The Truth Commission (17 page)

Grinding Middles

What did I do with the bizarre revelation that my sister, supposedly incapacitated after being assaulted by her teacher, had sometime in the past few weeks rehired her agent and become rich from selling an option for her comics? I did what any deeply ambivalent and confused person would do: I went back to bed. My parents had already left for work, and Nancy was still in impound. When Dusk and Neil texted to ask when I was coming to school, I said I was sick. And I was.

I lay in bed and listened to the sounds of the house. The fridge hummed off and on, the foundation creaked, birds scuttled around in the gutters. I tried not to think. When my dad got home after his shift, I stayed in bed until he knocked on my door to tell me dinner was ready.

Dinner seemed to be ready about four times a day.

My mom was home by that time, and I'd been in bed for so long, I felt like I barely knew how to speak or interact with other humans. My mom's new highlights glowed and her cheeks seemed flushed. Maybe Keira
had
given my parents some money. I couldn't ask
her,
because she hadn't come home.

“Keira still out?” I asked.

My parents exchanged a glance, as though they'd been talking about me.

“She's an adult, Normandy. She gets to set her own schedule,” said my mother. She spoke as though I'd been lobbying hard to get my curfew extended. Which would be pretty pointless, since I didn't have a curfew and had never managed to come within shouting distance of needing one.

“Just wanted to know if she was home.” I said this even though I knew the answer. I felt a need to establish some sort of baseline reality.

My dad blew on his chili. This one was a white-bean version. Quite adventurous for him.

“I think she may have gone out. She needs privacy, Norm. You know how hard she's been working on her project.”

“Ah,” I said. Something in that syllable set them off.

“Normandy!” said my parents together.

“You really need to lose the attitude,” said my mother. I could practically see the highlights fade from her hair with the effort of each word. “Your sister's life has changed since college. She needs more independence. It's important not to interfere as she works her way through this next phase.”

“What's with the glum face?” said my dad. “We're a family.”

And since that was exactly the kind of crazy talk that was making me feel like I might be losing my mind, I decided to join in.

“It must be awesome to have so much disposable income now,” I said.

My parents stared at me. My mother lowered her spoon to the place mat that, tragically, shows her as she appears in the Earth realm of the Diana comics.

“I mean, since Keira paid off the mortgage for the house,” I said. My words dropped like stones into a murky pond.

“Normandy,” said my mother. “Are you feeling all right?”

I didn't want to look at her. To see the lines of her face blurred by work and worry and denial.

“I think you're being unkind,” said my mother. “You know that Keira wants to help out with the household when she's able. But this isn't the right time. She had a lot of expenses. Her college cost a small fortune. We couldn't help much.”

“She got a full scholarship,” I said.

“Just for tuition,” said my dad.

“There were a lot of other expenses,” said my mom.

“The new book's coming along slowly,” said my dad. “The last thing she needs is more pressure.”

“So you're saying that she
didn't
pay off the mortgage?”

My father laughed uncomfortably. “You've been doing too much needlepoint.”

“Embroidery,” I said. “There's a difference.”

“Your sister's money is her own. We're the parents. We pay the bills,” added my mother in a brittle voice. It was as clear as freshly Windexed glass that my mother and father lived in suspended animation. Did they hope their patience would pay off somehow? That their agreeing to be turned inside out for public consumption would somehow be rewarded? That Keira would eventually put them on easy street, as she kept hinting?

For the first time, I really thought about what it was like for my parents to have a kid like Keira. What it took for them to ignore the fact that she doesn't even like us. They weren't ready to deal with the reality of my sister, and they might never be ready.

“We'll get this sucker paid off when we win the lottery,” said my father fake-jovially and also insanely, because he doesn't play the lottery because he needs all his spending money to buy discontinued cookbooks and help pay my tuition.

My parents looked so confused and distressed, I wished I hadn't said anything.

“I was just kidding,” I said.

“That's a strange sort of joke,” said my mother.

My dad laughed. “Well, Betty. It's what we get for producing two artists. Warped reality!”

“White beans are a nice change in this chili,” said my mother.

I tried to imagine dropping the bombshells of Sylvia's news and my sister's confession on them. The thought was laughable. Or maybe it was cryable. Either way, it wasn't going to happen. Instead, I ate my chili, gave false answers to my parents' pro forma questions about my day, and went back to my room. As soon as I shut the door, I knew I had to get out of the house before Keira came home from wherever she was, before she walked into the closet to draw more disturbing pictures, before she crawled onto my bed to tell me more stories without beginnings and ends. Stories that were all grinding middles. My sister had lied to Sylvia about paying the mortgage. What other lies had she told? And why?

I did something I had never done before.

I called Neil. Just Neil.

Right away, he knew something was wrong.

“You okay?” he asked. “What can I do?”

“I need to talk about my family. To you. Only you.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone as he digested this. There are deep-cover CIA agents who talk more about their families than I do. Did.

“Whatever you need, Norm. I'll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.

My parents didn't notice me leave.

Shinola

Fifteen minutes later, Neil pulled up in the shiny black sports car that didn't suit him. I'd been waiting in our carport, leaning up against the woodpile, half of which was a marvel of spatial ingenuity and engineering, with each rough-hewn block tucked optimally against the next. The other half was a haphazard heap waiting to collapse the next time a big truck rumbled by.
99

I emerged from under the carport and bent down to get into Neil's Mazda, which smelled like genuine leather seats.

“This car is luxe,” I said, feeling disembodied by the rearrangement of our pieces. We weren't on our way to pick up Dusk and, as a result, we were somehow strangers to each other.

Neil wore the Ratso Rizzo outfit of a red polo shirt with a white windowpane pattern and white pants.

“You're going to be cold,” I said.

“Got the suit jacket back there.” He indicated the seat behind us, then backed the car out of our potholed driveway.

I have already admitted in the pages of this work of creative nonfiction that I like-like one of my two best friends. And watching him handle the car his father gave him reminded me why. For all his lack of outdoorsy qualities, Neil drove like he'd been doing it for years, not months. Unshowy, competent. Hands big and easy on the wheel, slicked-back hair falling onto his forehead. He wasn't proud of the car he didn't buy. He wasn't ashamed of it, either. He just treated the car like a car.

I thought about the things he did and the things he loved, his paintings of beautiful girls and, like a total fool, I started to cry.

“Oh, no,” he whispered. I had the heels of my hands pressed to my eyes so I wouldn't have to see his face.

I felt the car pull over and come to a stop. Then I felt him reach around me to pull my seat belt tight and click it into place.

“That's better,” he said. And off we went again.

How could I not like-like him?

When I finally allowed my hands to drop from my eyes and the temporary blindness passed, I risked a glance at him.

The look he gave me was pure Neil. Thoughtful and kind, concerned. And something else.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I forgot to mention on the phone that I am cracking up.”

“Hey,” he said. “No apologies.”

We were on Rock City Road, which wound between rock bluffs and new subdivisions. You had to be careful, because there were deer all over the place. The light was fading and they were hard to spot.

We drove to Hammond Bay Road, and then Neil made the tight turn onto Linley. At the entrance to the trailhead was space for two cars and we were the only ones there. Neil nosed the Mazda into the tall grass at the edge of the bank.

“Okay,” he said. “Be free.” And he unlatched my seat belt.

We laughed.

God, it was strange to be in that car with him. And thrilling.

“Prema talked to me. She likes both guys,” I said.

“Okay.” Neil waited, somehow knowing I had more to say.

“I have some other things to tell you,” I said. “About my family.”

He said simply, “I'm happy you picked me.”

I told him about my sister. About her return from college. About the affair and the drawing I found. About what her teacher had done to her. I told him about the call to Sylvia and the money. When I was done, he watched me.

The car had a fancy stereo with a display that made green illumination crawl across our faces.

We were listening to some kind of electronic music turned down low and hypnotic.

“There's one more thing,” I said.

“Okay.” His voice was husky. My nose was full of new car and thrift store suit and a hint of the old-fashioned Wildroot hair tonic he favored. My heart pumped in time with the music, which is to say, fast and insistent.

I stared straight ahead as I spoke.

“I like you. And I know I shouldn't. But I do. I'm sorry.”

Now I couldn't catch my breath and I didn't dare turn my head.

The pause went on and on.

“Are you serious?” he said.

His disappointment, if that's what it was, peeled back a layer of skin that was already raw to touch.

“I know you don't feel the same. It's okay,” I said, so he wouldn't feel too bad about turning me down. I watched the digital waves on the stereo flutter and felt hollow-boned and feathered enough to fly. Light enough not to care where I landed.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“You've got that thing about extremely beautiful girls.”

“That's just art. Anyway, have you looked in a mirror lately?”

I did my best not to. Features were checked in isolation. My face was a thing to be avoided. Just in case.

Neil put his hand on my chin and he gently turned my face to his.

“When it comes to liking, you don't know shit from Shinola, Normandy Pale,” he murmured. Then he kissed me.

The Passive Persons' Rubicon of Love

When you have two best friends and you make out with one of them, things have a way of changing, and changing fast.

My dad took me to get Nancy from the impound the next day. We went first thing in the morning and he paid the bill, grumbling good-naturedly about the cost of living with spacey artists. I was in a daze. I guess that's what happens to a person after her first kiss. Then I drove over to pick up Dusk.

She hopped in the truck and put down her medical bag. (I sincerely hope she doesn't use it to carry around shrew corpses.) She was resplendent in a purple satin jumpsuit and matching purple headband. On her feet were granny heels. Once she was seated comfortably, she turned to look at me. And look at me.

“Norm?” she said.

I could feel the flush start at my navel and begin to roll up my body and head like a red carpet unfurling.

“Norm!”
she said.

I know that thus far in this work I have presented Dusk as a) self-centered and b) kind of mean. She is both. I won't lie. But she's also observant and generous and affectionate in the same way a cat is. She is, like anyone worth knowing, many things at once.

I stared out the windshield, which could have done with a rinse, but I had forgotten to refill the wiper fluid.

“Normandy Pale! What have you done?” said Dusk.

I knew she'd sense something was different, but not so quickly. Not so completely.

I drove us back out onto Departure Bay Road and we headed for Neil's. Everything was moving too fast, like my emotions and life had been put into an off-brand salad spinner.
Whir. Slip. Catch. Whir.

“I'm sure you'll tell me when you're ready. But it better be soon. Never mind, Neil will get it out of you.”

I drove.

“Is it Prema? Did she talk to you? What's going on? You look
different
.”

I had taken some care getting dressed this morning. Something about the events of the night before made me want to express myself, at least a little bit. Normally, as I've mentioned, unless I'm wearing an outfit to support one of my friends' obsessions (
Midnight Cowboy
,
Dog Day Afternoon
, famous Victorian-era taxidermists), I'm a jeans person.

Today, I'd put on leggings and a hand-dyed violet-colored sweatshirt that I bought last year at the Clothes Cult's Après Fashion Show trunk sale. It was barely even identifiable as a sweatshirt because the drape was so complicated and the color was so pretty. It had a big cowl neck and I'd cinched it tight with a glittery belt, also designed by a Clothes Cultist. I wore it with tall brown leather boots and felt criminally great.

“I look different because I'm dressed up,” I said.

“No,” said Dusk. “That's not it. What's going on with you goes deeper than clothes. Did you learn something? A truth?”

This was my chance.

“Yes!” I blurted, grateful. “That's it. Prema talked.”

“Why so rosy-faced and strange? Sure, I'm disappointed that she didn't tell me. But you ran nearly as far down that track with her as I did. That truth seeking was a team effort.”

“Let's wait until Neil's here.”

“That's my girl,” said Dusk. “Efficiency in all things.”

I could feel her continuing to stare at the side of my face. Dusk is very intense. When she stares at you, it's a bit like being the target of floodlights on a dark two lane at midnight.

“Hmmmm,” she said.

To distract her, I reached for the stereo, which was the only new thing in the truck. Keira had had it installed behind the original tape deck, so as not to disturb the retro feel of Nancy's dashboard. My iPod cord sneaked out of the cassette slot, and I fiddled with the original volume knob, which did exactly nothing.

“Never mind that,” said Dusk. “I'll handle the entertainment. You keep your attention on the road.”

Then she became engaged in picking a new song and getting the volume just right. That took a while, because Dusk has conflicted taste in music and spends a lot of time being disappointed in various artists for any number of reasons from politics to their friends.

She settled on Grizzly Bear because she has a soft spot for bands from Brooklyn and plans to live there for the majority of her twenties. Also, she used to figure skate and they made that excellent video about the sad, disoriented skater.

As we pulled up to Neil's house, Nancy coughed and died. I coasted her to a stop about ten feet from where I would normally have pulled up.

Neil, who is always very good about being ready, walked out to meet us. Mr. Sutton, wearing a bathrobe that appeared to be trimmed with dead weasels, waved from the wide front doorway.

“Dear Lord, please let his bathrobe stay closed,” muttered Dusk, and we smiled and waved back.

Neil opened the door and waited for Dusk to jump out so he could get in the middle.

“How are my gorgeous girls?” called Mr. Sutton, gesturing with his coffee mug. “How did my boy get so lucky?”

“Hi, Mr. Sutton!” said Dusk and I in unison.

When we were in our usual places, we had to wait about three minutes for Nancy's engine to recover. Disconcertingly, Mr. Sutton stayed posted in the front door, smiling and nodding at us, between sips of coffee. We took turns smiling back while trying to negotiate the changing dynamics inside the truck. Neil was no longer just Neil. He was this electric presence beside me. I could practically see a current running between us, and Dusk, no dummy, picked up on it.

She waved at Neil's dad and shot us a sidelong glance. Then a longer sidelong glance. Her face shifted as some recognition dawned.

“What the . . . ?”

Without taking her eyes off Mr. Sutton, she said, without moving her lips, “Start the truck, Norm.”

“Nancy's not ready,” I said, also without moving my mouth.

I was afraid to look at Neil, but I could picture his expression. It would be the one he always used when stressed: staring into the middle distance at the level of his third eye, mouth twisted in fierce concentration. It was a facial arrangement that would have made most people look the opposite of smart. Somehow, it just made Neil look well intentioned.

The atmosphere in Nancy was so thick that even Mr. Sutton picked up on it. His smile faded and he leaned forward to get a better look at us.

I waved.

“Oh, my God,” said Dusk. “What the hell is going on here?”

That was my cue to try the engine. It sputtered, ground, and coughed reluctantly into action. I threw the shift into reverse and we began to back up, the engine's whining high and concerned.

“Okay. I'm going to take a guess here. Norm, you told Neil what Prema said. And it's big. And you two didn't tell me.”

The red carpet had rolled back up over my face. Neil continued to gaze fixedly into the middle distance like a third grader who'd been given an eleventh grader's math problem.

“No, that's not it,” mused Dusk. “There's no truth Prema could have told you that would have made you two so . . . whatever you are right now.”

I was aware to the millimeter of how close Neil was. We were scrupulous about not touching. It was probably more obvious than if he'd sat on my knee. He was in his lucky light blue suit. I loved him in that suit.

“No,” said Dusk. “I'm trying to take this in. Is it possible?”

She leaned farther forward.

“Neil. Look at me,” she demanded. “Let me see your face.”

I kept my attention on the road, but I knew we were doomed. Neil could walk around with a brown paper grocery bag over a balaclava, and everyone would know how he was feeling.

“I see guilt,” said Dusk. “I see blushing. Which makes two guilts and two blushings.”

I flicked a glance over at my passengers and saw that Dusk's face was about four inches from Neil's. “And I feel something. Hmmmm. What is it? I think it might be . . . Oh, do
not tell me that you two finally hooked up!
” shouted Dusk.

“Oh, shit,” I whispered.

“The sexual tension is so thick in here, I am practically getting pregnant,” said Dusk.

I made a dismissive noise that was entirely lame.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Dusk,” said Neil. “We, uh . . .”

Now I found myself listening even more closely, if that was possible. I wondered if I would hear regret in his voice. I wondered if he'd changed his mind since the night before.

“Can this just wait until we get to school?” I asked. “I'm trying to drive.”

I felt Dusk collapse back against the seat. “Fine,” she said. “It's a lot to take in.”

When Nancy wheezed to a stop in the school's gravel parking lot, we were left listening to the soul stylings of Anthony Hamilton singing “Mad.” Appropriately, it's a song about lying and love. Coincidence? I think not. Life is so full of portents and signs and symbols that it's a wonder not everyone is a writer.

“This is an excellent song,” said Neil finally.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dusk. “Are you two going to tell me or not?”

Again, I felt my spine stiffen. What would I hear in the spaces between Neil's words? As oversaturated as the moment was, it was impossible not to think about the color of the moments that would follow from it. How would we be changed by what came next.

“We didn't mean for this—” I started.

“I'm glad it happened,” Neil cut in, “but I feel bad we didn't call you right away.”

My rib cage seemed to expand in a way at once painful and perfect.

“Well,
obviously
,” said Dusk. “Everyone knew you two would eventually cross the Passive Persons' Rubicon of Love, and it's too bad it took so long, but you have a duty to me, your best friend and supervisor, to keep me abreast of developments. Sorry to use the word
breast
. It will probably inflame the two of you.”

“It's only been about twelve hours,” said Neil. “We are still getting used to the idea.”

And then he did something incredible. Incredibler?

He took my hand and kissed it. Then he took Dusk's hand and kissed it. And then he let hers go and kept mine, warm and safe, nestled inside his.

“I love you both. But not like Prema loves Luke and Tony. I'll let Norm tell that part.”

“What?” said Dusk. “Oh, my God. You two have done a double holdback on me?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Things got away from me. There's more . . .”

I thought about whether to tell her about my sister and what I did and didn't know. I thought about how kind Dusk was being, inside her narrow emotional ability, about Neil and me.

And then I decided that I would tell both of my best friends and fellow Truth Commissioners everything.

“Prema loves both of her men. And she's decided to keep both of them.”

“Threesome?” breathed Dusk. “No!”

“Yes,” I said. “She told me.”

“Have you seen the three of them? The perfection of it? I mean, if you're into aerobic fitness, it doesn't get any better.”

“Aerobic fitness isn't really my thing,” I said. “But I'll take your word for it.”

Neil squeezed my hand.

“Would you look at that,” said Dusk, who misses nothing. “I should be icked out, but I feel all warm and maternal about you two. Maybe I should have a kid. Two kids. Not like
Flowers in the Attic
kids, but regular ones.”

“Finish stuffing your shrew first,” said Neil. “Then decide. Maybe the right shrew will be enough.”

“I think you should stick with the shrew,” I agreed. “Less work. Easier to look after.”

“And better for the old GPA,” said Dusk. “Not that I will give my parents the satisfaction of thinking about that.”

“The other thing we need to talk about is, ah, my personal . . . situation.”

“You mean with World's Finest Catch here?” said Dusk. That made Neil grin, which made me grin. We were all being so amazing in that moment. I loved us very much.

“It's about my sister,” I said.

Dusk stopped smiling.

If the first rule of Fight Club was to not talk about Fight Club, the first rule of being friends with me was not talking about my sister. Dusk and Neil had picked up on that instinctively. They'd grazed the situation lightly once or twice when we first started hanging out, but after that they'd never mentioned Keira again. They'd never asked me what it felt like to be indirectly famous (infamous) as a result of my sister's comics. They'd never asked what Keira was like or what it was like to live in our home. They'd spent our entire friendship respecting my privacy. That's why I'm pretty sure Dusk stopped breathing when I told her how Keira'd come home from college and started telling me about her teacher. I told Dusk everything I'd told Neil the night before.

The bell rang. I kept talking. The bell rang again. I talked. The first song on the playlist came back on.

When I finished, the three of us sat in exhausted silence.

“Huh,” said Dusk. “I'm not sure what to feel outraged about first.”

“Place mats,” I said. “Eating off my own face. Let's start there.”

Then we all cracked up. We laughed until we cried. We held hands.

“At the risk of sounding like Prema and her boys, I feel so much better now that it's all out in the open,” I said.

“We'll help any way we can,” said Neil. “Or we'll just support you, if that's what you want.”

“Truth Commission, at your service,” said Dusk.

The answer came to me.

“First order of business. I want to see my sister's new place. I want to know what she bought with her money.”

And just like that, the truth changed everything.