Whatever, said the guy at the desk. Wendy had made her dad a card with a flower taped on the front.
At first when they opened the door, she thought they’d come to the wrong room, because there was a naked woman lying on the bed. Hard to make out her face in the candlelight, but she was no one they knew. Then they saw his boots with the alligator skin on the toes and they knew they were in the right room after all.
Excuse me, her mother said. When she said that, the woman sat up and started grabbing for her clothes, but not before Wendy noticed she had a rose tattooed on her chest. At the time, Wendy had never seen a tattoo before.
That tattoo was one of the things she kept asking her mother about later. Maybe because there were so many big things she knew she’d never figure out that night, it seemed like the one question she could ask where a straight answer might still be possible.
I guess she thought it would be pretty, her mother said. They were in the taxi, going home from the train station, and rain was coming down faster than the windshield wipers could keep up with it.
Right around when the woman was pulling her dress over her was when her father came out of the bathroom. Also naked although he had a towel around his waist. His hair was wet.
After that came a lot of yelling. Somewhere along the line, the woman on the bed put on the rest of her clothes and went away. Her mother picked up the painting that was leaning against the table and kicked it so hard, her foot broke through the canvas.
I’m sorry, Janet, he said. It didn’t mean anything. I didn’t really care about her. It was just this thing that happened. You’re the one I love. God, what was I doing?
You were screwing up our life, that’s what.
When she woke up the next morning her mother was throwing their stuff in garbage bags and boxes—piles of clothes, CD’s, the videos of their favorite musicals. Her top hat and dancing cane from A Chorus Line.
My tea set’s breakable, Wendy whispered. She watched her mother fling her shell collection in the bag. Then her sweet potato vine. Not my Pound Puppy, she said. You’re scaring him.
Sometime before lunch, they had all their stuff packed up, and they loaded the bags in the trunk and the backseat of Kate’s car. They stayed at Kate’s apartment for a long time, while her mother found their new apartment.
At first she didn’t ask any questions about her father, but finally she asked when they were going back home again. Never, said her mother.
You said everyone deserves a second chance, Wendy said.
Maybe they do, said her mother. But not a one millionth.
Five
Josh was in the kitchen. For the first time since Tuesday, he was cooking, which seemed like a good sign. He was chopping carrots and celery, and the smell of onions and garlic was coming from the stove.
I called my father, she said.
He stopped chopping.
He didn’t know what happened, but now he does.
You still thinking you might want to go see him? Josh asked her.
Not really. I just wondered if it might feel better talking to him.
I can understand that. If my dad was around, I’d probably want to call him up, too.
The picture came to her then of Garrett, as he was in the photograph he’d sent her, standing in front of the cabin with the morning glories. The picture Amelia said made him look like Josh Hartnett. She tried to imagine him as a person she’d tell her problems to, but couldn’t.
Josh was wearing the same sweatpants he’d had on the day it happened. He must have changed sometime since then, but he hardly looked as though he had, and his hair was sticking up like Louie after his nap. The only famous person he looked like was one of the Three Stooges maybe.
So what do you feel like doing now? he asked her.
She looked at him standing at the cutting board with his shirt hanging out and a piece of carrot peel on the front. His arms were outstretched like a conductor, only what he held was just a paring knife. It felt like one of those moments on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire when the person’s up for the million-dollar prize. He’s made his guess but he’s not that sure about the answer and Regis is saying, Is that your final answer, and everyone’s waiting to see if he’s going to go for the million or play it safe, only in this case nothing good was going to happen whatever you chose.
We should go pick up my brother, she said.
Louie was on the floor with Corey coloring when they got there. He didn’t look up when he saw them.
I already know, he said. You didn’t bring my mom. His voice was husky and his shoulders were hunched over his coloring book, as if everything that mattered in the world was on that page.
We don’t know where Mama is yet, Lou-man, Josh told him. But we figured it’s time for you to come home. He had pulled himself together for this.
I want to stay here, Louie said. He had not stopped coloring, though the marks he was making on the paper were only scribbles, back and forth.
You’ve been here a long time already, Josh said. Corey’s mom needs a break. Plus, your sister and I miss you too much.
I don’t miss you guys one tiny bit, he said. I like it better here.
Josh got down on the floor next to him. I don’t believe that’s true, he said. But even if it is, you need to come home.
You haven’t even told us about preschool, Wendy said. What’s your teacher’s name?
Mrs. Nobody, he said. Brown crayon, back and forth.
Listen, Lou-man, Josh said. He wrapped his arms around Louie now and picked him up, but Louie was wriggling to get loose. I know you’re worried about Mama. But you’re coming back with us now. It’s not open to discussion.
Before, Louie had only struggled a little. Now he was thrashing in all directions. He tore the page out of the coloring book and ripped it in bits that he threw at Josh. He kicked so hard his shoe flew off. I hate you, he said. Get out of here. I wish you’d fall out of a building.
You don’t mean that, Josh told him.
I’ll play with you, said Wendy. We’ll dress up.
I don’t care about playing, he said. Foot. Arm. Foot again. His legs pedaled in the air like a cartoon character who’s gone off a cliff but kept running. His hands flailed out in all directions and he was yelling, Buttface. Poophead. Penishead. Diarrheabreath.
Corey ran to the kitchen and came back with a Popsicle, but Louie was past caring. Corey’s mom, Cheryl, stroked his back. For a second it looked as if he might bite her.
We’re leaving now, son, said Josh.
I’ll call you, Cheryl, Josh said over the sound of Louie’s yelling. One of us can come back later for his stuff.
Whatever works, Corey’s mother told him.
Hard to imagine what that might be.
On the stairs going down, Louie was still kicking, but not as hard anymore, and his breathing was coming steadier. I hate you, he said again, but not as fiercely as before. When they got to the second flight of stairs, he seemed to have run out of words. By the time they got out the door of Corey’s building, his body was nearly still.
A girl at my school said all the people got buried under the building, Louie whispered. My teacher said to be quiet but the girl said her mom said all the people got turned into bits of dust and the reason everyone’s wearing masks is they might be allergic to dead people.
They were standing at the bus stop. A bunch of flyers were taped along the enclosure—some Wendy had never seen before and a few familiar faces.
Suddenly Louie’s body lurched back so hard he nearly fell out of Josh’s arms. A long, low moan rose from him and that sound again, keening. A couple of people around them looked up as he called again, more piercingly, My mama.
It was her face on one of the flyers, with part of the tape starting to come undone. Flapping in the breeze. Desperately waiting. Please call.
I don’t know if this is crazy considering everything that’s going on, Amelia said. But I was thinking we could head over to the Virgin
megastore after school and listen to CD’s.
They hung out at the listening stations for half an hour. Then they tried on jeans. Neither one of them had any money, but Amelia wanted to see how she’d look in a pair of spandex hip-huggers. After, they went out for smoothies.
I talked to my dad, Wendy told her. He didn’t know my mother worked in one of the towers.
It struck her when she said it, that in ten days of thinking about almost nothing else, she had hardly spoken the word mother.
So how did he take it? Amelia asked her. As usual, no response was necessary. She kept talking.
He was grief-stricken, of course, right? They were probably one of those couples that have this passionate attraction that lasts forever, it’s just too intense for them to actually live together like normal people, like Sean Penn and Madonna. But now he realizes she was the love of his life.
I think maybe it just caught him by surprise more than anything, Wendy said.
I bet it felt good talking to him anyway, Amelia said. Like maybe now is the moment you two guys will find your way back to each other.
I don’t know, Wendy said. It was like I was talking to some stranger. He forgot how old I was.
He was probably just in shock, said Amelia. Being an artist, he’d be the supersensitive type.
Really the one that’s in the worst shape about everything is Josh.
You don’t think he’s going to have some kind of a breakdown, do you? Until Amelia said that, the thought had not occurred to Wendy, but now she imagined what would happen if Josh couldn’t take care of things anymore. More even than her mother, he had become the person she counted on to keep things steady.
At least you still have your real dad, Amelia said.
Six
When they were little, in third grade, Wendy and Amelia had this game they liked to play called Pennsylvania. Not a game exactly. All you did was talk about all the things you’d do when you grew up. Starting with how they were both going to live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in side-by-side houses, so they could see each other every single day for their whole life. Neither one of them had ever been to Pennsylvania, but they liked the sound. They were going to marry two incredibly cute boys who were identical twins, so their kids would be cousins, and they’d spend all their vacations together. They’d go to Disney World, and a town in Delaware Amelia had driven through one time that had the best miniature golf Amelia had ever seen only her father wouldn’t stop.
Some of the other places they’d go were Paris, Hong Kong, the Grand Canyon, a mall Amelia had heard about that had an actual wave pool inside, and Universal Studios in Hollywood.
Mostly, all Wendy had to do when they played Pennsylvania was listen, because Amelia thought up most of the things. They would go on Jeopardy and win the hundred thousand dollars, for instance. With the money they won, they would buy their husbands sports cars, and a moped for themselves, and go to a spa and get a home-entertainment center in one of their houses. No need for both to have them, because they were such good friends. Amelia wanted to have one whole room in her house with nothing but wigs in different hairstyles and colors. Wendy would get a dog and every kind of art supply in Sam Flax. The rest of the money they would donate to charity.
Now that they were older, they didn’t play Pennsylvania much anymore, but every now and then Amelia would still start in. When we’re in Pennsylvania, let’s have our own restaurant that only serves desserts, Amelia said. How do you like Jasmine Francesca for a name for my daughter? She liked Sade for a girl, too, but most people wouldn’t pronounce it right.
They were walking along Union Street, on their way to the library. Usually, they only went there after school, but it was a Saturday. This was only the second time Amelia had been over since Wendy’s mother disappeared, and it had been so depressing being in the apartment, she’d said, let’s go to the library. They were passing a fire station, Engine Company 342. Piles of flowers had been left out in front and a row of photographs of missing firemen, with a candle burning next to each of them.
Look at him, said Amelia. The man in the picture was probably around twenty-two or twenty-three. In the picture, he was grinning, and you could see he had a dimple, but only on one side. He had naturally curly red hair.
That’s the handsomest person I ever saw, said Amelia. That’s who I want to marry in Pennsylvania.
Billy Flynn was his name. The pile of flowers next to his picture was particularly large, and there were a bunch of smaller photographs of him, too. One with a group of young women, all shorter than him but with the same smile, and another of him holding a snowboard.
He was at the Twin Towers, Amelia, Wendy said to her. I don’t think he’s going to be going to Pennsylvania with you. Even if he wasn’t a ton older than us.
Nobody had ever made up rules for Pennsylvania, but they both knew you didn’t question anybody’s plans for what they were going to do there.
They may find him, Amelia said. Look at him with the snowboard. He’s exactly the kind of person that would find some hidden secret passageway out of the rubble. He’ll probably lead all these other people to safety. Your mom maybe. Then we’ll get to meet him.
They stood there for a while looking at the pictures.
He doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d be dead, said Amelia.
I know what you mean, said Wendy. But lots of people don’t.
Anyway, Amelia said. The girls in the picture are obviously his sisters. But maybe he’s got a brother for you.
You are so crazy, said Wendy.
You never know, said Amelia. She took hold of Wendy’s hand and they walked to the library.
Apart from Amelia, there was nobody Wendy felt much like seeing. Her grandmother, with the tea cart, had been pretty much out of the picture since the divorce, except for one time years ago when she’d been passing through the city and took Wendy and her mother out for lunch at a place she called her club. Now she just sent a card every Christmas, along with her annual gift of a white cotton blouse that had Wendy’s initials monogrammed on the pocket, each one size bigger than the year before.
Josh’s mom had been calling a lot, but she lived in Florida and was afraid of flying, particularly now, so they hadn’t seen her.
Her mom’s dad had died when Wendy was just a baby, and her mom’s mom was too sick to travel all the way from Missouri, but her aunt showed up from St. Louis. Just for a day. Her mother and Aunt Pam had never gotten along that well, and in the years since she and Josh had been together, Wendy had only seen her twice. She brought a box of candy for Wendy and said she needed to talk with Josh alone.
You know I’d take her if I possibly could, but with my job, it’s just not possible, she could hear Aunt Pam telling Josh. As if Wendy would want to go live with her. As if Josh would want her to live anyplace but here.
With some people, this would be the moment Josh would start talking about amnesia and air pockets, but with Aunt Pam, he just sounded tired. That’s fine, Pam, Wendy heard him say. I understand.
Josh’s sister, Andy, came over every day or two, usually with food, and one time she brought scissors and cut his hair, which was an improvement. She made a pot of tea for herself and Wendy and told her about her therapist, who was great with kids. I could set up an appointment, she said, but Wendy said she was okay.
The woman whose apartment was underneath theirs stopped over with a cake and a book she said had helped her when her mother got breast cancer.
There were strangers, too, people who’d gotten their number off the flyers. Most of those were a little crazy: a woman who said she could locate a person’s spirit if she could touch one of their shoes. Another woman, who said she’d noticed a pattern to the names on the flyers. An unusual number started with J.
I would disconnect the phone, Josh said. Only we have to make sure she can reach us.
Kate called. Let’s go someplace and talk, she said to Wendy. I know I’m not actually part of your family, but
your mother and I have been friends for so long, I feel as if we’re related.
More and more lately, Wendy found herself feeling like a person in a play who’s trying to remember her lines. She knew it was her turn to talk now and that she should say something about how Kate felt like a part of her family, too, which was even true, but nothing she could say now seemed to matter.
I know you probably don’t feel like eating, Kate told her. But I’m taking you out anyway.
Kate showed up, wearing the sweater Wendy’s mother had crocheted for her, even though the buttons didn’t line up with the buttonholes. She had made them some kind of soup. Kate was a terrible cook, but Josh said, This looks good. Wendy could tell from the way he was talking that he was also acting in a play, a different one.
Listen, Kate told her when they were outside on the street. I’m trying hard to imagine what your mother would tell us right now. I think it would be that you’ve got to go back to school and start having some kind of life without her, and even if it feels totally crummy, after a while it will start to get a little better. I don’t know how myself, but I have to believe that. She put her arm around Wendy.
Kate took her to a manicure place she and Wendy’s mom used to go to sometimes on Seventh Avenue.
This is a nice mindless activity, Kate said. The Korean woman reached for Wendy’s hand and placed it in a soapy bowl. Wendy realized this was the first person she’d been around in two weeks who didn’t say one thing about the World Trade Center. The woman just sat there working on her cuticles. Wendy felt as if she was someplace far away, wandering in a field of wheat. She forgot all about where she was until the woman said something Wendy couldn’t make out that must have meant her nails were done.
Wendy studied her hands. It was the first time she’d ever had a manicure, so it didn’t even seem as if they belonged to her, but when she saw her hands, her chest tightened and an awful wave of memory and sadness washed over her. Laid flat on the white cloth of the manicure table with their round moons and pink polish, her hands looked exactly like her mother’s.
The Usual Rules Page 8