Spirit Level (9 page)

When we get back to the shelter, he says, “I have to stay and do some more work here—cleaning out the kennels, filling water bowls, that kind of thing. The dog walking is the fun part. So—same time on Thursday?” He smiles and I smile back. We stand there like two grinning idiots as Churchill winds his leash around our ankles. I extricate myself without falling over, give Churchill a final belly rub and head toward the bus stop.

Suddenly Thursday seems a very long way off.

On the bus back home I get a text from Lucy:
Can u come over?

Over where?
I reply.

My house. I need to talk to u.

I pause a minute before I reply, and another message comes in from her:
My moms aren’t home
.

K. What’s your address? What bus should I take?

She gives me directions, and I tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can. She doesn’t tell me what’s wrong, but if I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with Meredith.

Lucy’s house is the kind my mom has always wanted but can’t afford—a moss-green Craftsman bungalow, with a large porch, stone-covered pillars and shingle siding. The wide front stairs lead up to a deep-burgundy door with a silver knocker in the shape of a giant bee. The door opens before I have a chance to knock, and Lucy grabs my hand and pulls me inside. Her outfit of the day includes a straw fedora, which is cute but odd. Who wears a hat in their own house?

The front hallway is cool and dim. As I follow Lucy through to the kitchen at the back of the house, I notice many of the features my mom has been obsessing about for years: wooden wall panels, exposed rafters, stained-glass windows, hardwood floors, a brick fireplace. The kitchen has obviously been renovated—there’s a bright-red gas stove, a huge island with a sink in it, windows everywhere.

“Let’s go out on the deck,” Lucy says. She leads me through french doors onto a multi-level wooden deck that overlooks a lush back garden. A large brick-red umbrella shades a round wooden table that has a tray on it with
glasses and a pitcher of what looks like pink lemonade. “Want some?” Lucy asks.

I nod and say, “That’s some garden.”

“Nori’s pride and joy,” Lucy says as she hands me a glass of lemonade. “It’s been in
Seattle Magazine
. Even won some award—best of Seattle’s small gardens or something. You’d think she’d be sick of gardening after working in other people’s gardens all the time, but she says this is her sanctuary. She even made a special place for Angela to meditate in. Do you want to see it? It’s really cool. Very Japanese.”

She starts to get up, and I put a hand on her arm. “What did you want to talk about?”

She sits down and stares into her glass of lemonade. “I did something stupid,” she says. “Really stupid.”

I don’t say anything—Mom always says that silence is actually the best way to get someone to talk. As we sit, I notice that Lucy is crying. I can’t actually see her face—the brim of the fedora hides it—but I can see drops falling on the wooden table.

“What’s wrong, Lucy?” I ask. “It can’t be that bad.”

She looks up at me, her face streaked with tears, and takes off her hat. Her beautiful curtain of silky black hair is gone. What’s left is a spiky pixie cut, just like Meredith’s. I say, “Holy shit!” and she starts to wail.

“Angela and Nori are so mad at me. They’re saying that Meredith is a bad influence. They don’t want me hanging out with her—or you—until they’ve met both of you.
I said you had nothing to do with it, but they’re getting all overprotective, and I’m afraid you guys won’t want to meet them and—”

Before she can get herself any more worked up, I pull my chair over to hers and put my arms around her. It’s like hugging a child, she’s so small, and she looks more like a little kid than ever—a sad, confused little kid. We are sitting like this when the french doors open and a small wiry woman in jeans and a dirty white T-shirt steps onto the deck. Behind her is a tall tanned woman in a sky-blue sleeveless dress. Her long hair hangs in a braid down her back. Neither woman is smiling—they actually look pretty pissed—but the tall one’s eyes widen when she sees me, and she gasps. I’ve forgotten how much I look like her son, Adam. It must be a shock to see someone who could be his twin.

I stand up and say, “Hi, I’m Harriet. I love your house. Craftsman, right? My mom loves them. Yours is gorgeous. And the garden is amazing.”

As I babble, I reach out and shake their hands. First Angela’s dry, cool one, then Nori’s dirty one. Lucy says, “We’re having lemonade. You guys want some?”

Nori and Angela look at each other, and I can practically see the thoughts arc between them.
Best of a bad situation. Get to know this girl. Try not to be hostile. We don’t want to come off like assholes
.

“Sure, honey,” Angela says. “That would be lovely.” I bet she’s the softie and Nori is the enforcer. Nori shrugs,
and the two moms sit down while Lucy runs into the kitchen for more glasses. I notice she’s put her fedora back on.

“So, Harriet, do you live nearby?” Nori asks.

“Not really. I was on the bus, going home from the animal shelter, and Lucy texted. I just invited myself over. Hope that’s okay.”

Angela nods. “We like Lucy to have friends over. But I’m sure you can understand that we’re a bit”—she pauses—“a bit perplexed by recent events.”

Nori snorts. “Perplexed doesn’t even begin to cover it! Have you seen her hair? She’s never had a haircut in her life. And now it’s all gone. And all because your sister”—she almost spits out the word—“made her cut it.”

“She didn’t
make
me cut it.” Lucy has returned with the glasses, which she fills for Angela and Nori. “She was watching me put my hair in a bun for dance class and she asked me why I didn’t just cut it off. She used to dance, and her hair was long. She said it would be freeing.”

“And is it?” Nori asks.

Lucy sits down and sips her lemonade. Then she takes off her hat and runs her fingers over her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s weird to feel a breeze on my neck. And it’s lighter, for sure.”

She sounds so hesitant that I pipe up, “I think it’s kinda cute. And it’ll grow, right?”

Nori glares at me. “I cut my hair off when Lucy was a baby. I’ve always regretted it.” She undoes her ponytail
and shakes her head. Her thick hair falls to her shoulders. Jet black streaked with gray.

“It’s just hair, Nori,” Lucy says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. She looks like a baby bird—fuzzy and vulnerable. “Can we drop it?”

Angela sighs. “We’re still concerned about, well, about the influence your sisters are having on you.” She looks over at me apologetically. “We need to get to know you, Harriet. You and Meredith. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say. “My mom’s the same way.”

“Overprotective?” Lucy glares at her parents.

I laugh. “Yeah. You could say that. She knows too much about bad parents.”

“Why is that?” Nori asks.

No way I’m telling her that my mom ran away from her own parents when she was younger than me, so all I say is, “Her work. She’s a sociologist. She studies the lives of homeless girls, runaways. When she’s not lusting after Craftsman houses.”

Nori and Angela laugh. Even Lucy cracks a smile.

Nori stands up and says, “I’m going to have a shower. It was nice to meet you, Harriet. Sorry for the rough start.”

“No problem,” I say. “And call me Harry. Everyone else does.”

She nods and heads inside.

“So now that you’ve met us,” Angela says, “do you think maybe you and your mom could come for dinner soon?
We’ll invite Meredith and her friend Alex. Eat some great food, get to know each other.”

“Sure,” I say. “That would be awesome.” Any opportunity to see Alex seems good to me.

“Can Verna come too?” Lucy asks. “She’s kind of like Harry’s grandma. And she’s met Meredith and me already.”

“Plus she could bring her famous
tres leches
cake,” I add. “It’s amazing.”

“Verna’s awesome,” Lucy adds. “She runs this totally retro hair salon.”

“More the merrier, I suppose,” Angela says. “Especially if there’s cake. But for the record, Lucy, we’re still not happy about your impulsive behavior. Or Meredith’s part in it. We’ll discuss it later.”

Lucy grimaces, and I get up to leave. “Thanks for the lemonade,” I say. “I’d better get home before Mom starts to worry. And it’s my turn to make dinner.”

Angela nods approvingly. I don’t think she and Nori are going to be worrying about me leading Lucy astray. Anyone with half a brain can see I’m no threat. Time will tell about Meredith though.

After a flurry of texts, our family dinner is set up for Wednesday, the night before I’m due to meet Alex again. Verna is on board with making a cake, and Mom buys wine.
I am about to buy flowers for Angela and Nori when I remember Nori’s garden.
Coals to Newcastle
, Verna would say. Like giving a bottle of wine to a vintner. Or bread to a baker. But I think I should take something. Then I have a moment of inspiration. Last year, Verna and I picked strawberries and made jam. It’s delicious, and we’ve been kind of rationing it out. I was too depressed to go picking this year, and Verna didn’t want to go alone, so we didn’t replenish our stock, but maybe we have some left. I rummage around in the cupboard and find one solitary unopened jar. I don’t think Mom will mind if I take it. It’s for a good cause, after all. There’s a label on it—not a fancy one, just an office label—that says
Strawbs 2014
in Verna’s scribbly handwriting. I find a red pen and decorate the label with drawings of tiny berries. Then I tie a scrap of red ribbon around the top of the jar, and voilà! The perfect hostess gift.

WHEN WE GET
to Lucy’s house on Wednesday night, I am nervous. What if all the moms hate each other? What if I get into a fight with Meredith? What if Mom doesn’t like Alex? I keep telling myself that it’ll be fine—we’ll all be on our best behavior, after all—but I have to fight a desire to turn around and run away. Verna must sense my uneasiness; she rubs my back as we mount the stairs.

“One may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,” she says as I reach up to bang the bee knocker against the door. She has an endless store of weird expressions—one for every occasion, it seems, although I can’t figure out how this one applies.

Lucy opens the door, looking like a child bride in some New Age cult. Her ankle-length dress is white and lacy. Her sandals are silver Birkenstocks. She is wearing a
garland of small white flowers in her hair (or what’s left of her hair). I introduce her to Mom, and she hugs us all, one after the other.

“Everyone’s out back,” Lucy says. “Meredith and Alex are getting the garden tour. And Angela wants to give you the house tour, Ms.…”

When she hesitates, Mom says, “Call me Della. And I’d love a tour.”

“Della,” Lucy repeats. “That’s so pretty.”

She leads us to the kitchen, where Angela is washing some salad greens at the sink. Verna puts the cake down on the counter, and Angela dries her hands for the next round of introductions, this time with more handshaking and less hugging.

“Hope white is okay,” Mom says, holding up the bottle of wine.

“And I brought you some jam,” I say. “Verna and I made it last summer.”

I hand Angela the jam and she says, “This is lovely, Harry. So thoughtful.” She beams at me. “Strawberry is my favorite. Lucy’s too. And we’re having salmon, Della, so the wine is perfect. You’re not vegetarians, are you? Or vegan?”

“God forbid,” Mom says, and Angela laughs.

“These days you have to be so careful. No gluten, no dairy, nothing with a face.”

“We eat everything,” Mom says. “Right, Harry?”

“Pretty much. Except okra. We hate okra.”

“Not on the menu,” Angela says. “Harry tells me you’re a Craftsman fan, Della. Let me show you and Verna the house.”

The three of them wander off to admire the wainscoting or something, and Lucy and I head toward the back deck, where the table is covered with a blue-and-white-striped tablecloth held in place by weights in the shape of silver bees. The water glasses are embossed with bees. The napkins that match the tablecloth are in bee-adorned napkin rings. I’m sensing a theme. There is a blue pottery jug in the middle of the table, full of beautiful flowers. There is a real bee buzzing around in the blooms, which makes me smile. Lucy tells me that Meredith brought the flowers, so maybe it is okay to bring coals to Newcastle after all.