27 Berry
Berry
Few places are more deserted than a New York elementary school in late July. But because Stillwell is a private institution,
some skeleton staff, including a few key administrators, keep showing up to prep for fall. It’s so quiet in the building that
when my phone rings from inside my bag, I’m startled nearly halfway out of my seat.
“Harrison!” I answer with delight as I recover. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a midday call?”
“Hey. I’ve got a meeting with Vinny in a few minutes, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.” He’s speaking in hushed tones,
as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. “I think we need to take a pause before letting Leo hang out with McKenna anymore.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You know Duncan Wallace from my office?”
I’ve never met the guy, but Harrison talks about him plenty.
“Sure,” I prod.
“His parents belong to Hollyhock. He’d been planning to take time off today for some sort of family day at the club with his wife and kids, but he ended up coming into work.
Apparently the events got canceled because somebody vandalized the pool.
They’re saying that an employee who was recently fired poured gasoline or paint or something into the water and caused thousands of dollars of damage. ”
“That’s terrible. Why would somebody do that?”
“Mom.”
I take a moment longer and then gasp. “You don’t think McKenna . . . ?” I’m appalled at the very suggestion. “Because the
club wouldn’t let her hold the swim lessons? No, baby, I don’t think so. She seems so grounded and sensible. She’s not some
disgruntled worker who would go off the rails like that.”
“I’m not sure, Ma. She’s told me herself that she sometimes gets so angry she can’t control herself. I found it endearing
when she was talking about it, but maybe I was being a little blind. She was so pissed off about the lessons getting canceled.
Then she was accused of assaulting one of their members. I mean, how well do we really know her?”
The question does make me think.
“Maybe she thought she was being some kind of hero,” he continues. “But it’s pretty wack to pour toxins into a private pool.
And don’t get me started on the environmental implications. I hate to say it, but maybe she’s not the angel we thought she
was.”
“So you think we should all cut her off? You’re going to end things with her too?”
“There’s nothing to end, Ma. It was one date. Maybe not even a date. I don’t know what she thought. But this is about Leo.
The last thing he needs is to get mixed up with trouble. So yeah, I’m going to stop texting her, and we should make sure Leo
knows not to contact her either. That’s all I’m saying.”
He’s not wrong, and we do have plenty enough drama going on in our house already.
“Listen, Ma. I gotta run.”
When we hang up, I try to imagine that kind, accomplished young woman sneaking onto the grounds of a country club under cover
of night, canisters of gasoline in her hands, and I just don’t see it. Leo had been building such a nice relationship with
her, and I hate to make him give that up because of some cockamamie theory Harrison’s cooked up. But then I consider the possibility
she really did do the things he’s accused her of. That’s not the kind of behavior I want Leo anywhere near. If he was able
to connect so deeply with McKenna, I have to hope others could bring out the best in him too. Better safe than sorry and all
that. Leo will have to find other mentors, other people to inspire him.
I turn back to my computer and try to focus on the faculty résumés I’m supposed to be reviewing. When I make it to the third
application for our junior art teacher position without remembering a single detail from the others, I accept that I’m too
distracted. I just cannot stop thinking about Hollyhock. What Harrison described sounds more like something gang members would
do as an initiation prank, not the actions of an NCAA Division 1 athlete and promising nursing student. I Google the number
for Hollyhock, deciding to do some recon of my own. A receptionist picks up, and I ask to be transferred to the manager of
the club.
After a few moments of classical music, a woman answers, sounding frazzled. “This is Kathleen.”
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you could tell me if you know who’s responsible for the vandalism of your pool.”
“I’m sorry, who’s this?” she asks, her voice defensive, as if I have no right to be asking. And I guess I don’t.
“Oh, sorry. This is Berry Selinger. My son, Leo Becker, was one of the special-needs students being taught by McKenna Jamison.”
“I see.” There’s a pause, and then she says, “I’m sorry, Ms. Selinger, but we can’t give out any information about the incident
yet. So if that’s all . . .” I’m sure she’s got a lot to deal with, remediating whatever happened.
“I don’t want to keep you,” I tell her. “It’s just that my son has developed quite a friendship with McKenna, and I’m trying
to figure out if maybe this is not a productive relationship for him to continue. He’s not socially aware the way a neurotypical
kid would be, and I just don’t want him to be taken advantage of.”
The woman lets out a loud breath. “Yeah, I can understand that.” Her tone mellows as she continues. “Look, we don’t have any
proof, but all signs are pointing to McKenna. You’re probably right to be cautious. Whoever did this definitely intended to
cause extensive harm. That’s really all I can say.”
I try to imagine the damage at the club. I don’t know much about swimming pool maintenance, but I grew up around plenty of
auto-body shops, and I’m well aware that once gasoline and oil paint get where they don’t belong, there are no easy fixes.
I’m sure it’ll cost the club a fortune to rectify, though they’ve surely got good insurance. “Will she get arrested?”
“Well, again, we don’t have any proof. We lost power during the storm, and it didn’t get restored until about four a.m. Our generator covers the basics—lights and refrigerators—but it doesn’t power the security cameras.
If it was McKenna, she was pretty clever about it.
Almost as if she waited for the right night to make her move.
I’d be wary of a person that calculating. That’s all I can tell you.”
When we hang up, I allow myself a minute to wonder when exactly I became so na?ve. As a girl growing up in Bay Shore, I never
bought into anybody’s bullshit. I’m so disappointed in myself for falling for McKenna’s song and dance and exposing my sweet
Leo to her. Even worse, I’m angry at myself for putting up with Phil’s refusal to share whatever dirty little secret he’s
hiding. It’s not enough that he admitted to something. I don’t care whether he’s ready to share with me. Sometimes we’re not ready to do the hard things, but we don’t get a choice.
And I’m all finished handing out free passes.
Tonight, when Phil gets home from work, I’m waiting in the mudroom. As he walks in from the garage and sees me standing there,
his eyes light up for a second, but then he registers the expression on my face.
“You’re not taking one step farther into this house until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Berry, come on.” He drops his bag beside the door and tries to move around me, but I’m fast and I block his path.
“I mean it. I don’t know when I became Berry the Pushover, but no more. We don’t do this. Not you and me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Berry. Please don’t do this. You’re putting me in an impossible position.”
“I am?” I ask incredulously. “I’m putting you in a bad position? I’m not the one who’s been disappearing for hours on end, hiding pharmacy bags and god knows what else. Either you spit it out right now, or you turn around and find yourself somewhere else to stay.”
Phil twists around to look at the door, as if he’s actually deciding whether to stay or go, and then he looks back at me,
his eyes unreadable.
We’re both silent for so long that everything starts to feel surreal. I just keep staring at his face, willing him to finally
come clean, praying for it not to be as awful as all the different things I’m imagining. He’s clearly fighting some sort of
war within himself. As the seconds drag, it begins to feel like I can’t see him at all. And if that’s not a perfect metaphor
for this situation, I don’t know what is.
Finally, when I’m nearly faint from the strangeness of it all, Phil opens his mouth. But instead of speaking, he just starts
to sob.
“Phil, honey, what is it?” On instinct, I’m wrapping my arms around him, guiding his head onto my shoulder as his body shakes.
“You’ve got to tell me. What’s happening?”
“I’m not who you thought I was, okay?”
“What?”
He lifts his head and swipes beneath his eyes. He meets my gaze and then quickly looks away. “I’m not sick, I’m not having
an affair. I’m just a pathetic loser.”
“A loser?” As I repeat the word, it dawns on me this has to be about something financial.
“I’ve been trying to take care of everything so you’d never know. The worst part of all of this has been imagining you seeing
me the way I’ve been forced to see myself.”
I pull him by the hand into the kitchen and point toward the table.
“Sit. Start at the beginning. All of it.”
He does as I say, slumping into his chair, still wiping at his eyes.
“It was the home health monitoring devices. We never should have invested so much in them. And then the warehouse in Connecticut.
We’re paying rent to store those devices, but they’re not selling, and we’re getting deeper and deeper in the hole. The business
is tanking. And I’ve tried a million things to save it. But come next week, we have to declare.”
“Declare what?”
“Chapter 7. Total bankruptcy and liquidation.”
He looks up at me, waiting for my reaction.
“What else?” I ask.
“What do you mean ‘what else’? That’s it. That’s the whole story. Isn’t that enough?”
I struggle to maintain my composure as I respond.
“That’s it? That’s the big, scary, secret thing? The thing you couldn’t trust me with? All these months of sneaking around,