Boo.
When Joanna returned to the kitchen, she expected Charles and Sylvie to look up, instantly aware that something about her was askew. But their heads were pressed together close, whispering.
“But, Mom,” Charles was saying. “The call. Don’t you think—”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sylvie interrupted.
Joanna took a step back and slid behind the wall. They hadn’t seen her.
“Still. You should call a lawyer. Just in case,” Charles hissed.
Joanna widened her eyes. So he did think a lawyer idea was a good idea.
There was the sound of rustling papers. “What would be the point of that?” Sylvie asked.
“Protection, obviously. It could mitigate things.”
Sylvie murmured something Joanna couldn’t hear. Then Charles sighed. “But what about what happened at the graduation party?” he whispered. “Remember? The fight in front of Bronwyn? Do you think that could be a link to this thing with Scott and the boys?”
“No,” his mother interrupted fast. “There’s no link between this and that.”
“How can you be so sure?” he pressed. Sylvie didn’t answer.
Joanna couldn’t stand it anymore. She tiptoed back to the bathroom, flushed the toilet, opened the sink taps the whole way so that Charles and Sylvie would hear them gushing. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her mouth was a small, crinkled O. Her skin was pallid, almost yellowish.
What had happened at the graduation party? Did Scott attack Charles? He’d never told her that.
She shut off the taps. And then she clomped across the living room, shaking the tension out of her hands. She even feigned a cough, as if all those other sounds weren’t enough. Sylvie and Charles were already snapped back to their cheerful selves by the time she walked through the doorway. They were waiting for her, smiling welcomingly.
“Everything all right?” Sylvie asked.
“Of course.” Joanna sat down, pulled an L.L. Bean catalog toward her, and whipped through the pages. Travel alarm clocks! Monogrammed tote bags! Pictures of vacationing families, all of them guileless and trouble-free!
So Charles and his mother were worried about Scott, but they were leaving Joanna out of it. Maybe because she wasn’t family, maybe because she wouldn’t understand, or maybe because she wasn’t important enough to know. There were so many possibilities. Joanna tried to conceal the mix of hurt and disappointment she felt as best she could, leaning over the pages, chuckling when they got to the travel section for pets. The manufacturer made a dog travel bed that could fold up to the size of a hackey sack. Imagine that.
Chapter Two
Fischer Custom Editorial had been planned out carefully by designers and architects, perhaps even sociologists and psychiatrists. Individual workstations were private and quiet, whereas the meeting rooms were bright, vivid, and provocative, overlooking Philadelphia’s City Hall. All the bathrooms were equidistant from where everyone sat. Even the items in the vending machines had probably been chosen after months of careful research—enough low-calorie treats for dieters, enough Snickers and Milky Ways for bingers. Things with nuts and things without nuts. An assortment of teas and gourmet coffees. There was always wine and beer in the full-size fridge, and they had parties at 4 p.m. every Friday to boost morale.
Charles Bates-McAllister sat in his boss’s office with a few others, staring at a pamphlet which lay on the glass table. The photo on the front was of a couple standing in a field, the man with a long beard and wild hair, the fresh-faced woman in a long dress and an apron. It reminded Charles of the famous American Gothic painting, except that the man had an earring and a tattoo on his neck that peeked out from under his plaid shirt, and the woman looked way too refreshed and delighted to have spent all her life working the fields. “Back to the Land,” said the caption, in large yellow block letters.
“So this is the idea,” his boss, Jake, said. “For one year, people give up their lives. They quit their jobs, they leave their homes—maybe they sell their homes—they come to central Pennsylvania and build a house from scratch, out of logs, moss, and whatever else. While they’re building their house, they have to live in a tent. Even if it’s winter. They build their own furniture and grow their own food. If they eat meat, they shoot and prepare it. They’re mostly given some livestock and sheep, and they make their own clothes. They can choose to be in a community and have a specialized job, or they can live in the wilderness. Of course, the wilderness isn’t really that far from civilization. A hospital is only twenty minutes away. If they need a telephone, they can find one.”
The whole table stared at him. “And people do this?” Jessica, the photo editor, finally asked.
“A lot of people,” Jake answered. “You wouldn’t believe how many people.”