The Whole Golden World Page 8

  She’d donned a Santa hat in honor of her good mood. The jingle bell on the end of the hat announced her movements around the store, making her feel a little like a cat with a bell on its collar.

  “Hi, Dinah!” trilled her latest customer. It was Kelly, Britney’s mom. She was standing in the doorway shaking snow out of her highlighted auburn hair. Dina noted a feather extension woven near her ear. Kelly clomped up to the counter in her clunky Eskimo-looking boots that would look stupid on Dinah but somehow adorable on her. “Hey, can you talk a second?”

  Dinah’s instant thought: Morgan. Britney confided something about Morgan.

  She nodded and asked Janine to take over for her. She led Kelly up the stairs to her office on the top floor of the converted bungalow. Most of the upstairs former bedrooms were storage, but the largest was her office. Her desk faced a circular window in the front peak of the house. Her file cabinets were tucked under the roof slant.

  Dinah sank into her fancy office chair—a gift from Joe a few birthdays ago—stretching and rolling her ankles. “What’s up? Is something going on with Morgan?”

  “Huh? No. Or I don’t think so. Brit doesn’t talk about her much lately. I think it’s awkward because Brit’s kinda hanging out with David.”

  At this, Dinah sat up. “Her ex? Really? Um, wow.”

  Kelly’s pert face smoothed into a mask of cool detachment. “You know how kids are. They hang out and flirt with everyone. Anyway, Morgan’s studying all the time, right? Did she hear from any colleges yet?” Kelly didn’t wait for an answer. “Brit’s probably going to U of M, or maybe as a transfer student if she has to get her grades up. I don’t have much saved, but my cheating ex is coughing up some guilt money to send her. Guess I’m glad he started screwing that waitress, in the end. Ha, get it? In the end!” Kelly let loose peals of laughter.

  Dinah pinched the bridge of her nose. “So what did you need to tell me, Kelly?”

  “Okay, so, I was at Sereni-Tea the other day? That’s a dumb name for a store, isn’t it? I don’t care how much tea they sell. Why not make a name out of the wine and cheese and stuff instead? In Vino Veritas, that would have been a good name.”

  “Kelly. What.”

  “Anyway, Helen came in and I overheard her talking about opening a Starbucks.”

  Dinah sat up in her office chair. “No. She wouldn’t.”

  Kelly shrugged. “Sure she would. And I know your application is coming up before the Planning Commission, right? And she’s got lots of friends on that commission.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just saying. I mean, she segued right from talking about how great a Starbucks would be bordering the park—because ‘adults need a place to spend time that’s not a bar’ she said—to the fact that the entertainment license you’re asking for could theoretically be used to get a liquor license later. She was talking to Martha Wilson. And you know Martha cannot shut up about anything.”

  Dinah got up out of her chair and started pacing her office space, which amounted to stomping in tight circles around her chair, because of the roof slant on the second floor making the sides of the room too short.

  “That’s such bullshit. I’m committed to having a kid-friendly place. All I want is karaoke and poetry slams and maybe a folksinger. If I have bands, they’ll be, like, local teen bands. The hardest drink I’ll ever serve is espresso. And if she opens a Starbucks next to the park? The kids will go there! Especially in the summer, which is my worst season anyway. Why does she hate me so much?”

  “You called her a self-righteous bitch one time, didn’t you? Not that you’re wrong. Because she totally is. But still.”

  “I didn’t mean it. No, actually I did mean it. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, though.”

  That had been back when she was first trying to get the Den approved all those years ago. Helen Demming had, for reasons Dinah could never fathom, shown up and spoken out against the parking lot plans, saying kids will be “tearing down Alton Road” to and from the Den and that the place would create traffic hazards, even though other, more intense developments sailed through without a murmur of objection from her. After the meeting when Dinah meant to confront her calmly and explain, she’d gotten a mite carried away. Then her mortal enemy went and got herself elected Chamber of Commerce president, being an owner of a downtown boutique that catered to women who had waists no bigger than those of grasshoppers.

  Kelly went on, “You’d better make sure to count your votes at Planning Commission is all I’m saying.”

  “You think she could single-handedly sink my project?”

  “Watch your back. I’m just saying. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a Plan B.”

  “What Plan B would that be?”

  “If your permit doesn’t go through and she opens a Starbucks, how are you going to keep this place open? I mean, I love it, too, hon; the Den is totally quaint. But a national brand like that is pretty tough to go up against. How long did the Book Worm last after Borders opened up down the highway? Well, now they’re both gone. Shame.” Kelly glanced at her watch. “Oooh! Gotta run. Late for lunch. Sorry to spring this bad news on you, but I wanted you to be prepared. I’m just saying.”

  Kelly stood up and approached Dinah for a weird faux hug—touching only Dinah’s forearms lightly with her fingertips.

  “Thanks, Kell. Thanks for telling me,” Dinah managed through her fog of shock and outrage at Helen’s treachery. Kelly gave her a fingertip wave and then skittered down the stairs.

  Dinah’s cell phone rang. Only Joe ever called her cell; the kids texted, and anyone else e-mailed or called the house. So her heart was pounding before she even picked up. “Joe? What’s up?”

  “I just ran into Carla.”

  “Yeah? Did she hear about Morgan’s college applications?”

  “Acceptances come straight to the kids, not to her, but in a way, she heard, yeah. You bet she heard.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She applied to Boston University! How the hell are we gonna afford that?”

  “What? No, she didn’t.”

  “Carla had to write her a letter and send in the transcripts and test scores, so she should know. She figured we knew, just told me offhand when we were waiting for a meeting how exciting that would be for her. And I had to pretend I knew what the hell my own kid was up to. I felt like an idiot.”

  “I didn’t know either! She never said a word to me.”

  “It was your card she used to apply. Shoulda been on the credit card statement.”

  “I don’t audit the statement, you know. I just pay it and file it.”

  “Look, I’ve got a game to go to after school and some paperwork. Talk to her as soon as you can. We gotta nip this in the . . . Oh, hell, fistfight—”

  Dinah heard his phone clatter down. He’d just dropped it and gone off to break up the fight, not bothering to hang up.

  Dinah pulled off her Santa hat, kneading her temples with her other hand, as the whirring of the machines and soft Christmas music from her café filtered through the floor and wove through the dry winter air around her.

  Dinah should have been glad that Morgan didn’t scream at her. She should have been grateful for her daughter’s dignified silence as she pushed back from the table and walked with a graceful, nearly gliding step up the stairs to her room. Considering Dinah had just crushed her daughter’s dream of an out-of-state private university in a fascinating city. At Dinah’s suggestion that Ann Arbor was a cool place, Morgan had only blinked twice.

  But Dinah felt as small as the ant she now saw marching across the kitchen counter. She deserved to be yelled at. She couldn’t help the reality of her bank balance, or how impractical it was that Morgan go to school so far away. And frankly, it was a pretty big lie by omission that Morgan snuck an extra school onto her list. But she should have known, should have hovered over Morgan’s shoulder and followed her progress in her college applications just like she h
overed over the twins’ homework. Then Dinah could have told her from the beginning that they could never afford an out-of-state private school with tuition four times that of Michigan, which itself was no bargain.

  But Morgan had been so eager, so excited to take the lead on her college applications, already figuring out she could use something online called “Common App” to apply to U of M, before Dinah had even heard of such a thing. Dinah had in fact secretly felt quite smug as she listened to the other moms of seniors at the Den kvetch about having to stand over their kids and harass them about applications, essays, and scholarships.

  All she’d had to do was turn her competent, intelligent daughter loose and she took care of it all . . .

  Well, Joe could have gotten more involved. As per usual, this was in her lap to take care of. Even though he’s an assistant principal! Education should be the number one thing on his mind!

  As if she’d conjured him, the garage door rattled up.

  Joe shuffled in, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing.

  “What’s wrong?” Dinah asked.

  “I’m just tired,” he groaned.

  “I saved you a plate. I thought you were at the game?”

  “I had a hot dog at the game, and I got tired. I stayed for a while. Kate’s still there,” he said, pulling a beer out of the fridge.

  “We had a rough night here,” Dinah began.

  “Again?”

  Dinah gulped hard and swallowed her first retort: What are you saying, it’s a train wreck around here every day? “Yeah, I know. I had to tell Morgan she can’t go to Boston U. I would have waited for you if I’d known you were coming home. I was twisting in the wind all alone here.”

  “I didn’t think I’d be home, I told you. I can’t believe you didn’t know she wanted to go to Boston. Where’d she even come up with that? We’ve never been there, we have no family there . . .”

  “What do you mean you can’t believe I didn’t know? Why didn’t Assistant Principal Joe Monetti know? For crying out loud, you walk around a high school all day and you didn’t think to check in with your own daughter on college plans?”

  Joe tipped his head back and took a long pull of his beer. “Same old song.”

  “Can we not do this now, Joe? This is hard enough for me.”

  “Not just for you. Look, first I have to talk a teacher off the ledge, which eats up my whole lunch. That new calc teacher, TJ Hill? He’s having a confidence crisis, and I have to be all soothing and shit. Then I hear Pete Jackson is retiring.”

  “Isn’t that good? You’re next in line in seniority.”

  “It would have been good until they added Kate. Now, it’s not good at all.”

  It used to be that Joe was the only assistant principal and presumptive successor to Pete Jackson, and Joe was thinking long term that he might break into administration in the district’s central office. He’d even been taking classes toward his doctorate.

  “But Kate is so much less experienced.”

  Joe huffed. “So? This isn’t the union. There’s no ‘paying your dues’ anymore. Kate is popular and pretty, and she’s also Korean.”

  Dinah felt her hackles rising. “So?”

  “Soooo.” He drew the word out. “So our school is more diverse than ever, and the powers that be may decide a popular, smart dynamo of a principal who also happens to be ‘diverse’ herself might be just what the school needs. And Kate has no kids. The school is her life, and she shows up to everything. As I try to, which is why I’m never here, as you are so fond of pointing out.”

  “Just don’t borrow trouble, okay? I’m sure your experience counts for a helluva lot. Kate has only been there a year.”

  Joe noticed a paper on the table, a progress report from the school he could probably recognize at twenty paces, having filled out enough of them himself. As he read, he smacked his beer down.

  “Now one of my kids is about to flunk English. That looks good, doesn’t it? For an assistant principal’s kid?” Joe jerked this thumb at the report.

  Dinah snatched it back, signing it hastily on the required line so she could stuff it back in Connor’s bag. “We talked about moving them to a different school other than yours, and you said no. I could turn it around and ask you, why you had to get a job in their home district?”

  “I love how instead of hearing how hard of a day I had, you hear a criticism. Thanks for the support.”

  “And thank you, too, for that matter. You think it’s easy having to be the one at home to crack the whip? While you take them to football games on the weekend? Fun Dad and Warden Mom.”

  “Whaddya want? Me to come home from work to paddle them?”

  “Now the sarcasm to make me feel good and stupid.”

  “Jesus, I’m just sayin’ that I don’t do that on purpose. You’re here and I’m not; I can’t help that. You want me to be less fun so you’ll feel less bad?”

  “You could be home more if you felt like it. But you hide in that office with Kate next door while I’m in the trenches here.”

  Joe shook his head, jutted his chin forward. “Un-frickin’-believable. I work my ass off. Come home from a bad workday, try to share it with you, and it turns out I’m the bad guy. Again. And what’s this ‘Kate next door’ shit, eh? You jealous, now? Of her?”

  He’d dropped the R: of huh? Joe’s New York heritage was sneaking out the more upset he got. His parents had moved to Detroit from Brooklyn when he was a kid, and to this day, though he was a grade-schooler when they’d left New York, his accent would resurge when he got upset, along with a blue-collar cadence.

  “Well, are you going to talk to your daughter now? And the boys?”

  “Gimme a minute, I just walked in the freakin’ door. I’ll talk to her when I change out of my suit at least.”

  Joe shook his head slowly, as if his head were suddenly too heavy for his neck. He picked up his beer and left her alone at the table, walking with a heavy step past the children’s doors and straight up to his room to change.

  The loneliness was so familiar she flashed back to September, when they’d tried to have a romantic evening out, the night Morgan had urged them to go, saying she’d keep an eye on the boys. Joe never made reservations at nice restaurants, and they ended up at a Chili’s, where Joe’s eyes kept drifting to the playoff baseball highlights on a TV behind Dinah’s head. Conversation evaporated, and once home, Dinah stomped to their room, tore off her pretty bra and dress, and pulled on some sweatpants, turning out the light early and alone while Joe watched more TV.

  Tonight was the same: a throbbing emptiness, plus the sense of jagged edges, like a piece of paper torn roughly in half.

  She rested her head on her folded arms, her face turned to the side, toward the dining room wall. On the wall in curvy script was the phrase “Family: The Heart of Every Home,” which was supposed to look painted on, but from Dinah’s view, the shiny edges were obvious. It was just a big tacky sticker bought for $3.99 at Walmart, after all. Not Martha-Stewart-worthy handpainted calligraphy.

  Around the words were framed photographs of the family. Connor and Jared playing flag football at a middle-school field day. Morgan and her cello last year at solo and ensemble, cropped from a larger shot of her quartet. There was just one shot of Dinah and Joe, and she realized with a start how long ago it had been taken. Morgan had taken it, and her vantage point was low, so the camera was looking up at the pair of them. They’d been at the beach. Dinah’s cheeks were pink with sun and she was laughing hard, because Joe—embracing her from behind—had tickled her at the instant the shutter clicked. Then she’d whirled in the circle of his arms and tackled him to the sand, the element of surprise outweighing his strength. A familywide tickle fight ensued and carried over into the waves and became a splash fight until they were all soaked and laughing and hiccupping. Dinah squinted into the middle distance and tried to remember how old Morgan was at the time. . . . That must have been seven years ago, give or take.

/>   Seven years ago she was laughing with her husband and family on the beach. Now, she and Joe barely talked except to discuss logistics or fight about whether he was ever helping her at home.

  Though, now that Dinah was thinking of that picture, and the years before and after, she’d have to be honest and say even before that, closeness was rare between her and Joe. That’s why she’d framed the shot even though it was slightly blurry and off-center; it was such a rare, special moment.

  She rewound her mental home movies of her family, the twins and Morgan shrinking down to pint-size, herself standing in the not-yet-opened Den, sweeping the scarred hardwood floors.

  This took her back to the twins’ fragile early days. Her chest tightened to recall the constant state of fear. Her need to control every tiny variable that might affect how the boys developed. Joe trying to help, but not able to soothe the squirmy, colicky Connor or get Jared’s tiny toddler glasses to stay on right . . . Dinah tried to teach Joe, show him what she knew, but he snapped at her, accused her of treating him like a child, and she would fire back she was only trying to show him the best way . . . And he began retreating—literally is what she’d been picturing as he walked off to the home office or to some school function—but figuratively, too.

  The shiny glare of the cheap sticker and the corny sentiment began to work under Dinah’s skin like a sliver. She stood up so quickly that her head spun for just a moment. She took her ragged, chipped nails and went to work on a corner of the thing, until she got a piece of it, and gave a mighty rip. But only the “Fa” ripped off, leaving “mily: The Heart of Every Home,” and for some reason this made her laugh, so she laughed and laughed and kept laughing as she ripped every shred of that ridiculous sticker off her wall, and she laughed even harder when she saw it had been there so long you could see a halo where it used to be and the paint was brighter.