When a cop killed someone—a fairly unusual occurrence here—department policy mandated a visit to the shrink. If a deputy was shot, he had to do therapy too. (America’s newest religion was the cult of Trauma.) Daniel Doheny already had his session.
Lydia hadn’t given a second thought to the “death of the bachelor” (for a few weeks, whenever her substation colleagues saw her they broke into the Panic! at the Disco song the madman was crooning at Tim Hortons), at least not in the conventional sense. If anything, the incident stirred up questions she would never have brought up with the police shrink. No, they were issues more along the line of things she’d talk over with Annie, the woman who led the Meeting and called herself “the Porter.”
Lydia wrote them down on a pad so she wouldn’t forget.
Questions! There were so many that even the idea of them was absurd. She was definitely still Lydia—but how much of Lydia? And just how long would the “landlord” Lydia dominate, in brain and in body? She certainly felt like Deputy Molloy; all of those woman’s memories were intact and accountable. She even remembered that ill-fated hike . . . drifting in recollection, she knew she was wholly Lydia, more or less, in the moment. She liked the food and clothes and smells that Lydia liked, and the music too—classical (Copland and Kindertotenlieder), hip-hop (Nicki and Kanye and Big Sean) and Top 20 (Adele and Rihanna). Plus, there were certain men and women whom she worked with (except for Daniel) or passed along the street who made her feel what she called sexybody. But what of the other memories and feelings, those of her tenant-“roommate”? What about being able to recall a set of parents different from her own? What about holding the stuffed unicorn close to her so she could sleep? (Lydia had never been a fan of stuffed animals.) What about her craving for cotton candy—she was a vegan who was nearly phobic about sugar—or when she made plans to buy turtles and goldfishes. What about when she zoned out in front of the TV in front of Rugrats and Dora the Explorer?
Lydia favored shows like Dr. Who and Black Mirror . . .
Friends still called her cell and she had no trouble talking to them, no trouble at all—a bunch whom she hadn’t heard from came out of the woodwork right after the shooting—but once Lydia hung up she drifted again, feeling ten thousand miles away. Her mom and dad, proud and worried about the whole Tim Hortons thing, came in from Minnesota to stay with her and she was fine with them too; she loved them in the same way she loved the other parents, Maya’s parents, though Maya’s were so pale, so hard to summon. Lydia was aware that she seemed “different,” especially to her folks; she would have had to because she wasn’t their Lydia anymore, not completely. They never made any remarks about it (though sometimes seemed on the verge), but she also knew that whatever part of her that appeared anomalous or strangely new—being spacey or whatever—would be written off by them to the post-traumatic stress of the Tom Ford lookalike kill. After a Meeting, Annie told Lydia that she was actually fortunate to have had that incident because it was a good “cover” for odd and unfamiliar behaviors.
At the time of her death, Lydia had two half-casual lovers, a man and a woman, sweet sexybody buddies from different counties, neither of whom knew about each other. But she ended all that because, well, Maya wasn’t exactly thrilled. (One of them even showed up when Daniel was there. Awkward.) They managed their hurt feelings by attributing Lydia’s cooling passions to her shooting that crazy man; the Porter had absolutely predicted how they’d rationalize her pulling away. Out of weakness, she let the man play with her body for a few weeks and it did feel good, but Maya was weirded out so Lydia chose to stop—she was overruled. That’s why it felt so nice to be with Daniel, because he understood. They started talking about secret things, not in detail but enough for Lydia to know that he felt the same way she did. He never talked about his lovers and she wondered if he was in the closet. Not that it would have mattered. She just felt lucky to have found him. It was like a miracle.
There were so many things to ask Annie, though most of her questions and concerns would soon fall away, the way they always did in a landlord’s journey. They would migrate and become the concerns of another, someone already on their way to the station to greet the train.
The first time Lydia went to the Meeting, she was almost late.
How had she even gotten there?
She dreamed she was back on the train. The Porter came to her cabin with the usual tray of cookies and lemonade and everything was so clear, unlike the fuzziness she was accustomed to when trying to conjure the same tableau during waking hours. There was a little boy there too but he was fuzzy, even in the dream. The Porter—Annie—told her they would be arriving soon and it was of great importance that she come to see her. She wrote the address down on the back of the coaster the lemonade was on and told the little girl she should commit it to memory. Maya said that she was terrible at remembering things, but Annie assured her that she wouldn’t forget.
“When should I come?” asked Maya.
“You’ll know,” said Annie, then smiled and left.
Maya turned over the coaster.
The Divine Child Parish
276 Lafayette Circle, Detroit, MI 48206
Be there or be square!
She was supposed to have pizza with Daniel that night but told him she had to meet a friend. He raised an eyebrow, implying she was having a rendezvous with one of her old sexybodies, but was funny and permissive about it. At the last moment, Lydia said, “You didn’t have the dream?”
“What dream?” he answered, and she felt foolish.
She said she’d be back at ten.
Detroit was an hour south of Richmond, where she lived (sharing her home more or less with Daniel now), and she did have trouble with the address Annie gave her—Lydia wasn’t so wonderful with directions, even with GPS. When she arrived at the church, she couldn’t for the life of her make sense of where she was supposed to go. She’d forgotten that just before leaving her cabin, Annie added that the room she’d be looking for was in the basement. The block was so dark and there were tall, tall trees, what looked like a forestful. She was in tears and about to leave when a funny-looking man with a twitch came out, looked around and waved her over; she got the feeling he’d been sent after her. He introduced himself as Bumble and said he was “the sentry—I help Annie.” He was very odd, to say the least, but his smile disarmed her. Bumble beckoned her to follow and they took the stairway down. At the bottom, he pointed to a half-open door. She smiled at him nervously and he politely but firmly encouraged her to go in. When she gently pushed through, she saw that the Meeting was already in progress.
Five people sat in chairs that formed a circle in the center of the smallish room. Annie presided, looking more beautiful to Maya than she did on the train. She wore turquoise jewelry, a silver pin in her collar and a long black dress like the ones Spanish royalty wore in the paintings Lydia saw when she visited the Museo Nacional del Prado during gap year. Annie stood and went to the door to hug her. Then she turned to the group and said, “Everyone—this is Maya.” They smiled and shouted, “Welcome!” Annie pointed to one of two vacant chairs and the newcomer went to sit. But before she did, she picked up a pamphlet resting there—Maya was written on it above a glittery unicorn that warmed her heart. Then she glanced at the empty seat beside her; the pamphlet on it was addressed to Troy.
It was hard for her to focus during the Meeting. When she looked around, it seemed a lot of the others—so-called landlords and their invisible child-tenants—were similarly bewildered. One of them, called Dabba Doo, looked to be somewhere in his sixties. He had a quirky sense of humor and wore a tweed suit without shoes. Another was a blond girl named Violet, an absolute stunner. Most were well-dressed, except for a wiry black fellow in sweatpants; apparently, he was a yoga teacher. During the Meeting, some of the guests burst into tears without provocation, while others simply doodled on their Guides. Violet and the yogi peppered the Porter with questions that seemed either to make great sense or no sense at all. Annie was patient and motherly, occasionally dispensing hugs and Kleenex to the frustrated and distraught.
At Meeting’s end, everyone stood and held hands for the Serenity Prayer:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Lydia had been to a few AA meetings with alcoholic friends, but that was years ago. She wondered how she could have known the prayer so well. It was an easy one, but easy to stumble over too—maybe it was the effect of saying it en masse. Before Annie walked Lydia to her car, they said their goodbyes to Bumble as he restored order to the room.
Once outside, the Porter said, “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Lydia forgot about the list of questions she’d prepared; suddenly, all of them seemed to evaporate.
“I’m not the best artist but I hope you liked the unicorn,” said Annie.
“Oh my God, I loved it!” she exclaimed.
“Things will become clearer—you’ll be surprised how quickly that will happen. But at first, it’s a bit of a struggle. Just try not to think that much. Trust—that everything is as it should be. Turn your head off! Do you think you can do that, Maya?” She really didn’t know what Annie meant but said yes. “And I know it’s confusing but I like to call the children by their birth names, not the names of their landlords. It seems to help with the . . . well, it just seems to help.” Annie saw that along with Maya’s Guide, she was clutching the one with Troy’s name; Lydia couldn’t remember having picked it up. Annie took it from her hand and said, “He’ll be at the next one—the boys are always a little bit slower to get here than the girls. It’s best he take it from the chair himself, when he comes.”
Lydia didn’t know what she meant. She didn’t know what any of it meant but right then tried to turn off her head, as the Porter had advised.
“Do you know who he is yet?” asked Annie, with that lovely smile. “Do you know who Daniel is?”
“I don’t even know who I am!” she answered, bursting into hysterical giggles.
Annie delighted in that and giggled along. “Good Lord. That is the truest and most charming thing!”
“Am I Maya or Lydia?” she asked, solemnly.
“A little of both,” said Annie. She hugged her close. “Don’t worry—I’m afraid I don’t know who I am either! But I’ve turned my head off so long, I don’t need to know. Not anymore. I’m just . . . grateful. And you will be too. Be patient.”
Lydia got in her car and rolled down the window.
Annie leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I love you,” she said. “I really do, you know.”
“I love you too,” said Lydia—the first thing all night she was certain of.
Daniel was in his PJs, fast asleep on the couch, when she got home.
The TV was on mute. He’d been watching an old episode of The Rifleman. Lydia sat down next to him, overwhelmed with the night’s experience, overwhelmed by love. She closed her eyes and fell right to sleep. It was the first time since she had died that her sleep was dreamless.
No anguish, no whoosh—no train.
When Daniel awakened, he was happy to see her beside him. His heart leapt within as he kissed the crown of her head. The mouth of her purse gaped open and he plucked out the Guide. He saw Maya written on its cover and was puzzled.
He opened it to the first page:
Rule Number One: Be GOOD to your NEW BODY!!! Treat it with RESPECT and it will RETURN the favor!!!
He wasn’t all that interested; he was nearly as tired as she.
He stuffed it back in her purse.
Lydia let him sleepwalk her to the bedroom, where he changed her into pajamas that were dotted with little lambs. He tucked them both in; with eyes still closed, she whimpered. He knew what she wanted. He got out of bed to retrieve the stuffed animal that had fallen to the floor. He put it in her arms and she held it to her body, smiling in her sleep.
He held her as tightly as she did the unicorn.
“Sister,” said Daniel beneath his breath, though their relationship’s provenance had yet to surface in his consciousness. He joined her in sleep and was soon in his compartment on the train. A woman came with a tray of toy soldiers, French fries and a milkshake. She said they’d almost arrived at the station and told him to remember an address.
Boys were better at memorizing things.