The Owl & Moon Cafe: A Novel (No Series) (38 page)

“Mom!” Lindsay said, looking happier than she had in months. “Does this mean you’re coming to dinner with us?”

In that single moment, in a room generally reserved for the worst news a person could receive, Mariah saw how much her daughter needed a grandfather. Her other male role models were Simon, a keg of sarcasm, and Mr. Cashin, of the quarter tips. Dr. Goodnough had given Lindsay more of a healthy role model in one fish tank than Mariah had over the course of her daughter’s life. If only for Lindsay she had to make this work. A single missed day of school—what did that matter in the long run? “Sure, I’m up for dinner. Where are we going?”

“Back to my house,” Dr. Goodnough said, and Mariah could see in his eyes he was waiting for her to yell at him.

Mariah wanted to say, that’s right. You should be worried, pal. Mess with my child and you’ll find out just what her mother is made of, but she knew she wasn’t all Lindsay needed. For the last two months she’d paid Lindsay’s tuition in tips. She bought her own shoes at the thrift store in order to buy Lindsay new ones. She would do anything to help Lindsay grow up and out of her own circumstances. No daughter of hers would wait tables, or be let go after eight years of term appointments and find herself having ill-fated affairs with Scotsmen who didn’t for one second intend to stick around. “Sounds good,” she said. “Can you draw me a map?”

“Why don’t you ride with your mother, Lindsay?” Dr. Goodnough said, steadily meeting Mariah’s eyes.

“Okay,” Lindsay said. “I know how to get there, Mom. And I know the guard at the gate so we don’t have to pay,” she babbled, and Mariah was undone just to see her daughter excited about something that didn’t reside in a textbook.

“Then it’s all settled,” the doctor said. “I’ll see you both at home.”

Mariah’s neck was tense the whole walk to the car, while Lindsay chattered on about Cricket, the housekeeper who dusted every single thing each day, no matter if it needed it or not. “She told me this Korean folktale about a frog that wouldn’t obey its mother,” she said. “It wouldn’t croak like everyone else. Instead of saying ‘kay-gul,’ it said, ‘kul-gay,’ and the mother was really annoyed but couldn’t get him to stop.”

“So then what happened?” Mariah said as she unlocked the car.

“The mother frog got sick and made the bad frog promise to bury her by a stream when she died, and then she died, and he buried her, and then there was a big storm and he was worried she’d wash away, so that’s why frogs croak ‘kay-gul’ when it rains.”

“Sounds cheery,” Mariah said as they pulled out into traffic.

“Get in the left lane,” Lindsay said, and Mariah did. They were both quiet after that, looking at the Spanish moss and the costly homes tucked back from the road by various wooden and metal gates and cherished, tall, elegant trees. You couldn’t see the ocean, but you could smell it.

“You know,” Mariah said, trying to keep her voice even, “I understood you wanting a night with Allegra, but it’s not okay for you to take a day off school until you clear it with me.”

“I know,” Lindsay said.

“So why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I knew you’d be mad,” Lindsay said, and reached for the radio knob. She tuned the station to Monterey Jack’s evening drive time. “This song goes out to my mother,” he said, “a real Buffalo Gal, my mom. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bill Frisell, from the CD ‘Good Dog, Happy Man.’ ”

Mothers, Mariah thought. Some locked in, others kept out, but our children, even when they’re mad at us, they can’t forget us. Outside the car the sun began its descent into the Pacific. She wondered what Monterey Jack’s mother must be like. Maybe they had pet names for each other, family stories they told over and over, or maybe, like the misbehaving frog, his mother had died, and he was memorializing her in the dedication. That alone was reason enough to forgive your mother for being the kind of person who rubbed you the wrong way. Mariah waited until a few more songs played before speaking, but by then they were at the gate and Lindsay was waving to the guard.

“So what were you sick with yesterday? You look like you feel well today.”

“My stomach hurt,” Lindsay said.

“And this morning? Did it hurt then, too, or were you playing possum?”

Lindsay looked at her, as if stunned. “Mom, my stomach
always
hurts. Some days it hurts worse than others, but it really never goes away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lindsay looked at her, stone-faced, then quietly said, “It was only a stomachache. It wasn’t cancer.”

Mariah wanted to pull over and cry. How could she not have seen something was wrong with her own child? “But Lindsay, if it doesn’t go away then you need to see a doctor. We’ll”—she swallowed her pride—“ask Dr. Goodnough for a referral and make an appointment first thing in the morning.”

“He already made an appointment for me with a gastroenterologist today. Dr. Caroljean Miller. She thinks I should have a test called an endoscopy. That’s when they put a tube with a camera on the end of it down your throat into your stomach. I wish I could stay awake to see it but they give you anesthetic. Turn left here and go to the end. That’s Dr. G’s house. The one with the circular driveway. I wish I could get a video of my endoscopy. I wonder if I asked if they would give it to me.”

“Excuse me, but did it even occur to anyone to clear this with me? I’m your mother. No one’s running tests or taking you to doctors without clearing it with me first.” Not to mention the fact that she’d turned in the last COBRA payment late, and wouldn’t they just love a chance to deny her claim? With a name like that the test had to cost a couple thousand dollars.

Lindsay gave her the big blinking eyes that always did her in. “The only reason I didn’t call you is because Dr. G said he thought he could explain it to you better so would I please wait until dinner.”

Mariah shut the engine off and sat there, stunned. Dr. G’s house was a sprawling one-story done in the Monterey style, with a courtyard, fountain, and a beautifully landscaped yard filled with twisted cypress and scarlet bougainvillea.

Lindsay opened her door. “Come on, Mom. I want to show you the beach. It’s really great. Khan loves it. And there’s a separate house, too. Dr. G calls it a mother-in-law apartment, but it’s really more like a little house. It even has a fireplace. I wish I could live in it. It’s just sitting there empty. Do you think Gammy would like it?”

Mariah followed her daughter up the flagstone steps to a pair of roughly hewn arch-topped oak front doors with hammered copper fixtures and a grated window inset at eye level. The lantern-style light fixture gave off a pearly glow. Simon was right. Allegra would never come back. She’d hire a moving service to pack up her sixties posters and albums. Allegra would live here for the rest of her life, however long that might be.

While Lindsay took her hand and showed her around the house, in Mariah’s mind she saw the pie chart in
Society: The Basics
rise up out of its gray 42.7 percent slice—wealth—and come to life. In terms of distribution of wealth, California was worse than most states, and Carmel was the worst of all. The top three occupations of prestige were physician, attorney, and college professor, although Mariah took issue with the last entry. Dr. Goodnough had original paintings, not prints. The nubby rug over the tile floors was thick and white. The kitchen was a monument to fossilized granite.

“This way, Mom,” Lindsay said.

Mariah followed her daughter to a beach so private and perfect it seemed like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton should be there performing a love scene that would win them an Academy Award. It was growing dark, but she heard the waves crashing, and knew the peace this place must give her mother. Silence where there was none. Immortality when she’d spent so much time thinking of her own mortality. Serenity, solitude, peace—all things that were missing at The Owl & Moon.

“Dr. G says in the summer, he swims every single morning. Isn’t it great, Mom?”

“It’s great.”

“Race you back to the house,” Lindsay said, and Mariah watched her go, that strawberry hair flying behind her.

“Hello, Mom,” Mariah said to Allegra, who was sitting on a leather couch, Khan on her lap. She was wearing new clothes—plum-colored lounging pajamas and embroidered slippers. Next to her was a shawl made of ribbon and mohair, and she knew immediately that Dr. Goodnough had picked it out himself and bought it for her.

“Hello, Mariah,” she said back, and Mariah could see the tension beneath her silk outfit. “It’s good to see you. I’ve been thinking of you a lot.”

“Have you?” Mariah asked. If you’ve been thinking of me, why haven’t you called to apologize for being such an ass on Thanksgiving? Wait…what were they mad about, exactly? “I’ve been thinking of you, too.”

Dr. Goodnough took out a CD. “How about some Aretha before dinner?”

Shortly after, “Respect” issued forth from hidden speakers.

“Your mother loves this song,” he said. “Way back in 1967 it was like nothing I’d ever heard before, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t sound just as good today.”

Mariah knew had she not been there, he would have danced. She could see the two of them dressed in suede and denim, sitting on the sidewalk while music poured through the Haight district. Lindsay was off in the guest room having a Jacuzzi bath before dinner. Allegra had said it was her third since she’d arrived. It was just the three of them here in the living room, although the housekeeper was making a racket in the kitchen. Mariah took a breath and charged in. “Lindsay informed me that you made an appointment for her with a specialist without speaking to me,” she said. “I haven’t given my consent for her to have this procedure and don’t you dare pull an end run around me.”

Dr. Goodnough nodded, and Allegra laid her bony hand over his. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “Ordinarily I’d’ve gone directly to you, but she was afraid to tell you, Mariah.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes, afraid. This doc thinks she has a bleeding ulcer. It’s imperative that we get it checked out.”

“An ulcer?” Mariah said. “How can she have an ulcer? She’s twelve.”

Allegra said, “Now, babe, that’s what I said at first, too. But Al says age has nothing to do with it. It can be a bacterial thing, not just stress related.”

“That’s right,” he said. “If we do the test, we’ll have some answers.”

Mariah felt her knees begin to shake. “But isn’t it dangerous, putting her under general anesthesia?”

Dr. Goodnough folded his hands in his lap. “It’s not a general, just a small amount of a drug called Versed. Dr. Miller’s a wonderful G.I. doc. She’ll put Lindsay out for a half hour, tops, just long enough to scope her, take samples and pictures, and then wake her right up.”

The taking samples part made Mariah feel faint.

“Mariah, I know you’re not wild about having a father foisted on you this late in the game. You don’t have to acknowledge me or even like me, but Lindsay’s a different story.”

“What do you mean?”

“She—and again, I don’t intend to step on your toes—seems to like having me around.”

“She does, Mariah,” Allegra said. “She took to him so quick. They talk about science. She’s fascinated with medicine. Who knows, with Al’s influence, she could grow up to be a doctor. I know you want the best for her, babe. I know I haven’t been the best mother to you, Mariah, but I just don’t see how Al being in her life could hurt her. Please give it a try, if only for Lindsay’s sake.”