The children’s snack was due at 10 A.M., so Izzy baked some seasoned kale chips, chopped carrots into sticks, and scooped out individual portions of cashews. She also used the juicer to make a beet squeeze juice that the kids loved, a mixture of beets and apples and ginger. Once she had arranged the food and drinks on trays, she took them into the classroom, where the children were waiting.
They were lifting various toys using a fixed pulley, as the science teacher, who came three times a week to work with the kids, watched over them, cheering as each child lifted the toy of their choice with the pulley. When the children noticed Izzy, or, more important, the snacks she was holding, they cheered. Irene let go of the rope and a sock monkey flopped back to the floor. “Snack time,” the teacher yelled, and she went over to her desk to prepare the next project while Izzy sat on the floor, the children surrounding her, and handed each of them a bowl of food and a cup of juice. Cap and Jackie sat in her lap as they ate their snacks. Even with the separation of the children, Izzy was happy to see the ways in which the kids still treated the other adults with such affection. And she was also pleased, in moments such as this, where she held on to both Cap and another child, splitting her attention, that Cap was more than willing to share her. As they all finished their snacks, Irene showed Izzy her new pair of glasses, pink and white stripes, and Izzy told her how wonderful they looked, which made Irene smile. The teacher came back to the group and called them to attention. Each child gave Izzy a hug and placed their cup and bowl back on the tray.
“Say thank you to Izzy,” the teacher instructed the children, and Izzy felt so happy to hear the chant, in unison, of “Thank you, Izzy,” with the slight disruption of Cap, who said, “Thanks, Mom.”
Just as Izzy was about to leave, she heard Marnie come up to the teacher and inform her that she had forgotten to bring her observation journal from home. They were about to begin a new series of experiments, so Izzy volunteered to retrieve it. The kids waved good-bye and Izzy returned the tray to the kitchen before she jogged down the stairs and ran across the courtyard. The weather had turned overcast, gray, with impending rain, and Izzy watched a string of prayer flags flutter in the breeze from atop one of the play spaces.
Izzy came to the house of Ellen and Harris, and knocked on the door. Harris was at work, but Ellen was home; Izzy had seen her this morning from the front steps as Marnie joined the group of kids to head to school. After thirty seconds, Izzy knocked once more, but still no one came to the door. She looked through the window and saw the journal lying on the coffee table, Marnie’s book decorated with neon paint and so much glitter that it looked radioactive.
The family was fairly informal when it came to boundaries, having grown used to the preponderance of communal spaces, so that it sometimes bled into their own houses. Izzy never locked the door of her own house and Carmen or Link would often walk in unannounced to borrow ingredients or check to see if their child was playing with Cap.
Izzy tried the door, found it unlocked, and walked into the living room. Just as she picked up the journal, she heard the sounds of moaning, someone in the throes of nausea, the volume of it troubling, suggesting an emergency. Before she could keep herself from it, she called out, “Ellen?” She heard all sound immediately cease in the bedroom. And Izzy would later wonder why she remained in the living room, still holding the journal. She wondered what she thought was going to be on the other side of that bedroom wall. “Harris?” Izzy then said, now feeling like a kid detective on a case that was way beyond her abilities. The bedroom door opened, and Ellen appeared, wearing a sweatshirt and no pants, her face Mars red. Behind her, kneeling on the bed, completely naked, was Jeremy.
Ellen shrugged, and the motion caused the bottom of the sweatshirt to rise just enough so that Izzy could see the bush of Ellen’s pubic hair. “You know, don’t you?” she asked Izzy, and Izzy shook her head. She held up the journal, as if it could exorcise demons. “Marnie . . . ,” she said, and then fell silent.
Ellen shook her head with disgust. Izzy started to retreat to the door, but now Jeremy was pulling on his jeans and stood with Ellen in the living room. “Come here, Izzy,” Jeremy said. “Let’s talk about this.”
Izzy saw that Ellen was now crying, her tears so silent, almost without effort, that it unnerved Izzy to the point that she was paralyzed, could not retreat to the door or come to a love seat, where Jeremy was motioning for her to sit.
“No,” Izzy finally said, unable to say anything else, feeling a sick kind of certainty, suddenly wondering why something like this hadn’t happened sooner.
“This is exactly what it looks like,” Jeremy said. “I’m not denying anything. I just want you to listen to us. We need to talk to you.”
“You can’t tell Dr. Grind,” Ellen said, and then she immediately looked at Jeremy. “She’s going to tell him. I know it.”
“Sit down, Izzy,” Jeremy said. “Please? Izzy? Please fucking sit down and listen.”
Izzy finally moved to the love seat. “How long has this been happening?” she asked.