I text him letting him know I’ll be home soon, he sends back a request for this or that. Could I stop at the market for a couple of tomatoes and a package of coffee? Would I mind grabbing the sweatshirt he left at my place because he needs it for his trip? If it’s not too much trouble, Ralphie needs dog food, or he’ll run out while we’re gone.
Gah… This is so irritating. But how can I say no? I can never say no to him.
I finally arrive at his place late in the afternoon with all of my bags, plus the tomatoes, coffee, sweatshirt and dog food. Jamie’s just leaving, and Danny meets me on the doorstep, taking the purchases from my hands. He sets them down on the stoop, and wraps his hand in my hair, pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss that leaves me breathless.
“I have a surprise,” he says with barely contained glee. “For you.”
I look at him quizzically. “What is it?”
“It’s your Christmas present.” He looks nervous all of the sudden, and I can’t imagine why. If he’s done something crazy like gotten me a puppy, it’s his house that’s going to have to suffer.
“Okay. When do I get to see it?”
“Now. But you have to promise me you won’t refuse it.” I have no idea what to think about that.
He puts his hands over my eyes, and leads me into the living room. Then, he kisses my hair and whispers, “I love you” into my ear.
When he removes his hands, I’m standing in front of a magnificent ebony Yamaha baby grand. And I’m speechless.
The piano and it’s matching bench are positioned in my favorite corner of the room that gets bathed in natural light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The piano doesn’t look brand new, but it appears to be in absolutely perfect condition.
And, hanging on the wall just above it, is a black and white photograph of me. It’s the picture he took months ago on our hike–a close-up of my profile in the grass. I’m smiling and I look relaxed. It could be the very moment I realized I was falling in love with him.
He’s put this all together: the piano, the photo. This is my space. A sanctuary for me in his home.
Tears begin to stream down my face as the magnitude of his gesture sets in.
“Do you like it?” he asks hesitantly.
I turn to him, and throw my arms around his neck, sobbing in a very un-lady-like manner.
“Yes, I love it. I don’t know what to say.” I can feel his smile against my cheek.
“Well, the piano’s all moved in here, and I hope soon you’ll follow.”
“When did you do this?” I ask, pulling back to see his face.
“Jamie helped me.” He wipes a tear from the side of my cheek and smiles warmly. “We’ve been looking for a while, but he liked this one. He had his piano guy tune and clean it so that it’s no longer ‘squishy in the middle,’ whatever that means.”
We just stare at the stately instrument together. “I can’t wait to hear you play. I realized at the concert how much I want to hear the sound of that in our home.”
Our home. His words astonish me. This man is my gift. Anything more than that is superfluous.
“I love you so much.” I’m blinking back tears again. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“I did it as much for me. Having you here makes me the happiest man on the planet. You know that, right?”
It’s a question that I’m far too speechless, still, to be able to answer. But he doesn’t wait for one. Instead, he smiles at my uncharacteristic mute, and kisses me again.
“Now play me a song, woman.”
He snaps his fingers at me, and I laugh. Again, how could I ever say no? And more importantly, why would I ever want to?
Chapter 19
Danny
MIDDAY ON SUNDAY, SARAH AND I leave for Auburn. The plan is that we’ll drive up today, and then I’ll fly out of Sacramento on a red-eye to New York on the 23rd. She’ll take my car back home after the holidays. I couldn’t convince her to let me buy her a ticket to fly back and meet me for New Year’s.
As one might imagine, I have many issues with this plan, being away from her for Christmas, chief among them, but I know I need to keep a lid on it. We don’t need a rehash of the whole car argument. Plus, this is the first time I’ve seen Carol in almost six years, and she doesn’t exactly approve of me, so that should be fun. Sarah’s nervous about it, but I’m actually not.
“How’s your application coming for the master’s program?” I ask Sarah as we drive. I know she has to submit it right after the first of the year.
“Good. I made a lot of progress on it this week. It was much easier to do since most of the questions related to things we discussed for my scholarship essay.”
She’s quiet again, but I get the feeling she wants to say something else. I glance over at her.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just had a thought.” She pauses for a second. “You know so much about educational policy and reform, and your perspective is different from anything else in the curriculum at Stanford. Have you ever thought about proposing to teach a class in it?”
“At Stanford?”
“I don’t know. There or somewhere else. But you certainly have the contacts at Stanford–I bet Dr. Frick would support you, especially if you came to him with a detailed syllabus of your ideas. You could do a summer session class.” She shrugs, sensing my hesitation. “Anyway, it was just an idea.”
The truth is, I would love to do that. The thought of teaching a class on such a dynamic and controversial topic is exciting. It would be a long shot, but I’ll have my Ph.D. this spring, so I’ll have the credentials. That, coupled with my teaching experience and ongoing work with Project Learning, gives me an interesting angle. We could have some very lively classroom discussions. Hell, who wouldn’t love to teach something like that?
I spend a good bit of the rest of our three-hour drive musing about how I might approach a class syllabus, and I make a mental note to discuss the idea with Frick. Just out of curiosity.
It’s dinnertime when we arrive, and unseasonably cold, with the temperature at around 35 degrees. Carol greets us at the door as we make our way up the front steps with our bags. She’s almost exactly what I remember–an older, heavier-set version of Sarah, several inches shorter, with shoulder-length hair.
Carol giv
es Sarah a hug, then turns to me with great formality, and offers her hand to shake. It’s comical, but I play along, completing the gesture like a perfect gentleman.
“It’s an unexpected pleasure to see you again, Dan,” she says, as though perhaps I’ve been raised from the dead. She probably wishes I’d go back there.
“And you, Carol. Thank you for having me.”
We just take each other in for a moment, our handshake going slightly longer than is strictly necessary. She looks at me like she’s sizing me up. She’s probably counting my wrinkles, and looking for grey hairs. She’s gracious, but I wouldn’t say she’s warm.
“Okay, then,” Sarah says, clearing her throat.
Carol turns to go inside, and Sarah gives me her best ‘isn’t this gonna be fun?’ look.
Carol’s condo is nice enough, and situated on a corner lot right across from a community pool and park. The complex was probably built in the mid-80s. Her unit has two bedrooms, two baths, a small living room, and dining room. The kitchen is your classic 80s look, with brown cabinetry and cream-colored tile countertops with dark brown grout. The place isn’t fancy, but it’s comfortable, and is probably all the house she really needs.
Looking around, though, there’s a lot of deferred maintenance–cupboards that don’t close right, a sink that leaks, some peeling paint, God knows what else. And the place is freezing. Sarah notices it right away, too.
“Mom, why is it so cold in here? You need to turn the heat on.”
“Well, unfortunately, it just went out. I’ve called someone to come look at it, but I’m not sure when they’ll be here. We’ve been using space heaters.”
I don’t know Carol in the least, but I’d put good money on a bet that she hasn’t called anyone.
“That’s dangerous, Mom. When did it go out?”
“It was out when I got here last week.” I turn in the direction of the voice to see a tall, skinny kid who is the exact younger-boy version of Sarah.
“Hi, Bear!”
Sarah and Scott share a tight embrace that’s nice to watch. They’re obviously very devoted to each other, and it’s understandable given their upbringing. Sarah was like a mother to him during some very formative years.
Ripple Effects Page 18