“Sometimes.”
I look at the chair.
“Is Anya here now? Sitting with us?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Would she like a cookie?”
“She’s not here, Mallory.”
“What do you and Anya talk about?”
Teddy lowers his nose to his plate until his face is just inches above his cookies. “I know she’s not real,” he whispers. “You don’t have to prove it.”
He sounds sad and disappointed and suddenly I feel guilty—like I’ve just bullied a five-year-old boy into admitting there isn’t any Santa Claus.
“Listen, Teddy, my little sister, Beth, had a friend like Anya. Her friend was Cassiopeia, isn’t that a beautiful name? During the day, Cassiopeia worked for a Disney on Ice show that traveled all over the world. But every night she came back to our rowhouse in South Philly and she slept on the floor in our bedroom. I had to be careful I didn’t step on her, because she was invisible.”
“Did Beth think Cassiopeia was real?”
“We pretended Cassiopeia was real. And it worked out fine, because Beth never used Cassiopeia as an excuse to break rules. Does that make sense?”
“I guess,” Teddy says, and then he shifts in his chair, like he has a sudden pain in his side. “I have to go to the bathroom. I have to make number two.” Then he climbs down from his chair and hurries out of the kitchen.
He hasn’t touched any of his snack. I cover the cookies with Saran Wrap and put his glass of milk in the refrigerator for later. Then I go over to the sink and wash all the dishes. When I’m finally finished, Teddy is still in the bathroom. I sit at the table and realize I’ve yet to admire his latest drawing, so I reach for the sheet of paper and turn it right-side-up.
4
Teddy’s parents have strict rules about screen time, so he has never seen Star Wars or Toy Story or any of the movies that other kids love. He’s not even allowed to watch Sesame Street. But once a week the Maxwells gather in the den for Family Movie Night. Caroline will make popcorn and Ted will stream a film with “genuine artistic merit,” which usually means old or tagged with foreign language subtitles, and I promise the only one you’ve ever heard of is The Wizard of Oz. Teddy loves the story and he claims it is his favorite movie of all time.
So when we’re outside in the swimming pool we’ll often play a make-believe game called Land of Oz. We’ll cling to the inflatable life raft and Teddy will play Dorothy, and I’ll play everyone else in the movie—Toto, the Scarecrow, the Wicked Witch, and all the Munchkins. And not to brag but I pull out all the stops, I sing and dance and flap my Flying Monkey wings and carry on like it’s Opening Night on Broadway. It takes us nearly an hour to reach the end of the story, when the raft turns into a hot-air balloon that carries Teddy-Dorothy back to Kansas. And by the time we finish and take our bows, I’m so cold my teeth are chattering. I have to get out of the water.
“No!” Teddy exclaims.
“Sorry, T-Bear, I’m freezing.”
I spread a towel on the concrete deck at the edge of the pool, then lay out to dry in the sun. Temperatures have soared into the low nineties—the sun is strong and quickly bakes away my chills. Teddy keeps splashing nearby. His new game is filling his mouth with water and then spitting it out, like he’s a winged cherub in a fountain.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I tell him. “There’s chlorine.”
“Will it make me sick?”
“If you swallow enough, yes.”
“And would I die?”
Suddenly he is very concerned. I shake my head.
“If you drank the whole swimming pool, yes, you would probably die. But don’t drink even a little, okay?”
Teddy climbs onto the raft and paddles to the edge of the water, so we’re both lying parallel—Teddy on the raft and me on the deck.
“Mallory?”
“Yeah?”
“What happens when people die?”
I look over. He’s staring down into the water.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, what happens to the person inside the body?”
Now obviously I have strong opinions on this subject. I believe in God’s gift of eternal life. I draw a lot of strength from knowing that my little sister, Beth, is surrounded by angels. And I know that someday, if I’m lucky, we’ll be reunited in heaven. But I don’t share any of this with Teddy. I still remember my job interview and rule number ten: no religion or superstition. Teach science.
“I think you should ask your parents.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“I’m not sure I know the answer.”
“Is it possible some people die but stay alive?”
“Like ghosts?”
“No, not scary.” He’s struggling to express himself—the way we all struggle, I guess, when discussing these things. “Does any part of the person stay alive?”
“That is a big, complicated question, Teddy. I really think you should ask your parents.”
He’s frustrated by my nonanswer, but he seems resigned to the fact that I’m not going to help him. “Well then can we play Land of Oz again?”
“We just finished!”
“Only the melting scene,” he says. “Just the ending.”
“Fine. But I’m not getting back in water.”
I stand up and wrap my towel around my shoulders, holding it like a witch’s cloak. I curl my fingers into claws and cackle maniacally. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!” Teddy splashes me with water and I scream loud enough to scare the birds from the trees. “Oh, you cursed rat! Oh, look what you’ve done!” With incredible dramatic flair I sink to the patio, waving my arms and writhing in agony. “I’m melting! I’m melting! Oh, what a world, what a world!” Teddy laughs and applauds as I collapse onto my back, close my eyes, and stick out my tongue. I give my legs a few final twitches and then I’m still.
“Uh, miss?”
I open my eyes.
There’s a young man not five feet away, standing on the far side of the pool fence. He’s wiry but well built, dressed in grass-stained khakis, a Rutgers T-shirt, and work gloves. “I’m with Lawn King? The landscapers?”
“Hola, Adrian!” Teddy exclaims.
Adrian winks at him. “Hola, Teddy. ?Cómo estás?”
I try to pull my towel over my body, only I’m already lying on top of it, so I end up thrashing and flailing like a beetle flipped onto its back.
“I’m gonna bring the big mower around, if that’s okay. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. It’s pretty loud.”
“Sure,” I tell him. “We can go inside.”
“No, we have to watch!” Teddy says.
Adrian leaves to get the mower and I look at Teddy. “Why do we have to watch?”