Erica slouched on the front stoop with Sophia, waiting for Debbie to pick her up. The Volvo dealer had finally determined that Vince’s central computer was to blame for his malfunctions, but the replacement was still en route, apparently on a slow boat from Sweden. Everyone’s lawns were slimy from the winter, and only the most tentative of green buds mounded up from the tree branches. A garbage truck huffed by, leaving a stink and a scatter of Styrofoam plates.
Debbie pulled into the driveway in her new gray Oldsmobile sedan and honked. The vehicle reminded Erica of a hippopotamus. “And that was Englebert Humperdinck,” announced a familiar voice as Erica hooked in Sophia’s car seat. Ron’s tone was melodious and resonant, intimating a totally different personality over the air than in person.
Debbie wore an aqua pantsuit with padded shoulders and matching pumps. Her nails were perfectly rounded, a pale pink. “We’re going to Macy’s,” she said, merging onto the Meadowbrook. “It’s got a broad selection, and it’s close by. I need to squeeze so much into my day off, and I have to take Jared to the gastroenterologist at two.”
“How’s Jared doing?” Erica asked.
“Don’t ask,” Debbie sighed.
: : :
At Macy’s Erica suggested an underwater watch, complete with timer, in crystal blue. Debbie shook her head. “It’s a scuba diving watch,” she said. “Lauren doesn’t dive, as far as I know.”
“I thought she did,” Erica said. “Plus there’s a barracuda engraved on it. Isn’t the theme of her bat mitzvah the underwater kingdom?”
Debbie decided a watch wasn’t a smart idea, period, so they drifted over to jewelry, where they surveyed practically their entire inventory of necklaces and bracelets, asking the saleslady to remove them one by one from the locked glass case. Debbie dangled each one from her pearly fingers, held them up to the light, wrinkled her nose, and dismissed them. They were all too expensive, too cheap, too showy, too dull, just not right somehow. Finally, Debbie cradled a bright-blue semiprecious stone dolphin on a gold chain in her palm and granted her grudging approval.
Then she suggested lunch. If there was anything Debbie loved it was a frilly ladies’ lunch in a department store. They settled into wicker chairs and looked at each other over the lace tablecloth.
“What do you want to eat?” Erica asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Debbie said. “I’m not very hungry.”
“You were the one who suggested lunch,” Erica reminded her. She couldn’t relate. She was always hungry. The waitress appeared, pouring them lemon-scented water. They both chose the special: chicken walnut salad and cream of broccoli soup.
By the time the soup arrived, Sophia was whimpering and nuzzling at Erica’s blouse. She unbuttoned it partway, and Sophia snuggled into her contentedly as Erica alternated soothing spoonfuls of soup with gulps of black coffee.
“How are the boys?” asked Debbie, averting her eyes from Erica’s chest.
“Oh, crazy as usual,” Erica said. “Dylan is entering a Lego robotics contest. He scored in the ninety-ninth percentile on his math aptitude tests.”
“How nice,” Debbie replied absently, blowing her nose in her napkin. “Sophia looks like Mom, don’t you think? Those wide-set blue eyes.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Erica said. “Now that you mention it.”
The waitress removed the soup bowls, replacing them with plates of chicken salad attractively arrayed on watercress.
“I can’t believe you went for another baby, after the twins.” Debbie blew her nose again.
“I wanted a girl,” Erica said, switching breasts.
“Yes, well you’re lucky. When all you have is one. . .” Debbie listlessly lifted a forkful of chicken to her lips, letting it dangle there for a moment, and a greasy walnut fell onto her leg. She dipped her snotty napkin into her lemon water, dabbling furiously at her pantsuit.
“One what?” Erica asked.
“One boy. One precious only boy. I tried to have more, you know, but then I had that ectopic pregnancy and nearly died, and the doctor said no way could we have another child.” Debbie’s face collapsed, tears streaking down her cheeks, bunching up her face powder into little mounds like mauve sand. Her eye shadow clotted into little polka dot pimples beneath her painstakingly plucked brows.
Erica proffered a baby wipe from her bag.
Debbie placed the wipe over her shut lids like a compress. “I’m sorry to make such a scene, Rikki,” she said. “I can’t eat. I haven’t slept. You have no idea of the stress I’m under with Jared.”
“Did he get drunk again?” Erica grabbed a burp cloth out of her diaper bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“He wouldn’t have the chance!” Compact case in hand, Debbie redid her makeup. “He’s grounded! It’s not just the drinking—it’s everything! He’s getting Cs and Ds, and he used to be on the honor roll. He quit violin, and he showed such promise. He quit the tennis team, and you know how important sports are to Ron. We got a progress report from school, and he’s been cutting French class. French is his last class of the day, at 2:10, and he never gets home until at least 4:30, so tell me, what’s he been doing all that time?” Debbie gasped and sniffled, and her newly applied makeup started running again. “I think he’s”—she hesitated, nearly swallowing her next words—“using drugs. He’s going to drop out of school at this rate. He’ll never go to college. He’ll wind up on the streets!”
Sophia burped loudly, spitting up a few curds of milk. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Erica asked. “I mean, like the tennis team. Jared never liked sports, as far as I can recall.”
Debbie sighed. “Don’t you remember? He made the semifinals last year at the club! Now look what’s happened. You have no idea how serious this is, Rikki.”
The waitress reappeared, presenting the check and removing Erica’s empty plate. Erica put down her credit card. “Let me treat you to lunch,” she said.
Debbie sipped listlessly at her cup of Earl Grey tea. “Thank you. I haven’t said anything, but this has been going on, you know, for a while. We’ve been to so many doctors. His allergist said he might be allergic to wheat, and that could be causing his stomachaches and maybe the fatigue and his lack of concentration in school. That’s why I’m taking him to the gastroenterologist today, for more tests. And his ear, nose, and throat specialist said that maybe his middle ear membrane was damaged from all those ear infections he had when he was little, and he hears words differently than most people do. I mean, he hears them as loud as normal but at a different pitch so he can’t interpret them correctly. It’s called dystympania.”
“There’s no such thing as a middle ear membrane,” said Erica, signing the check. “And wheat allergies aren’t nearly as common as they’re made out to be.”
“Oh, Rikki, stop pretending you’re a medical expert just because you went to nursing school ten years ago. These are some of the best doctors on the Island. And that’s not the worst of it.”
“Tell me the worst of it,” Erica said.
Debbie sucked in several deep heavy breaths. “At the Nassau Family Clinic, Dr. Rafferty diagnosed Jared with DDD.”
Erica stared at Debbie in perplexed astonishment. “What on earth is DDD?”
“Defiant disobedient disorder.”
“It sounds like something Ron might spray on the lawn.”
“Rikki! Why must you make light of everything! It’s a real physical syndrome! Mental illnesses aren’t always in the head, like people used to think!”
“How do you treat DDD?” Erica signed the credit card slip and fastened Sophia back into her stroller.
“Well, he needs more tests,” Debbie said. “He needs therapy—we’ve already started that. And medication.”
They descended five floors in the elevator and exited at the parking lot. Debbie fumbled in her purse. “Where’s my car, do you remember, Rikki? Why can I never find my car when I’m running late?”
“Over there, by Bloomingdale’s.”
Debbie pulled out of the parking lot and onto the busy parkway. Ron’s closing selection, a Tom Jones ballad, droned through its final chorus.
“I still don’t get it,” Erica said. “Aren’t all teenagers defiant and disobedient?”
“Maybe you. I wasn’t. Ron wasn’t,” Debbie said.
“Oh, please. What about Randy Wasserman and those open cans of beer in his car?”
“He was the only one drinking it. Beer always made me sick.”
“And what about Ron? Didn’t he beat up some kid on his college basketball team? Isn’t that why he lost his scholarship and got drafted?”
“You weren’t supposed to know about that, “Debbie said, exiting onto Glenvere Road.
“You told me once. When Jared was in the hospital with pneumonia.”
“It was different with Ron.”
“How?”
“It just was. His buddy started that fight, and you know how frat boys can be. Listen, Rikki, I want to ask you a favor. I was wondering if maybe you could talk to Jared, spend a little time with him. I thought you might have more insight into his mindset, given the kind of teen you were.”
“The kind of teen I was? That sounds more like an insult than a compliment.”
“Well, you know. Everything.” Debbie slid to a stop at the four-way intersection by the entrance into West Meadow Knolls. “The way you were always stealing Mom and Dad’s liquor, for instance. I saw you sneak a bottle of Connemara whiskey—the one the Lipmans gave him at his fiftieth birthday party—and it upset me so much I told Mom.”
“You snitched to Mom? You weren’t even living at home anymore.”
“I felt she should know. It was Dad’s! And it was expensive!” Debbie inched forward as the Audi opposite her did the very same thing.
“I can’t believe you snitched to Mom. They grounded me for a month for that.”
“Get over it. This was fifteen years ago. You put Mom and Dad through their paces, believe me.”
“Do you always have to be such a goddamn sanctimonious saint?”
“Rikki! Stop harassing me!” Debbie accelerated, turning toward the stone gates of West Meadow Knolls. Brakes squealed. A horn barked shrilly.
Erica jerked her head around. The Audi’s grille hovered directly out the rear passenger side window, inches away from Sophia’s car seat.
“Debbie!” Erica screamed.
“God, Rikki, you totally distracted me!” Debbie slammed on the brakes. The Audi driver gave them the finger. Erica looked back at Sophia, her sleeping breathing unaltered, her pulse beating regularly under her thin new skin.
A chilled sensation rose up in Erica—an icy draft from a rip in the earth.
“What was that all about?” she squealed. “You almost killed us.”
“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” There was a finality to Debbie’s tone, a warning to go no further. Erica steadied herself by turning to look at the bland face of the Bergmans’ high ranch. Steve Bergman, accompanied by his Jamaican nanny, pedaled down the sidewalk on his tricycle.
Debbie pushed up her sleeve to check the time on her watch, and another bruise revealed itself, deep purple and unmistakable. “I have to stop at the high school first,” she said. “I’m late.”
They arrived at the school. Jared stood glumly at the end of the parking lot.
“You can have my seat,” Erica said, opening the front door.
“I can drive you and the baby home,” Debbie said. “I still have time.”
“No, thanks,” Erica said. “I could use the walk.”