Dellarobia did not laugh.
Dovey shrugged. "So this guy's drool bait. My future ex."
"And jailbait, more or less. Am I right, he's real young?"
"Of course," Dovey said.
"A dimple in his chin, right here? Works out, really good pecs and shoulders? A silver gauge in his left ear?"
They read each other's faces in the mirror. "You are totally--"
"I'm not."
"Him?"
"Him."
"I swear to God, I'm going to take a couple of hams out of that jackass. I mean it. I've got the knives to do it."
"No, Dovey, let him be. He's nothing to me anymore."
Dovey reached up to clasp her wrist and gently pull her down onto the seat next to her. Their side-by-side faces in the mirror were like photos in the twin halves of a locket, some long-gone children in a bargain bin of dead people's jewelry. "This is not turning out to be your day, is it?" Dovey asked.
Dellarobia shrugged.
"Honey, I had no idea."
"How could you have?"
"Shit. Your telephone guy."
"Shit. Everybody's telephone guy."
Dellarobia wasted too much of a night and all the next morning on a project of self-loathing. She had been two-timed, and probably worse, by the man with whom she was prepared to cheat on her husband. So she'd been nothing special to him, even as an adulterer. To whom could she possibly complain? She had made her peace with that mistake and taken pains to put it behind her. Yet he still had the power to wreck her.
It never wavered, this bleak helplessness she felt when confronting her undignified obsessions. Before Jimmy it was the man at Rural Incorporated, when she was pregnant with Cordie, which she'd told herself was not a true flirtation. He had steel gray hair and a gold wedding band, and a confidential kindness that completely unwound her. Those appointments got her from week to week. He always had a lot more time for her and her Medicaid papers than for the other people waiting outside his office, and Dellarobia hadn't minded taking it. She never minded. Cub's old friend Strickland, who lifted weights and ran his own tree-trimming business, kept delivering wood chips for mulching the flower beds she didn't have, and she'd taken that too, letting pile it up for years behind the barn. New Heights, his business was called, emblematic of a can-do spirit she found hard to resist. Cub never knew. She had never let things go that far. Yet she understood the betrayal was real. She envisioned the internal part of a person that buttressed a faithful marriage, some delicate calcified scaffold like a rib cage, and knew hers to be malformed, probably from the beginning.
All of Dellarobia's personal turmoil notwithstanding, the second of January must have been a slow news day. At the stroke of noon, while she was putting out bologna sandwiches for the kids, a TV crew showed up at her door.
She flew to answer the knock, leaving Cordie strapped in the high chair and Preston in charge of making sure she took little bites. Dellarobia was startled to see two strangers on her porch: a beautiful woman in perfect makeup and a man with a bald, pointy head and little horn-rimmed glasses. A huge camera sat on the man's shoulder as if it just lived there, possibly attached somehow to his complicated all-weather coat that had extra pockets and zippers, even on the sleeves. Strangest of all was their vehicle parked in the drive, some sort of Jeep tricked out with oversize tires and a satellite dish.
"Dellarobia, is it?" The pale woman looked her straight in the eye with a shocking force, like a faucet left on. "We're from News Nine--we were hoping for just a few minutes of your time to talk about the phenomenon on your farm."
The phenomenon. The man was looking all around the front of the house, as if casing the joint for a break-in.
"I've got small children here that I can't leave unattended." Dellarobia stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. No way was she letting these people into her trashed house. It had been a long day already, and it wasn't even noon. Whose idea was it to keep kids home from school a full week and more after Christmas? Preston was having a rocket-science day, using toys as projectiles and sofa cushions as the landing pad. Cordelia did something she called "farmer" with the Cheerios, planting the entire box like seeds in the living room carpet while Dellarobia was in the bathroom less than five minutes. She could see her future in that carpet, the endless vacuuming, the grit on the soles of everyone's feet. Like a beach vacation minus the beach, and the vacation.
"We only need a few minutes of your time," the woman repeated. "I'm Tina Ultner, this is my associate Ron Rains." She shook Dellarobia's hand in her firm grip. Tina Ultner was amazing to look at, a woman with slender everything: face, nose, fingers, wrists. Her hair was the true pale blond that can't be faked, with matching almost white eyebrows and a candlewax complexion. She was only a few inches taller than Dellarobia, but with those looks she could own the world. Her makeup alone was a miracle, eyeliner applied so perfectly, her wide blue eyes resembled exotic flowers.
"Listen, I'm sorry," Dellarobia said, "we're not presentable in here. My kids are eating lunch. I don't know what to tell you."
Tina cocked her head to the side. "How old?"
"Five and almost two."
Tina's face crumpled into a combination of anguish and high-beam smile. "You're kidding me! I have been there, let me tell you. Mine are six and nine, and I never thought we'd see the day. Two boys. What are yours?"
"What are they, good question. This morning I'm thinking monkeys, maybe. So you're telling me there's life after kindergarten and diapers?"
"There is, I promise. It's like principal and interest or something. I don't know why, but at age six they shift from a liability to an asset."
"Perfect," Dellarobia said. "That's when I'll sell them."
Tina laughed, a two-note, descending peal like a door chime, a laugh as tidy as the rest of her. "What I mean is, they start following instructions. You can tell them to go get Daddy, and they'll do it."
Dellarobia grinned sadly. "And that's a plus?"
"Oh, I hear you," Tina said, seeming as if she really might. Was it possible she had done anything as messy as child-rearing with those white-tipped fingernails? Dellarobia was mortified by her baggy T-shirt and naked face in the light of Tina's glow, but Tina seemed not to notice. She appeared ready to abandon her cameraman friend and run off for coffee and gossip. He must not be that interested in children, was Dellarobia's hunch.
"Here's the truth," she confessed to Tina. "If I let you all see my living room right now, I'd have to kill you. And the kids are alone in there, so they're probably scheming to drink the Clorox. I just don't see any way I can help you out."
"Should we come back another time, when you're not tied up?"
Dellarobia shrugged. "After their high school graduations?"
Tina laughed again, the same two-note ripple, and glanced over at the man, sending him some kind of signal. Ron pulled his head to the side in obvious irritation. He had not yet said a word, and now walked away toward their vehicle. Tina waited until he got in the Jeep before she spoke again in a lowered voice.
"Ron's a little intense," she confided. "He'll go ballistic if we don't meet our deadline on this assignment. He's already talked to the neighbors down the road about getting the story from them, but I just can't see going that way. I'm in a bind."
"I'm sorry," Dellarobia said. After only three minutes in the acquaintance of Tina Ultner, it seemed very important not to let her down.
Tina glanced around, appearing to size up the options. "I'll tell you what. Go and do what you need to do with the kids, I'll do damage control out here. But do you think in maybe, about, fifteen minutes we could put the kids in the Jeep and just scoot up there to where the things are, the butterflies, and do the shot? We'll keep everything tight, and the kids won't have to be out of your sight for a single minute. Maybe bring something to keep them occupied in the car?"
Dellarobia studied the Jeep. Ron was in the driver's seat, making a phone call. You go for things, Dovey h
ad said.
"Could we get a car seat in that thing? Does it have belts in the back?"
"Absolutely," Tina said.
Dellarobia charged back into the house, feeling jinxed after what she'd said about their drinking the Clorox. And that crack about selling her children--what must Tina Ultner think of her? The kids were fully intact in the kitchen, praise heaven, eating their sandwiches. Dellarobia flew into action, throwing the sofa cushions back together and doing a quick pickup of the living room in case Tina had to come in later to use the bathroom. She stuffed Preston's beloved watch and Cordie's animal-farm toy into the diaper bag, and made quick work of her lipstick and eyeliner. The day was sunny and too warm for a coat, which was good luck, her farm jacket or dorky ten-year-old church coat being the choices. She put on a cream-colored ribbed cardigan the kids had given her for Christmas. Meaning it was picked out by her at Target, wrapped by Cub. And never yet worn, also good luck, so she wouldn't look down and see a big stain somewhere on her front side, as per usual when she went out in public. Jewelry or not, she couldn't decide, so opted for small fake-pearl earrings that seemed classy. Her hair still had some curl left over from yesterday's nonsense with Dovey, so she pulled it back loosely with a baby-blue ribbon, and that was that. Before the kids knew what hit them, they were wedged with their mother into the backseat of the News Nine-mobile, bouncing toward the High Road. Dellarobia didn't find any seat belts, but there was no room for the car seat anyway, she just held Cordie in her lap. They wouldn't be getting up much speed. No actual car had tried out that road yet, save for Cub's pickup with the gravel. But that was the point of all Bear's work, as she understood it. Access to the goods. She leaned forward to direct Ron up through the field toward the gate.
"Preston and Cordelia, I am so glad to meet you both," Tina said, turning completely around in the passenger seat. "What great names!"
"Preston was my dad's name," Dellarobia offered.
"And Cordelia is from King Lear. Of course!" Tina reached over the back of the seat to extend her hand to each of the kids. Preston gave the slim fingers a shake, but Cordie just stared, probably mesmerized as Dellarobia was by the manicure. Once again she wondered about Tina's children. Where were they now, while their mother was gallivanting around? She had no idea where these folks had driven from with all their gear. Knoxville? They didn't sound like it. Tina had turned back to Ron and was speaking in a totally different voice, more businesslike.
King Lear, of course! Dellarobia couldn't vouch for having known that, she just liked the sound of Cordelia. Maybe, like her own mother, she had gleaned the name and forgotten the source. She heard Tina ask Ron in a low voice, "Do you think the white will go okay on camera?"
Dellarobia put a hand to her chest, realizing Tina had been scrutinizing her sweater during the introductions. "Should I have worn something else?" she asked.
"No, it's great. Beautiful. Sometimes white goes a little dancey on the camera, is the thing. White, and stripes."
"Actually it's ivory," Dellarobia said. The color of her wedding dress, worn for an audience that was very clear on the difference between off-and white. Maybe Tina wasn't. Dellarobia could have spent all day studying the construction of her coffee-colored trench coat, which had neat parallel lines of white topstitching on the placket and belt and cuffs. Probably designer.
"So, the neighbors," Tina said, again turning backward in the seat to use her let's-be-friends voice. "What's up over there? They don't seem to be on great terms with your family."
Dellarobia was embarrassed about her relationship with her neighbors, or lack thereof. Tina probably knew more about the Cooks now than she did. "Really the bad blood is between them and my in-laws, I've got nothing against them. They've had a run of terrible times. Their little boy came down with cancer, and it got them kind of born-again about using chemicals, so they're into the organic thing. They lost their whole tomato crop. And they put in that peach orchard, which is dying. My father-in-law says when it rains so much you have to spray those kinds of things, or they'll just rot."
"So your father-in-law is not keen on the organic thing." Tina had her left elbow cocked on the back of the seat, her other hand in her lap. Earlier, when they'd gotten in, Dellarobia saw she had a small tape recorder. She wondered if it was running.
"Well, that's kind of typical with farming, people are slow to take up new things. You know, they have to be. When you could lose everything in a season, it's not smart to gamble. I think my in-laws resent the healthy-and-organic business because it makes it sound like what we're doing must be unhealthy and unorganic."
"And your in-laws' view of what's happening up here, with the butterflies. Can you talk about that?"
"I don't know. I mean, their view is their view. You should probably ask them."
Dellarobia was distracted by the renovated road, which she hadn't seen yet. She knew Cub and his father had squared away a lot of downed trees and flood damage, but it was the thick layer of new, whitish gravel that altered everything. They'd turned this little wilderness track into a road, with clean, defined edges against the muddy surroundings. Just a country road like any other, inviting no special expectations, its wildness tamed. Against her will, she thought of Jimmy. And of the person she must have been that day, full of desire, full of herself. Now paved over.
She began seeing the butterflies before Tina did, but soon they couldn't be missed, they were everywhere: the phenomenon. At the overlook, the road had been widened into a compact turnaround spot, and Ron stopped the Jeep there, facing out. Tina stared, still belted into her seat. Cordie and Preston also sat up straight and took notice, as they did when a favored program came on television.
"Dat," Cordelia said, pointing through the windshield.
The cavernous valley before them was filled with golden motion. Cordelia had never seen the butterflies, Dellarobia realized. And Preston just the once, on a rainy day when they weren't flying around. She let Preston get out of the car.
"Stay close, honey, and don't go near the edge where it drops off." She pulled open the door on her side and shifted Cordie to her hip, leaving the diaper bag. "Yes, ma'am, there's the King Billies," she said quietly, "just like at Grandma's." She didn't want Tina to know her kids had not seen this before. It seemed so lazy and housebound or something. It made the butterflies belong to her less. Tina wouldn't understand, the road was new, prior to this week there had been no way to bring a toddler up here.
She watched wonder and light come into her daughter's eyes. Preston stood with the toes of his sneakers at the very edge of the gravel road and his arms outstretched, as if he might take flight. Dellarobia felt the same; the sight of all this never wore out. The trees were covered with butterflies at rest, and the air was filled with life. She inhaled the scent of the trees. Finally a clear winter day, blue dome, dark green firs, and all the space between filled with fluttering gold flakes, like a snow globe. She could see they were finding lift here and there, upwelling over the trees. Millions of monarchs, orange confetti, winked light into their eyes.
"This is your shot," Tina said, out of the car now and suddenly bossing Ron around bluntly, calling into doubt Dellarobia's earlier impression that Tina was afraid of him. She pointed to where he should set up his tripod, and stood Dellarobia on the precipice, so to speak, with the view of the valley and backdrop of butterflies behind her. Tina patted Dellarobia's face with a powderpuff so she wouldn't shine, and explained that they would talk for a while with the camera on Dellarobia, then briefly move it around to shoot Tina as well. Later they would patch it together into one conversation. It didn't matter if Dellarobia said things in the wrong order, or made mistakes. They could cut and paste, Tina said. They would make it all look good.
Dellarobia was flattened with anxiety. The questions Tina asked were mostly personal: Who was she, where did she live, how did she and her family feel about what had happened here? To her shock, even Tina knew the circulating story about a miracle involving D
ellarobia and some kind of vision or second sight. Did she want to talk about that? Not especially, was Dellarobia's reply.
"Then say whatever you want. Whatever you think is important," Tina said.
"Well, here's what I think is probably important. Usually these butterflies go to Mexico for the winter. They've never come here before, in something like a million years, and now all of a sudden here they are. As you can see. He said . . . okay, wait. Stop. Can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"There's a scientist that came here, Dr. Byron. You need to talk to him, he'll be back in a few days. He knows everything there is to know about these butterflies. Could you come back maybe later this week and talk to him?"
"Maybe, sure. Absolutely. But for right now, let's just be here." Tina gave Dellarobia an indulgent smile. She felt the depths of her own incompetence.
"Okay, sorry. Can I start again?" She stuck her hands in her jeans pockets and tried to calm down. She was supposed to be good with words. Cub always said she could argue the wire off a fence post. She'd done speech and drama in high school.
"As many times as you want. No worries. Just be you." Tina put up her hands and waved them, as if to chase everything away and start all over. "What we want is to be up close and personal with Dellarobia. Tell me about the first time you saw the butterflies. What did that feel like?"
"The first time." She glanced at her kids. Cordie was safely tucked into the Jeep now, playing with her plastic barn, but Preston was inching his way out to the edge of the overlook. "Preston!" she yelled. "Not one more inch, mister! I mean it. Or else you will go sit in the car with your sister." She winced apologetically at Tina, who was still smiling. The patience of a saint. "Sorry," Dellarobia said.
"Nothing to be sorry about. Go ahead."
"What I was going to say before is that these butterflies migrated to the wrong place this year, for the first time ever. I guess in the history of the world. So even though it looks really pretty, it might be a problem. It could actually be terrible."
"And why is that?" Tina asked.
Why was that. Words left her mind. Her hair was slipping out of its tie, the curls around her face moving in the breeze, distracting her, and suddenly she felt completely sure her sweater was buttoned wrong. Or not buttoned at all. This day was crazy. She touched her chest with one hand, checking the button placket. "Hang on a sec, can I just, is my sweater buttoned wrong? I'm sure I look horrible."
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