The readers comment on his posts: Yes! More light! They offer suggestions for wainscoting.
Nathan writes a post to the writers of his comments sections about how much he values their input and their ideas. Without you, this blog would not be possible. I would be nothing without you, he types.
Jane Is Sent to a Shrink
Jane is now an untouchable of the third grade. She’s no longer bullied; she is avoided because she has somehow eluded punishment for her crime.
Jane’s teacher, on the other hand, has been following her around. Ever since Jane punched the boy in the courtyard, the teacher can’t look at her without a crease forming between her eyebrows, her head tilting to one side, and her arms crossing. She speaks in a different way now, and asks slow questions of Jane all the time. When Jane answers, she nods meaningfully, as if she understands what Jane is really trying to say. Jane knows she doesn’t.
Jane gets some time to herself by claiming that she wants to print out something, a story she wrote. The teacher is busy with geography and Jane knows her state capitals, so the teacher lets her go to the computer lab by herself. Once there, Jane talks to the missing boy out loud and with pleasure. The missing boy says it’s good to talk to her again. They make plans.
The missing boy whispers in Jane’s ear. There’s going to be a storm. It’s the culmination of hurricane season. Low-pressure systems are forming tropical cyclones in the Atlantic, building, building, and they are about to move inland. I feel it, the missing boy says.
The missing boy and Jane watch clips of hurricanes or the aftermath of hurricanes with the sound off. Palm trees blown sideways, cars submerged in muddy water, people on top of their houses waving to rowboats. They find pictures of the Superdome. The missing boy predicts that a hurricane will cause widespread flooding of the New York City subway system and his two favorite things will collide.
Neither kid hears the teacher enter the room. The teacher listens to a good portion of the conversation before making her presence known, and the forehead crease is deeper than ever. Jane is escorted directly to the school therapist, the woman with the big breasts and thick wrists. The teacher says she will be back in an hour.
Jane and the missing boy sit across the desk from the school therapist.
“You miss your mommy, huh?”
Jane immediately begins to cry, not because she misses her mommy (although she does) but because she is frustrated. She doesn’t call her mom Mommy anymore.
“Leave me alone,” she wails.
“Oh, honey, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” the therapist says. “So, have you heard from your mommy at all—has she tried to contact you?”
Jane wants to leave this room. She offers a meek yes.
The therapist’s face lights up, and she leans forward, exposing more of the line that separates her breasts. Her hands are on the table.
“When? When did you hear from your mommy?”
Jane says, “Last night. She talked to me last night. She said she was living by the ocean and that she was fine. She says she misses me and she loves me, but the ocean is where she needs to be. It’s a long train ride away,” Jane tells the therapist. “The train is underground at first, and then goes up.”
Jane is set free from the office early and allowed to walk back to her classroom alone. The missing boy holds her hand and says, Good, good.
Jane says, I said everything you told me to say.
The missing boy says, Yes, you were perfect. You said everything in a perfect way. She believed you.
Jane says, And they will leave me alone now?
The missing boy says, Yes, now they will leave us alone.
Marion at Thirty
Marion at thirty is a mother. A young mother, by Brooklyn standards. In Sheepshead Bay she would be considered completely normal. In Carroll Gardens she has more in common with the babysitters than with the other mothers. To be thirty and have a six-year-old and a baby—the other mothers raise their eyebrows. They say, At thirty I was still out at the bar. I was planning a wedding. I was starting to make a six-figure salary. They laugh and say, You must have so much energy. To be forty-five with two kids, all I want to do is nap.
Marion does not have energy. Every muscle in her body is tired. Or, worse, asleep. The second pregnancy was harder than the first. It swelled her from the inside out. Jane took over her body, and she was nauseated the whole time. The other mothers talk about how they jogged or did prenatal yoga. Marion says, I managed not to barf for nine months. She wanted to barf, but her body wouldn’t let her, so she peered into the toilet bowl while Ginny begged for her attention. Nathan stood in the bathroom door frame. He said, I wish I was the one who felt sick. I wish I could share this with you. Marion said, Shut the door.
So far, the money she’s embezzled has all gone into the house, and now it’s a lovely house. Nathan gives tours to his friends when they come over and talks about plans for more loveliness in the future. He carries Jane around, allows her one sip of his beer while he gestures to the patio. Ginny silently follows the crowd, in thrall to her daddy’s voice. Marion stays put. She says, I’ve taken the tour before. She does not want to watch the women orbit her husband. She does not want to watch the gentle hands lightly swat her husband’s shoulder. She’s seen it too many times, so Marion Palm drinks her beer alone at her desk.
She wishes the attention from these women only inspired her husband to have extramarital affairs. She even understands; she and Nathan haven’t had sex since she was pregnant with Jane. But Nathan seems to believe he needs to renovate the house in order to maintain his new sexual capital. This is more difficult to navigate.
When Nathan talks about a new project, a new extension, Marion thinks, How will I find the money for this one? What will I have to do? Because she can’t say no to Nathan. She’s tried, and it fails. He looks at her and says, Why? Not, Why not? But Why? And there is a universe she must explain to him; it is an answer that demands an infinity, as opposed to the answer to Why not? which asks for only one reason. Why? demands all the answers at once, or the perfect answer. Nathan gets what he wants.