Next, Karen opened her laptop, located a realty website that offered a free lease template, and downloaded it onto her desktop. Then she drew up a lease for herself and her family for an apartment she designated as 321 Pendleton Street, no. 2. She identified Nathaniel Bordwell as her landlord and set the rental price at a multiple of a thousand that wasn’t quite market rate but was by no means cheap, suggesting a long-term arrangement. When she’d finished, she printed out two copies that she signed and dated with two distinct signatures using two different pens, a blue one for her, a black one for her imaginary landlord, whom she somehow envisioned as having tiny, precise handwriting. Then she paused to admire her work. To Karen’s eye, it was an impressive piece of forgery. Whether she dared to share it with the outside world was another matter. Thankfully, she didn’t have to decide just then. She slid the document into a manila envelope along with the stolen bill and a copy of Ruby’s birth certificate, then placed the envelope in her handbag.
It was now well past midnight. Karen knew she ought to go to bed. But she was too stimulated by visions of the future that her deception had rendered feasible. She pictured Maeve and Ruby jumping rope together in the schoolyard of Mather, their pigtails flying, then in a sunny classroom filled with well-behaved, majority-white children from similar backgrounds, all of them sitting crisscross-applesauce-style as they read classics of children’s literature like Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little, and none of them twerking, punching, or calling out. But the movie kept getting interrupted. Karen’s conscience wasn’t the only obstacle. There were logistical issues as well; how would Karen explain to the school administrators why her utility bill was not in her name? And what if they demanded secondary proof of residence?
Also, what if Karen and Nathaniel Bordwell turned out to be connected in ways that she didn’t yet realize? Karen opened Facebook and typed his name into the search box. To her surprise, nothing came up. But a subsequent Google search revealed a person with his name participating in a half marathon to raise money for paraplegia and motor-neuron disease research. Assuming it was the same Nathaniel Bordwell, it had the effect of rendering him a real person and, what’s more, a person who, like Karen, was trying to do good in the world, a person whom she could potentially relate to. It also made her want to know more—if he was young or old (probably not that old if he’d recently run a half marathon) and whether he preferred lakes or oceans, blondes or brunettes, sweet or savory breakfasts. And were his cholesterol numbers low or high? His parents still alive?
More urgently, how would Karen account for Ruby’s midyear school switch when she ran into the Betts mothers at the supermarket? She could pretend that her family had moved. But what if they should find out she’d done no such thing? For that matter, how would she explain Ruby’s sudden appearance at Mather to Evan and Laura? Would it sound farfetched to say that Ruby had gotten a safety transfer there too? Karen also worried about what kind of message she’d be sending her daughter by lying about where they lived—unless, of course, she lied to Ruby too. But she couldn’t lie to Matt. And Karen knew without having to ask him that he’d disapprove. But then, wasn’t it a mother’s job to do the very best she could by her children? Wasn’t that her primary mission on this earth? And Edward G. Mather Elementary was widely regarded as a great school.
At two in the morning, Karen climbed into bed, threw an arm around Matt’s middle, and pressed her breasts against his back. Her frustration with him of a few hours earlier had morphed into fear of his contempt. But it seemed to Karen that her husband could be ethical to a fault: What good was probity when everyone else was lying through their teeth? Karen recalled the Israeli mother down the street who had conveniently split up with her husband just in time for him to secure a lease in the Mather school district—and for their daughter to begin kindergarten there. Yet a few months later, when Karen had run into her in a nearby toy shop, Irit had been visibly pregnant. “Wow! Congratulations!” Karen had said, confused.
“Thank you,” Irit had answered in her staccato English. “We decided to have a second after all.” She smiled.
“Oh, right,” said Karen, doubting that Irit’s husband had ever moved out in the first place. At the time, Karen had been just short of scandalized.
It turned out she was no better.
That night, Karen dreamed she was attempting to enroll Ruby at Mather, except she’d left the necessary documents at home and then, when she’d retraced her steps and retrieved them, she couldn’t find a pencil, then couldn’t find the door to the administrative office—kept opening the wrong one, walking in circles…She woke up, consulted the clock, found it was still the middle of the night, and fell asleep again, only to have another version of the same dream twenty minutes later. It must have happened six times. When Karen’s alarm finally went off in the morning, she felt leaden with exhaustion. Armed with the rationale that Ruby would likely be changing schools in a matter of days anyway, she allowed herself to press the Off button and went back to sleep.
It was Ruby who woke her the next time. “Mommy! Get up!” she cried. “It’s the realistic-fiction celebration. And it’s five after eight.” Ruby was already dressed, putting Karen to shame. Matt was still asleep, just like he always was.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” mumbled Karen, lurching toward the kitchen. “Mommy didn’t sleep very well last night.” She dressed as quickly as she could.
When she and Ruby finally opened the door to the classroom, the celebration appeared to be well under way, if not almost over. Lou looked over with a raised eyebrow and a half smile, which Karen responded to with a sheepish grin. She could have sworn that Miss Tammy, noting her and Ruby’s late arrival, shot her a dirty look, but maybe Karen was projecting. In any case, Miss Tammy appeared to be deep in conversation with Michelle on the other side of the room.
The children’s stories were laid out on the tables where they regularly sat, which were really just bunches of metal desks pushed together. Next to the stories were Comments sheets and No. 2 pencils. Parents were supposed to walk around the classroom, read the children’s stories, and write encouraging words about them. “Come see mine first,” said Ruby. To Karen’s relief, Ruby led her to a table at the opposite end of the room from where Michelle and Tammy were standing. Karen put on her glasses and began to read.
Ruby’s story was about a girl who goes to a sleepover party and can’t sleep because the mom is snoring in the next room. The girl gets so tired of the sound of the mom snoring that she puts a pillow over the mom’s face, accidentally killing her. Karen found it vaguely disturbing. Did Ruby entertain violent thoughts of smothering her friends’ parents? Her own parents? Or was it just a story? Maybe Karen was reading too much into it, just like she seemed to read too much into everything. “Did you like it?” Ruby asked in an excited tone.
“You’ll have to read my comment,” said Karen. Then she wrote, Nice job, but are you trying to send me a message?! Love, Mommy on the accompanying sheet. Concerned that Ruby would be offended, Karen was busy drawing a smiley face next to her comment when she realized that Jayyden was standing diagonally behind her. “Oh, hey, Jayyden,” she said, flinching ever so slightly as she whipped around to greet him.
“Hey, Ruby’s mom,” he mumbled.