The Porthole of Truth
Alex Goodroe
I’ve been trying to reach Kirsten for over a week. Candace says she’s out of the office—she insists she doesn’t know when she’ll be back. What a crock.
It’s possible that I have ruined Kirsten’s life. I realize seeing her will only complicate matters, but somehow I must make her understand. There’s no way I can divorce Grace. It’s out of the question.
FIFTY-FOUR
The Golden Window
Carla’s back, but she’s not the same person. She’s full of smiles and has this funky glow around her. Not to say it’s a bad thing. In fact, I feel really calm when I’m with her. It’s weird, like she’s exhaling serenity into the air and it wraps itself around me like it’s got arms.
Miss Lily’s caught up in it.
“I must come with you on your next journey, my dear,” she says. “You are like a little ray of sunshine,” she says.
Pete’s all smiles.
“Yes, yes,” he tells Miss Lily. “By all means you must go with her. Very good! Very good!” he says, then turns and cocks his head at me.
That’s his way of saying, “Lorelei, what about you?” For once I really don’t want to go anywhere. I’m afraid to see what’s happening to Garrett and I don’t want to know what’s up with Kirsten. Obviously, she hasn’t not jumped out of any windows—I mean, she’s not here, so duh! That’s a given. I could check in with Page and Annalese, but we always manage to get into trouble. That’s when I realize it would be nice to check in with my mother. She’s still attending her recovery classes and has made many friends. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll lie in the Golden Window and see what she’s up to. First I’ll order spaghetti and meatballs. I’m dying for some good Italian food and they have the best this side of heaven.
I watch Carla and Miss Lily meander off with Pete all happy go lucky and wonder if I’ll be here forever. Thousands of people will make their way above and shake their heads when they walk by me. Poor soul, they’ll say, she can’t let go. She’s been here for ages; just hanging on for dear life.
Maybe I’ll order two servings of spaghetti and a pizza. I yank my velvet cord.
* * *
There’s something about my mother’s speech that’s changed. Where, before, she’d say, “I beg your pardon?” she now says, “Reeeally?”
And she’s acting like a school girl. It’s weird. Maybe she has a fever, or some terrible disease, or something. But she’s with Mr. Warren and it’s so interesting to watch them. If I didn’t’ know better I’d say my mother’s in love. If it’s true, that should upset me big time, because of my father and all, but then his behavior’s not any better.
My mother’s telling Mr. Warren that she suspects my father’s having an affair!
“I’m almost certain,” she says. “But I can’t blame him. Things have not been well with us since—since—”
My mother’s face turns pale.
“Grace, are you alright?” Mr. Warren sits up very straight and reaches for my mother’s hand. He’s the dearest man, I’m telling you.
And then my mother does something that I haven’t seen her do since my father’s funeral. She starts to cry. This really upsets Mr. Warren.
“Grace, what is, it?” he says. “Please tell me.”
My mother leans against his chest. He hands her his handkerchief. I probably should just leave them alone, but I want’ to hear what my mother’s saying. In words barely above a whisper she begins to tell him of the night my father’s business partner forced himself on her! And my father believed his partner; that it was consensual. Of course, I know she’s lying. Onetta said so in the Porthole of Truth.
“I couldn’t, just couldn’t have the baby—”
“Grace, please don’t upset yourself; I understand,” Mr. Warren says.
“But now,” my mother says, dabbing at her eyes, “with Lorelei gone, I’m filled with grief. It was a little boy, and of course, one child never takes the place of another, but—”
My mother starts to sob.
Mr. Warren places his arm around my mother’s shoulder.
“Grace, listen to me,” he says and rocks her gently. “Don’t torture yourself anymore. Please, dear, sweet Grace. I can’t stand this.”
And then Mr. Warren starts dabbing at her tears. My mother’s face is positively glowing. I’ve never seen her face so pretty or her eyes so gentle. If only my father knew what he was missing. But it’s sad my mother is lying and couldn’t have told Mr. Warren the truth, that she was a willing partner when she made my brother.
FIFTY-FIVE
The Golden Window
My father does know what he’s missing. He’s hired a detective to follow my mother. Probably because he thinks my mother’s up to exactly what he’s up to—basic psychology. We studied it in Psychology 101 at Westwood Academy. One always suspects the other is doing exactly what they are doing.
The most amazing thing is he’s totally jealous and wants my mother back! I know this from The Porthole of Truth. My father’s flipping out. Now, he’s wild about my mother. Paige once did a report on commitment-phobic men. The research she did explained that some men draw away from the object of their affection until the object gets too close to another object, whereby they do an about-face. This would all be fine if we were talking about magnets or pitchers of water, but we’re discussing human beings. My mother’s hardly an object.
But, I’m happy that my father’s going after my mother—except maybe not so happy about what will happen with Mr. Warren. He’s so nice. But, still, having my father and mother together just feels better.
My father’s taking my mother to dinner at her favorite restaurant—Dante’s Down the Hatch—in Atlanta. It’s a fondue place. Don’t ask me why it’s her favorite place to eat. You have to cook every little tidbit of shrimp, or steak, or lobster in this pot of oil they bring you, and then you have to wait for it to cool, before you can taste it to see if you’ve done a good job. We always managed to go there when I was major hungry and the waiting drove me crazy. And then sometimes I didn’t cook the stuff long enough and it wasn’t any good, plus you could get food poisoning so I don’t even know why it’s allowed. The government puts their nose in everything. You’d think they’d do something about places where you cook your own food, but no. It’s allowed.
“Alex,” my mother says. “I’m thinking of going out of town for a few days next week. To the mountains; it’s beautiful this time of year.”
My father says it’s a great idea. He’ll join her. My mother nearly chokes on a piece of crab meat.
“Oh no,” she says. “I really want this time alone.”
My father doesn’t say anything. He clears his throat and pulls a small portfolio out of his sport coat.
“Paris,” he says, and lays the packet next to her plate.
“Goodness,” she replies.
“We leave in ten days. Perhaps you should stay home and rest before the trip.”
“Well, I don’t know—” my mother stammers.
“We’ll be gone for two weeks. You’ll need to pack and make arrangements for the mail—”
“I—I’ve made plans—”
My father places his hand on top of my mothers and motions for the waiter. When he arrives at the table, my father asks him to send for the wine steward.
The restaurant’s dark and romantic and on the lower floor of the building; it really is down the hatch. The steward’s at their table in a half a second.
“Your best bottle of champagne,” my father says.
“Dom Perignon?” he says.
“Excellent.”
The waiter hurry’s off to get a bottle. He looks very excited. He must get a bonus. It’s a hundred and forty-five dollars a bottle, but the restaurant is charging three hundred and twenty-five dollars. That doesn’t faze my father.
He turns to my mother. “It’ll be like a second honeymoon,” he says. “You love Paris.”
&
nbsp; “I do—I d—do,” she stutters. “But—”
Then it’s all settled. We leave on the fifteenth.”
The waiter returns with their champagne. He’s wearing white gloves. He holds the bottle up to my father, who nods. The waiter then expertly uncorks the bottle.
“Dom Perignon 1999 Brut Champagne—it has a high-toned minty accent on the aroma with a hint of citric edge on the palate,” he says. “Very nice,” he adds, and pours a small amount into the champagne flute.
He waits to be sure my father approves before offering a glass to my mother. My father rotates his wrist—but holds the rest of his arm still—and gently swirls the wine. It’s to release the wine’s aromas to the top edge of the glass. I know this because my father explained it’s importance when tasting fine wines, the first time I witnessed this silly demonstration at my parent’s fifteenth wedding anniversary.
Next, my father takes a deep sniff. He waits a few seconds and sniffs again. He passes his nose lightly over the wine glass, then takes a sip. He rolls it over his tongue for several seconds before swallowing. He is sure to exhale through his nose as he swallows so his taste buds and sense of smell will work together. I learned that too at their anniversary party—it’s the proper way to taste wine. It gave me the giggle fits. My father makes a big show of it, just like he did then. It looks so stupid.
When he’s satisfied, he takes a second sip, which he swishes around in his mouth and then swallows, again exhaling through his nose. Finally, he nods his final approval, and the wine steward fills my father’s glass to about one-third of the flute and does the same for my mother. With that, he bows slightly and retreats from the table. The wine steward’s performance is almost worth the amount they charge for the champagne.
After dinner, my father gives my mother this diamond circle pendant necklace. It’s white gold and real pretty. He motions for her to turn around he puts the necklace around her neck and makes sure its securely clasped..
“To new beginnings,” he says.
I take a good look at this necklace. I’m sure I’ve seen one like it before. Huh-huh! It’s exactly like the one he gave Kirsten. And he said the very same words when he gave it to her!
My father has absolutely no shame.
FIFTY-SIX
The Golden Window
Carla’s had a major set-back and if you ask me she’s depressed. Maybe The Stairs to the Hereafter are meant to be climbed lickety-split. And allowing us to come back to the front porch—as Pete refers to this place—until you hit the last step may not be such a good idea.
I’m sitting in Carla’s Golden Window trying to cheer her up.
“I’ve got some great jokes,” I say. “Listen to this.”
Hugging one of the pillows I lean over and try hard to remember every one-liner I know.
“Okay. Listen up—there’s two cowboys in the kitchen. Which one’s the real cowboy?” I say. “Give up? The one on the range.”
Carla barely grunts.
“Well, how about this one? What’s pink and puffy?”
Carla shrugs her shoulders like she could care less.
“Give up?” I ask. “Pink fluff.”
Carla smiles—I got her now.
“What’s blue and fluffy?”
“Blue fluff,” she says, and sits up.
“Pink fluff holding it’s breath.”
“Uuuuhhh,” Carla says and rolls over onto the pillow she’s hugging.
“Okay, this is the best joke I know,” I say. “It’s kind of long. Here goes: three men are standing in line to get into heaven and Pete’s had a very busy day and says, ‘Sorry, Heaven’s pretty full today. I can only admit people who have had a horrible death. What’s your story?’”
“You better hurry up and finish this before Pete shows up,” Carla says.
I motion for her to be quiet. I’m losing my train of thought. “Okay, so the first man says, ‘Well when I got home from work I smelled a strange man’s cologne and figured my wife was being unfaithful again. I searched around and found a guy hanging off our balcony on the 25th floor. Boy was I mad, so I started beating him, but he wouldn’t let go, so I went into the apartment and got a hammer and proceeded to beat his fingers with it till he let go. And he fell twenty-five stories to the ground, but he landed in the bushes and was fine. I couldn’t stand it so I went and got our refrigerator and tossed it over the edge. It landed on him, alright, but in all the excitement I had a heart attack and here I am.’”
“Is this supposed to be funny?” Carla says, interrupting.
“Let me finish! And Pete says, ‘That’s terrible. You can’t come in.’ Then the next guy shows up and Pete gives him the same spiel about Heaven being full today and what’s his story and the guy says it’s been a very strange day. I live on the 26th floor of my apartment building and every morning I do my exercises out on the balcony and don’t ask me how, but I lost my balance and fell over the edge, but I got lucky and caught the railing of the balcony on the floor below, but then this guy starts beating me up, and I wouldn’t let go, so he gets a hammer and pounds on my hands till I have to let go, and then I get lucky again and land in the bushes, but he throws a refrigerator over the edge and it lands on top of me and here I am. And Pete says, ‘That’s terrible. You can come in.’ And then Pete turns to the last guy in line that day and he’s getting really tired and he says, ‘Okay, what’s your story?’ And the guy says, ‘Picture this, I’m hiding naked in this refrigerator and—’”
We both break up into hysterics.
“You’re gonna get it if Pete hears you,” Carla says.
Finally, she’s back to her old self.
“Nah! He likes good jokes.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
The Silver Lining
I don’t know why I still have this fascination with the Silver Lining. It’s obvious that this window isn’t going to change anything. Still, whenever I look at earth through the Golden Window, it makes me want to go to the Silver Lining and see what would have happened if I were still alive.
Pete says, “Well, good. There’s something I would like you to see through the lining. I think you should go. I’ve asked that you go, remember?”
Here we go again. I look at him but say absolutely nothing. Of course I remember. It still makes me want to eat everything up here.
But this time I’ll go. Besides, I want to be sure that Mona’s still alright with the motorcycle man’s kidney, which is foolish of course, because she doesn’t really have it, since I’m here and she has mine. But, I can’t help myself. I still fantasize that I’m there and she’s there, too. And, then I remember—I could baby-sit!—That’s cool. I’d get to know her children first-hand. So I’m all excited and about ready to leave when I hear Miss Lily crying.
I take off looking for her. It’s strange. Her cries are real far away, but I can hear them like she’s standing next to me. I make my way to the Stairs of the Hereafter. Her cries are getting louder, so I must be getting closer. But when I pass the Step of Denial, I notice her cries grow fainter. I turn around and open the door and wander past the forest of trees. Miss Lily isn’t here. And then her crying stops as abruptly as it started.
“Miss Lily?” I call out to her. “Are you here? It’s Lorelei.”
She doesn’t answer. I go back and climb into the Silver Lining. I’ll look for her later and see if she’ll tell me what’s bothering her. In the meantime I’ll check on Mona and offer to baby-sit. Everything will be great now that she’s home from Mayo. Well, things should be great. I’m counting on it.
FIFTY-EIGHT
The Silver Lining
I forgot all about what Pete said! Yes, Mona did get home safely with the motorcycle man’s kidney, but she arrived a day too late. Andy drowned in the pool the day before. She wasn’t there to save him. I’m a total retard. How could I forget that?
When I get to her house, Rita’s with her. She’s been crying for hours.
“Hello, Mona,” I say. “I thoug
ht you might need me to baby-sit and I was in the area—”
“Lorelei,” she says, “How in the world did you know—”
“Pete told me,” I say.
“Pete?”
“Yes, he, he—”
“You must mean Mr. Anderson. Pete Anderson,” Mona says, “the gentleman across the street.” She nods her head, happy to have figured out the puzzle.
I don’t correct her.
“Come in, please.”
She introduces me to Rita. I tell her how sorry I am to hear about Andy, but I don’t know what else to say. She must be under some very heavy medication. Her eyes are dilated and she’s having trouble getting up from the sofa to shake my hand.
“Here, let me help you,” I say, and steady her on her feet. She’s leaning worse than the Tower of Pisa. “Maybe you should sit down,” I say. She doesn’t argue.
I take a look around. The living room is just the way it was the day my father came to meet Mona for the very first time. Only the stain on the rug is gone from where Bobby, Jr. spilled the lemon-aid.
“Where are the children?” I ask.
“There with another neighbor. She’s going to watch them while we’re at the funeral.”
“Oh, I’d be so happy to take care of them!” I say, a bit too eager. “Is that okay?”
Mona clears her throat and smiles. “Well,” she says. “I—I—“
“Oh please? It’d mean a lot to me,” I say. “Really.”
“Well, I don’t see why not,” Mona says and looks at Rita to see what she thinks. Rita’s staring at the wall. She totally needs someone to watch over her.
So, it’s a deal. I’ll stay with Rita while Mona brings the children home. I remind her about all of the certificates I have in childcare.
“Yes, I remember,” she says.
Still, it’s a bit strange for her to trust me so readily. I mean, basically I’m a perfect stranger. I only met her once. I’m thinking that Pete has his hand in this. And then I remember how eager he was for me to go through the Silver Lining. And that makes my stomach turn over and I start wondering what it is he wants me to see. He’s been after me for days. And it’s kinda ruining the moment. And I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have come when Bobby, Jr. comes barreling through the front door. He’s whooping and hollering.
The Heavenly Heart Page 14