Daisy (6 page)
“What do you mean she wants to stay?” I said into the phone Saturday afternoon. I’d been reading the Kingsolver novel but wasn’t even halfway through it yet. It was a long book and now lay next to me on the couch, completely forgotten in the wake of Jared’s phone call.
“Look, she’s embarrassed by what happened at school and with everything you said the other night. She wants to try to make a fresh start out here.”
I was stunned by this turn of events. Truly and completely stunned. “Jared,” I said, my voice calm only because I was still reeling from shock. “Transferring high schools is a big deal, especially in the middle of the semester of her senior year.”
“I know, Daisy,” he said, sounding as though he really understood that the decision was a big one. But he
couldn’t
understand. If he did, he wouldn’t be making this choice. “If she stays here, she can find a new place for herself, and she could still try out for the school play at Beckman. I talked to the school about it yesterday. Auditions are next week. It would be a great way for her to start meeting people right off the bat.”
I closed my eyes, repeating my new mantra in my head—calmly, calmly, calmly—and raised my free hand to my eyes. I hadn’t felt well all week—like my stomach knew that things weren’t the way they should be—and I was feeling worse than ever right now, but I was trying really hard to ignore my physical issues and stay grounded. “I don’t know that running away from this is the right solution, Jared. And I feel like Stormy and I need to fix what’s between us or it’ll fester.” It was unusual for me to trust him with this much information; it made me feel vulnerable.
“That’s the other part of this. She was really hurt by what you said, and she said that even before all of this happened that she’d felt like she’s in the way over there.”
That sliced through me like a razor, but it also cut my defensiveness off at the knees. “If I could take it back, I would.”
I half expected him to rub it in, but he took the high road, and when he spoke his voice was sympathetic. “What’s important now is that we do what’s best for Stormy. I’d love to have her here. We haven’t had the one-on-one time either of us would like, and maybe that’s part of this whole thing too. I’m certainly willing to take my share of the responsibility.” He paused, then added, “It’s what she wants, D.”
D.
He used to call me that all the time, and I didn’t like the warm reaction I felt to the nickname right now. “Okay,” I heard myself say. How could I make her come back if she didn’t want to? Obviously she and Jared had already planned it out. I’d been swimming against the current to even attempt putting up a fight. “But I need to talk to her. Can I come over, bring her some of her things?”
“Actually, we thought we’d come out this afternoon and pack her and Munchkin up. I’m sure you and Stormy can talk things out then. How about that?”
“Okay,” I said again, broken by all of this. I wondered about Jared’s girlfriend and how she might factor in to the situation, but I knew it would be inappropriate for me to ask. I had no power anymore; I’d shattered it when I’d dared say those things about my daughter out loud. Even if she hadn’t been there to hear them, they were mean, and as much as I wanted to take them back, words weren’t retractable.
“Good deal,” Jared said.
I’d been trying hard to find something in his tone or approach to take offense to, to hold against him and use as a step to put myself higher, but not a single thing had invited my cynicism. In fact, I could turn things around and see myself reacting to the situation much worse than he was. I appreciated him handling this the way he was, even if I didn’t like the result.
We finished the call, and I sat there, trying to figure out how I felt. Was I sad? Embarrassed? . . . Relieved? I clenched my eyes shut, berating myself for being so selfish. I tried to read again, but the realization that my little girl wasn’t coming home made me feel raw inside. Paul was spending the day with his brother, so the house was empty. I walked to the doorway of Stormy’s room and tried to be rational as I looked at the space she was leaving behind and attempted to tell myself this was okay.
I packed up some boxes and bags, and when Paul came home, I gave him the details, and he assured me that everything would be okay. Stormy and Jared came around five o’clock. Paul and Jared set about loading up the car, while Stormy and I sat on the back porch and I tried to redeem myself. I’d made some lemonade and sipped it while trying to have a very awkward conversation. Stormy was polite and respectful, but closed off. I apologized and explained how tired I was and how overwhelmed I’d felt to be called in to the school for something so out of character for her.
“You’ve been such a good kid, Stormy,” I explained. “And I’m so proud of you for all you’ve done. It undid me to face something like that, but I should never have said what I said, and I’m so sorry.”
Stormy looked up from her lemonade, and I was surprised to see that her mouth was tight and her eyes narrowed. An apology wasn’t supposed to get that kind of reaction. “You never asked me if I did it.”
I blinked and felt a sharpness in my chest. “I saw the papers, and Mr. Keets said you had claimed I’d helped you with your homework to get the grades, but I hadn’t.”
“I have study hall this term, and I used it to study specifically for that class. I knew I couldn’t be in the school play if I didn’t get my grades up; it was a big deal when they made that policy last year. It took me a while to get into the class, but then I realized that history is really like a whole bunch of stories—like a novel—and systems—like math. I did good on those assignments because I’d studied, Mom, and I said you helped me because I could tell they didn’t believe I could have done it myself. They think I’m stupid.”
“But he said he’d sent a note home a week before. Why didn’t you give it to me when you knew they suspected you?”
“’Cause they were wrong,” she said loudly. “I didn’t even know those other kids outside of class, and I thought they would figure out I didn’t do it.”
I was horrified, and yet I hesitated to believe her. Mr. Keets had said all the answers were the same on all the students paper. “I—uh—did you tell them all of this?”
“Yeah,” Stormy said, standing up from the patio chair and glaring at me. She took the last swig of her lemonade and put the glass down on the wrought-iron table between us. “They didn’t believe me either.”
She walked past me into the house, and I stared straight ahead. No way had that just happened. I finally pulled myself back together and hurried into the house. I didn’t see Stormy right away, but Jared caught my eye as he carried a box of Stormy’s clothes out to the car. He knew. I could see it in his face. He knew that I’d not only said those terrible things about my daughter, but I had, without question, believed she had cheated. I let my eyes fall closed and wanted to die.
“I think this is the last of it,” Paul said, carrying an armful of clothes he’d grabbed from the closet. Jared had already disappeared outside with the box he’d been carrying. I hurried to Stormy’s room, now stripped down to nothing but furniture, bedding, and a few unwanted odds and ends.
She must be in the car.
I hurried outside; Stormy was in the front seat, listening to her iPod while petting Munchkin, who was curled up in her lap. I knocked on the window, and she looked up but then looked back out the windshield. I opened the door, and she pulled out one earbud, exaggerating her aggravation at having her music interrupted.
“I’m so sorry, Storm,” I said. “I know that’s not enough, but I am so, so sorry. I love you, so much, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you. I know I did, and I’m sorry. I feel awful.”
“Love you too, Mom,” she said, her voice chipper as though we hadn’t just had a conversation I would never forget. There was even a glimmer of satisfaction in Stormy’s eyes. “See ya.” She pulled the door shut as Jared opened the driver’s side door.
He smiled a good-bye. Paul came down the sidewalk and stood behind me. He didn’t usually like to display affection when Jared was around, but he must have sensed the fragmentation that was taking place inside me because he put his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder as Jared started the engine. I was frozen as my baby girl drove away with her father. What had I done?
“It won’t be so bad,” Paul said into my ear, “having me all to yourself, will it?”
I couldn’t answer; I couldn’t say anything at all for fear I would admit to him what had happened and he’d lose all respect for me. I also couldn’t agree with him. Yes, I wanted time with him, but not at the expense of my daughter, and I suddenly felt as though I’d traded one for the other. Was I so desperate to be free of my role as a mother that I’d unconsciously pushed Stormy away? Would she ever forgive me for this? Would I ever forgive myself?
The guilt became overwhelming as I realized how easy it was to fall into a new routine that didn’t involve Stormy. I slept in until seven every morning. Paul and I had coffee and toast together before I left for work. In the evenings, we watched what we wanted to on TV, or went out to eat, or drove down to the beach. My pants got looser as the knot in my stomach kept me from wanting to eat much. Who knew that not having kids around could be such an effective weight-loss plan? Paul was invited to speak at an IT convention in Philadelphia in January, and I asked for the days off of work so I could join him. Just like that.
December called from her OB appointment a few days before Halloween and let me listen to the sound of my grandson’s heartbeat. I cried and made plans to visit her in Ohio the first part of February, which was when she was due, so that I could help her out. Again, it was so easy to make the arrangements since it was only my schedule I had to consider.
I told December what had happened with Stormy, but she already knew. The girls were pretty close despite being ten years apart in age. Though she commiserated with me for bumbling the incident, she was also a teacher and knew what a serious problem cheating was. She consoled me by saying she wished more parents were willing to consider the possibility that their child might be guilty rather than becoming instantly defensive.
“For every kid falsely accused, there are fifteen guilty ones screaming their innocence.” She also relayed how nice it was that Stormy had the chance to build a relationship with her dad.
I tried not to take that as another personal failure, as I’d never pushed December’s dad to stay in touch with her, and he hadn’t. Had that created a hole in her life?
I changed the subject, and she followed. We ended up laughing over how often December found herself running for the bathroom now that she was six months pregnant, and how she and Lance were still arguing over names for their son. She was fighting for the name Tennyson—her favorite British poet—while Lance wanted something more traditional, Matthew or Samuel.
Whenever I came across Stormy’s things in the house, I put them on her bed, waiting for her to start coming around and letting us repair the chasm between us. She didn’t visit, though. Instead, she tried out for her new high school’s play—
Phantom of the Opera
—and got a part as a ballet dancer, which she was really excited about. She’d met a couple of girls she hung out with now and then. I called her every day, but she only answered a couple of times a week, and our conversations were short and superficial. Still, overall, the change seemed to be as positive as Jared had assured me it would be.
By the time my anniversary trip weekend with Paul came around—Halloween weekend—it almost seemed superfluous to go anywhere. We had so much time together these days that it seemed silly to spend the extra money to go to Mexico like Paul had planned. But it was all reserved, so we went. Paul went parasailing while I soaked up the sun and noted that while my waistline was shrinking—I had officially fit into my size ten swimsuit—I was falling out of the top. I sure didn’t remember
that
being a problem the last time I’d worn it, although Paul didn’t seem to mind.
I’d always loved Mexico, but I couldn’t tolerate the molé—which was my favorite. It sent me running to the bathroom to throw up as soon as we got back from the restaurant, and then kept me up half the night with heartburn. Nothing I ate sat well after that, so I settled on rice and tortillas for the rest of the trip. Paul gave me a new handbag as an anniversary gift, a beautiful red leather case that would fit my laptop and most of the contents of my purse. I gave him a battery-powered GPS unit he could use while hunting or hiking. Computer nerd Monday through Friday, outdoorsman on the weekends, was a pretty good description of the man I’d married.
I tried to get comfortable with this new life, the first time in more than two and a half decades that there wasn’t a little person demanding to be taken care of, but my freedoms felt like failures somehow.
As the first Saturday in November approached—the date of my second book group—I found myself more and more excited to go. I had finished
The Poisonwood Bible
and while I didn’t necessarily like the story—it was a very sad commentary about the effect one person’s choices can have on everyone else’s—I loved the writing and looked forward to discussing it. I barely knew the other women in the group, so it wasn’t that I was excited to see
them.
Then I realized, with even more regret, that as much as I enjoyed being with Paul, I was looking forward to spending an evening with someone else. With women. He was wonderful, but I needed some texture. Book group offered something that had nothing to do with the rest of my life, and I was excited to take a break.
You really are a horrible person, Daisy,
I thought.
There were already two cars at Ruby’s when I arrived at book group. I’d been fifteen minutes early last time, and I wished I’d gotten my act together quicker this time as well. I took a minute to adjust my makeup and return Paul’s text about what time I expected to be home.
Ruby must have been waiting right by the door because she opened it almost before the doorbell chime had stopped reverberating.
“Oh, Daisy, honey,” Ruby said, spreading her arms and wrapping me up in a wonderful hug. Once released, she immediately turned toward the living room and I followed. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said over her shoulder. She wore a plum-colored suit with a jacket long enough that it flowed behind her like a cape. I’d love the same thing in a nice eggshell. For my part, I was in jeans and a new pink top I’d bought while shopping by myself last week. The thought made me miss Stormy’s fashion advice—I wasn’t convinced the color was a good shade for me.
“I’m glad I could make it. Things have been a little crazy.”
I took a seat and said hello to the group. Shannon and Athena weren’t there, but I was greeted by Livvy and Paige and met a new member, Ilana. She was quiet, but the rest of us moved seamlessly into basic small talk. I heard a little more about Paige’s job at the dental office. I hadn’t known many Mormons, but I’d heard plenty about them. Yet she looked so
normal.
I wondered why she didn’t move back to Utah—where she’d said she’d grown up—now that her marriage was over, but the more she talked and laughed the more I recognized a familiar streak of independence. Mormon or not, she wanted to figure out this new life of hers by herself. I cheered her on in my mind.
Livvy was more at ease this time too. She still looked thrown together and seemed the least comfortable out of everyone there—well, maybe not Ilana, but this was her first meeting so it made sense that she’d hold back—but I was glad Livvy was making time for book group. From the things she’d said about her husband and children, I suspected she didn’t do many things for herself. As we chatted, I was anxious about them asking about Stormy. In the month since I’d introduced myself, so much had changed, and I didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened, but I didn’t want to lie either. Luckily, the topic never came my way. Perhaps because I kept the other ladies talking about themselves instead.
“Shannon had to work a later shift, so she’ll be here next month,” Ruby interjected after we’d been chatting for a few minutes. “And then Athena called me about an hour ago and said she couldn’t come—something came up.”
“That’s too bad,” Livvy said, looking genuinely concerned. “I hope it’s nothing serious. Did she give any clue as to why she couldn’t make it? I feel bad she’s missing her own book suggestion.”
“None.” Ruby shook her head and took the first of the éclairs resting on a pedestal cake plate on the coffee table. “But that’s why I ended up making these. Athena was supposed to bring the treats this time.”
I could smell the chocolate—why could I smell the chocolate? I was hungry, but the éclairs didn’t sound very good. Still, I didn’t want to be rude as Ruby passed the cake plate around, so I picked up one of the small cocktail napkins and then chose an éclair, the smallest one with the least frosting.
“Could be a work deadline or something else with her magazine,” I said. I’d looked up her magazine,
Newport Travel,
a few days ago. So many online magazines were being thrown together by anyone who had anything to say, and I had wondered how hers would compare. It was very crisp and included more than just information on traveling through Newport. I’d looked forward to talking to her about it. Too bad she hadn’t been able to make it to group.
“I’ll give her a call later to see if she’s okay,” Ruby said. She picked up her copy of
The Poisonwood
Bible
from the coffee table and officially began with the book talk. “Since Athena picked this month’s book, she was supposed to lead the discussion, but I suppose I’ll have to do.” She chuckled and consulted some papers she’d printed off the computer. She gave us some basic biographical information about Kingsolver and her work, then started discussing the actual book
.
“Okay, so my first thought was about the nature of religion and how it impacted the lives of the five female voices in the book. I believe in prayer and Jesus and all that, but I’m not much for organized religion, and books like this kind of make me glad I’m not—especially as a woman.”
I couldn’t help but look at Paige, who had already told us she was a practicing Mormon. I was a little surprised that Ruby would state her opinion so strongly so early in the discussion. Paige seemed to realize she’d ended up in an unexpected spotlight and she cleared her throat.
“I don’t think the problem is with organized religion, per se,” she said. “Throughout history, people have used religion and God as an excuse to do all kinds of terrible things. But religion was just that—their excuse. Religion has done as much to bring people together and accomplish amazing things as it has to destroy. It’s powerful.”
She picked up her éclair, but put it back down when no one else spoke. She looked around and must have taken our silence as a sign we expected her to say more. “You all know I’m a Mormon,” she said. “Something you might not all know is that my church helps people all over the world. One of its missions is all about reaching out to those in need. In that way, I think organized religion is a really good thing, not just for its members, but for the people they can help.”
Ruby leaned forward. “When you say help, don’t you just mean the boys in suits who teach about your church?”
Paige shook her head and went on to describe the extensive service her church provided to all types of people. She also mentioned Mother Theresa and all the good she did as a Catholic nun. I knew all about Mother Theresa, but I kept that to myself. I wasn’t just raised Catholic, I was raised
Catholic
—Sunday Mass, first communion, praying to saints, the whole thing. I never questioned it, really, just nodded and listened and tried to be a good girl so I’d never have to confess anything. It wasn’t until I got older that I learned about the Crusades and politics.
Paige continued to talk about a bunch of other non-Catholic religious people—some of whom I’d never heard of. The last person she brought up was Jesus. I avoided her eyes and nibbled at the éclair, but I wasn’t hungry, and sugar didn’t sound good, so I returned it to my napkin.
“He was a good man,” Ilana said. “I’m Jewish, so, well . . .”
She trailed off, but one look at Paige showed how hard the comment had hit her.
After another moment, Paige continued. “I guess what I’m saying is that some people get so wrapped up in one thing—and it could be a good thing, even—that they lose sight of what’s most important. So that thing could be
saving
the heathen, like Nathan wanted to do in the book, even at the expense of his wife and daughters. Or it could be someone working so hard on a charity that helps people in another country but totally ignoring the needy right under their own roof. The
organization
isn’t the problem. It’s the slanted focus of someone who turns from devotion to obsession. And any obsession is unhealthy, especially if it’s at someone else’s expense.”
Her voice had sped up as she reached the end of her monologue, which was too long not to sound defensive, but being a Mormon in California probably
made
her defensive.
“You make a really good point,” Ruby said, nodding slightly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Nathan used religion as a crutch to feel important and do what he wanted to do. Sort of took himself out of being responsible for anything—he could blame it all on God and his desire to serve.”
Livvy squirmed in her chair. “Ooooh, that makes me hate him even more.”
“I’m glad that your church is such a support to you,” I said to Paige. That would have been nice when I needed people to rally around me, but that hadn’t been my experience. “But not everyone gets the same kind of support through their parishes. What you said about good people in churches is true. Absolutely. And I think Paige is on to something when it comes to people using religion as a crutch—as an excuse.” I paused and organized my thoughts. “From my experience, the problem comes—and all too often—when people put church before God.” The final words brought up an emotion that took me by surprise, and I had to look away. Maybe they sometimes put church before their children too—maybe when their children needed them the most. “One good thing about organized religion—at least in real life, not in the book, for sure—is how it can bond families together. But if some family members are devout and others . . .
aren’t
. . . religion becomes a schism and something . . . something painful.” We all were quiet for a moment, and I was glad to have time to gather my thoughts. “We saw that with Rachel when she struck out on her own; she never looked back on God or her family.”
“But Rachel never really looked to God at the start, either,” Livvy pointed out. “She was always materialistic and vain, start to finish. She was the polar opposite of her sister Leah. Nathan’s religion is his worshipful obsession, but Leah worships her father to the same crippling degree. She wants so much to please him that she very blindly accepts every crazy idea that man takes into his head.”
“She does denounce her religion, though,” Paige offered. Devil’s advocate? “She leaves the Baptist faith behind her.”
“But not God,” Livvy clarified, looking a little uncomfortable. “In fact I think He becomes bigger in her mind and heart as the book progresses.”
“But to say that is somehow indicative of organized religion being a bad thing isn’t fair,” Paige interjected. “Nathan was one man who used his religion badly, but that doesn’t mean the Baptist faith in and of itself is bad. Doesn’t drawing that conclusion do the very same thing Nathan did? State that one way is the right way at the expense of all other ideas?”
Wow, the conversation had quickly gone a lot deeper than I’d expected it to go, but I wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable with it.
“There’s a quote along these lines,” Livvy said, flipping through her book. “On page one forty-one Adah says, ‘I wonder that religion can live or die on the strength of a faint, stirring breeze. The scent trail shifts, causing the predator to miss the pounce. One god draws in the breath of life and rises; another god expires.’ Maybe instead of God being the focal point of that quote, it’s more like vision or belief or something a bit more ethereal in relation to God. Not one of us in this room believes in God the same way as another one does, but I imagine that if Nathan had respected the god worshiped in the Congo, even if he remained true to his own beliefs, the story would have been very different.”
“And probably not worth writing about,” Ruby said with a chuckle. “Without conflict, there’s no story.”
That’s true,
I thought, considering the need for conflict in a good story—something for the characters to overcome. Wasn’t life like that too? Full of conflicts we either act against or react to? The question was whether or not I was learning from the conflicts of my life. I liked to think I was, but it was hard to see until time stretched far enough past it to give me perspective. And then one change in course, like Stormy leaving, brought everything into question all over again. Was I a better person now than who I started out as? Was I all that different from the seventeen-year-old girl who had announced to her parents that she was going to have a baby, deal with it?
Ilana leaned forward slightly and raised a hand, ready to speak. We all took the cue and listened. “I’m a bit split on the whole organized religion thing. I grew up with a pretty conservative family. We always went to temple on the Sabbath, we ate kosher, I had my bat mitzvah, the whole bit. My parents have always found strength in reading the Torah and following the laws, but as I’ve gotten older, I’m not so sure I believe any of it—even whether there’s a God.” She pointed at the book in my lap. “As far as the story in
Poisonwood
goes, I see it being just as much about the repression of women as about religion. Religion is just the vehicle the author uses to tell the story about the women and how they’re kept in place and held back.”
“That’s a great point,” Livvy said, smiling at Ilana. “And there are all kinds of political, gender, and socioeconomic themes throughout the book. Seeing only the religious connotations is missing a huge portion of the story.”
Ilana nodded and leaned back in her chair, as though content to have done her part to participate.
“You don’t like the éclair?” Ruby suddenly said to me, breaking the tension.
I looked around and realized everyone else had eaten theirs, even Ilana.
“I love éclairs,” I quickly clarified. “Paul and I went away last weekend, and I haven’t quite recovered from something I must have picked up down there. I didn’t mean to waste your food, though.”
Ruby sympathized immediately. “I’ve been getting the darndest indigestion at night myself,” she said, patting her ample tummy. “Don’t know what’s causing it. I don’t dare see a doctor in case it’s an ulcer—or something worse.” She said the last with a whispered tone, hinting what horrible thing “something worse” could be. “I hope your situation isn’t serious.”
“I don’t think it’s anything like that,” I said. “It’s probably just a bug or maybe some food poisoning. I’ve been a little sick to my stomach ever since, and sweets are especially unappetizing. I’m tired a lot, too—probably from not eating like I usually do. I’m sure I just need some extra sleep to kick it.”
“Nausea and fatigue?” Paige asked. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”
My head shot up, and I stared at Paige. Did she really just say that? I forced myself to be calm, however. If I wanted to come across as the woman who had it all together, I couldn’t fly off the handle when someone made a stupid comment. “That’s quite impossible. I took care of that fifteen years ago.” I smiled but I could feel the coldness of it. I could tell from Paige’s expression that she could feel it too. It was presumptuous for her to say something so personal; I had a hard time feeling bad about my reaction.