At the bottom of the stairway, I hesitated again to listen. I thought I heard someone sniffle and then the distinct sound of a cup and saucer. It was just Jordan at breakfast, I thought. She always woke late whenever she took something to help her sleep. I moved quickly to the dining room and stopped in the doorway. Jordan was there and so was Donald, but they were both looking down at their coffee. There was food on the table, but it all looked untouched—toast on plates, eggs looking more like displays in a restaurant storefront, and a full bowl of fruit.
Jordan looked up first. Her face appeared to shudder, as if the mere action of raising her head threw all of her features into a little earthquake. She brought her handkerchief to her mouth, and then Donald turned slowly and looked at me.
“What’s wrong?
” I asked.
“You had better sit down,” Donald said.
I looked from his face to Jordan’s. She still had the handkerchief pressed against her mouth. Now she looked unable to move, even to blink. I walked to my seat and sat.
“What?” I asked.
“If I’ve learned anything in this life so far, it’s that you really don’t know anyone.”
Oh, well, I thought, here comes another one of his long lectures. I relaxed. I was mentally prepared for it, ready simply to sit and listen and try to look remorseful and attentive, as difficult as I expected it to be.
“No one knows what really goes on behind closed doors, within the walls of homes. How many times have we seen and heard neighbors claiming they would never have believed that their neighbor was a serial killer or something? Oh, I know this is the age of revelations, people spilling their most intimate secrets on talk shows. No one seems to have any self-respect anymore. Discretion is lost. At the drop of a hat, this one or that one admits he or she is a drug addict or was abused. You know what I mean?” he said, and looked at Jordan.
Her eyes moved to him but quickly came back to me, and that handkerchief still was over her mouth.
“Now, that’s not to say we can’t pick up some vibes ourselves, and obviously, the more experienced we are, the older we are, the better chance we have to do that, especially when we have gone through some hard experiences ourselves.”
Jordan made a strange sound that seemed to catch in her throat like a scream she was holding down. My heartbeat quickened, and a slow but unrelenting warmth began to radiate out from under my breasts, climbing to the base of my throat. I looked at Donald.
“I’m definitely not one who likes to run about saying ‘I told you so.’ There’s no satisfaction in being right when being right brings misery and sadness. In fact, if I had my druthers, as they say, I’d rather not have the wisdom and perception to foresee tragedy. Someone who has that suffers with it before, during, and after it happens.”
“What are you talking about?” I finally asked.
“As I began to say, no one would expect a girl of your age to know someone as well as, say, someone my age or Jordan’s age might know someone. When you’re young and innocent, there’s no obstacle too difficult for you to overcome, no mountain too high to climb. No danger is forbidding enough. You’re like these—what do they call them—young immortals who don’t think they need health care or something. It’s understandable. We’ve all been through that.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Donald. I’m sorry.”
“Jordan received a phone call first thing this morning. That’s the way it is with the women in her clutch lunch gang,” he said, giving her a disapproving look. “Can’t wait to get out bad news.”
Now Jordan released a moan. It seemed to come from the very bottom of her soul and travel up her spine. I felt my heart stop.
“What?” I practically screamed.
“This troubled boy has apparently taken his own life,” Donald said.
I heard the words, but they wouldn’t navigate to that place in my brain where meaning dwelt. They seemed to go into my ears and then bounce off my skull and fall out again.
“What?” I thought I asked. I wasn’t sure I was forming words, either.
“After he was brought home, he shut himself in his room. No one checked on him, we understand. Both his parents were at an affair. He had some sharp little tools he used for making his model planes and boats, apparently, and he bled to death. I’m afraid they won’t be able to keep this out of the papers,” he added. “It will be all over the news. You know how everything that happens to celebrities is Page One.”
“The floor,” I said.
“What?”
It felt as if it were sliding quickly to my right, and then the wall on the right started to slide into the ceiling, and the ceiling slid down into the wall on the left, and this kept going faster and faster until I was carried along and spun so fast I lost consciousness.
Later, Jordan told me that Donald had caught me and carried me up the stairs to my room and bed. I went in and out of consciousness for a while. A good friend of theirs, Dr. Battie, actually made a house call. He gave me a sedative, and I slept through most of the day.
Every time I did open my eyes, Jordan was sitting there offering words of comfort. I simply stared at her, telling myself that if I could force myself back to sleep, I could eventually bring the nightmare to an end. I’d wake up again. It would be morning. I’d shower, get dressed, and go down to breakfast to listen to Donald’s lecture about how I had disappointed them. He would then talk about the future, admitting that perhaps they were a little too hard on me and that after things had settled down some, they’d permit me to invite Ryder to the house again, maybe to dinner, and we’d be more civilized about it all. Jordan would agree. I’d return to school, and we’d start where we had left off. Even Ryder’s sister would behave. All I had to do was fall asleep and push the nightmare out.
But when I woke again, Jordan was still there. She was sorting through some clothes, separating garments. I watched her for a while because she didn’t know I was awake.