“No,” she says, emphatically. She crunches up the driveway toward me. “We’re done talking. I’ve had about enough of—”
My voice goes up an octave. “Hey! Listen up. You know my life, Joni. You know that in my job, certain things require discretion.”
She stops. “What are you talking about?”
“Who did he just get in that car with?”
“What the fuck is going on with you?”
Paul: “Joni, don’t speak like that to your mother.”
“Is that her?” I ask. “I mean what are you guys doing? I feel like I’m in the goddamn Twilight Zone, here, Joni. Time to level with me.”
“Level with you? Why don’t you just tell me what you said to him?”
I glance at Paul, then refocus on Joni. “Maybe in a minute.”
“Because you look like you want to accuse him of something,” Joni says. “You’ve looked like that since the moment he got here.”
Her tone is cutting, and puts me over the edge. “Oh, have I? Have your father and I seemed a little off? Could that be because we’ve hardly seen or heard from you since Easter — you pulled another one of your disappearing acts, just like you used to. And when you finally grace us with your presence — surprise! You show up with your eleventh boyfriend and — oh — this one, guess what? You’re engaged. Wow! But don’t worry about it. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mom and Dad — I’m fine. Just fine. That time you found me on the street with a needle in my arm? I’m just perfect now.’”
Joni is staring at me. Even in scant light, I can see her face has crumbled. Paul moves closer and touches my arm, but I shrug him off.
“Was that her?” I ask suddenly. “Did he arrange to meet her?”
Joni doesn’t say anything for a long time. So long that I take Paul’s flashlight and shine it in her face. She squints in its brightness but stares back at me. I know I’ve hurt her; it crushes me.
Her pain turns to defiance, just as regular as the moon and the sun. The defiance forms a wry smile, a pity in her eyes. “Wow, Mom. Your work really has gotten to you. You think everyone is hiding something. Maybe you’re projecting? I mean — ‘her’? Who are you even talking about? And maybe there’s a reason, Mom. That I did what I did back then. You ever think that?” She turns to Paul. “Either of you?”
“Hey,” Paul says, taking back the flashlight, but keeping it on her. “Let’s just tone it down.”
But Joni is livid now. “And you’re out here interrogating him. After everything he’s already been through!”
Her raised voice echoes in the trees, off the mountains. Remote as we are, I worry that the neighbors can hear. Sound carries, especially across the lake.
“Do you understand that?” she asks. “I mean, you talk about me. Just like always, the focus is on me. But you’re running around these past two days, hitting animals with the car, acting like a nutcase! We came up here to tell you our plans, and it’s just been a wall of skepticism!”
“Keep it down, Jo,” I say. I’ve simmered down some, listening to my daughter while chasing multiple thought strands.
“I don’t need your approval of Michael,” she growls at me. “I don’t need your projection — either of you. Your own shit, your own infidelity issues a million years ago —”
“Watch it,” warns Paul. There’s ice in his voice.
“Fine. But you’re so far gone, Mom . . . I can’t even. I mean, I think you need help.”
Somehow, in the midst of her tirade, I’ve found calm. “So tell me who was in the car.”
Joni stares at me with that defiant look. She doesn’t want to satisfy me with a response.
She doesn’t need to.
As if on command, the headlights appear again in the distance, stuttering through the trees. The sound of the engine drifts toward us. Joni starts for the road.
“Hey,” Paul calls. Both of us follow our daughter.
She spins on us. “They’re our friends, guys. Madison and Hunter. Remember Madison Tremont?”
I do. Madison is one of Joni’s childhood friends. Stuck for a response, I stammer, “I didn’t know they . . . do they live up here?”
“Yes. They live up here. We came up the night before — Thursday night — and stayed with them.”
It explains why Joni and Michael had enough time to for a tour before meeting us at the lake house at eleven a.m. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Joni takes a moment. She’s calmer now, too, maybe now that she’s gotten in a few shots at me — the guilt of that tends to mollify her. We’re not so dissimilar. “Because of what you do, Mom. Because of how involved you get in everything. If I told you we were going there, you’d have a million questions. A million suggestions. How long are you staying? When did they move here? Why don’t they come over to the lake house? I was going to tell you; I just didn’t get around to it yet.” A moment later, she adds, “They built a yurt.”
Paul: “A yurt?”
Joni sighs. She turns her back to us. She says, “Yeah, a yurt,” and continues walking.
The SUV pulls up at the base of the driveway. I feel like things have taken a turn for the bizarre, and I’m rushing to complete the thoughts in my head and make sense of what’s just happened. Only thing stands clear, one sharp feeling: I want to rush over, to tell Michael I’m sorry. I want to ask when they’ll be back. I want to know, need to know, but my daughter’s words ring in my head: Because of what you do, Mom. How involved you get in everything.
The back door opens. I peer in and glimpse Michael. The front passenger window comes down, revealing a pretty, young woman. Her dangling earrings sparkle in the light.
Paul waves. “Hi, Madison.”
“Hi, Mr. Lindman.”
I hear Joni say something quiet which sounds like, “Let’s just go,” as she gets into the back.
Madison gives us a sheepish smile and a wave, then sends up the window as the car backs into the driveway, turns, and leaves again.
I stand beside Paul a moment, dimly aware of his hand on my upper back. Speechless, I turn and trudge back for the house.
Paul doesn’t ask any questions. Relevant ones, at least. He just says, “They have a yurt and drive an Escalade?”
I want to crawl into bed and not emerge for days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sean is sitting at the table when we come in. He’s bent over his phone, then he looks up and tosses the phone on the table, offering a sympathetic smile. “What was that all about?”
“Joni and Michael went out with some friends,” I say.
Sean looks at me, reading my body language. He can tell I’m tense. He says, “Joni told me Madison lives up here now on property owned by her parents. She and her boyfriend have a yurt. They built it themselves with steam-bent wood, or something. It’s like a house.”
I survey the dining area and kitchen. All is sparkling clean. Sean has done all of the cleanup, it seems. Suddenly, I’m on the verge of tears.
Sean hurries to me. “Mom, come on . . . It’s okay.”
I take his arm. Looking around, I wonder where Paul has gone. Did he come in with me or did I just imagine it? Maybe he’s out in the garage, admiring his handmade boat.