Spirit Level (10 page)

I can’t see Alex in the garden; maybe he is in the Zen sanctuary, meditating. I imagine sitting next to him, cross-legged on a tatami mat, eyes closed, the sound of our breathing punctuated by birdsong. Then I hear Meredith’s voice. “I just love delphiniums, don’t you?” and the mood is shattered. I wouldn’t know a delphinium if I fell into a bed of them.

Meredith climbs the steps, her arms full of long-stemmed, intensely blue flowers the exact color of Alex’s eyes. Alex and Nori are standing at the bottom of the steps, deep in conversation. Meredith says, “Oh, hi, Harry,” as if she’s surprised—and not particularly pleased—to see me. “Lucy, can you show me where to find a vase for these?”
Lucy follows her obediently into the house. Clearly I’m not Meredith’s favorite half-sister. And she’s not mine. I’m still not exactly sure why.

“If the bees die, we die,” Nori is saying to Alex. “It’s that simple. No pollination, no plants. No plants, no life as we know it.”

Alex nods and then looks up at me and smiles. “Hey, Harry,” he says. “You should see the garden.” He turns to Nori. “Can I show her around? While I still remember all the stuff you told us?”

“Sure,” Nori says. “Shoes off in the sanctuary though.” She frowns at my flip-flops, as if they are stilettos.

“We’ll be careful,” Alex says.

Nori nods and heads into the house, leaving me alone with Alex.

“So. Quite the place, hey?” he says.

I nod and go down the stairs into the garden, where Alex is standing by a bush covered in small white blooms—obviously the source of Lucy’s garland.

“Smell this,” he says, and I lean over and inhale. It’s incredible.

“Mock orange,” he says, as I continue to breathe in the intoxicating citrus-y scent.

“My mom wears perfume that smells like this,” I say. “I love it, even though most perfume makes me sneeze.”

Alex laughs and heads down a path made of crushed white shells. “Nori collected these shells, and Angela crushed them in a walking meditation,” he tells me.
“They’re from beaches all over the world. She’s been collecting them for years. Still does.”

The shells crunch softly as we walk over them. “Won’t they eventually turn to dust or sand or something?” I ask.

Alex shrugs. “Apparently she keeps adding shells to the paths, and Angela keeps crushing them. Friends collect them for her too. She says the path is a metaphor for life.”

The shell path ends at a small wooden bridge that arches over an undulating stream of river rocks and leads to a tiny cedar hut set in a wide carpet of bright-green moss. There are stone benches outside the hut, one on each side of the open doorway. I slip off my flip-flops, and Alex slides his feet out of his deck shoes. His feet are narrow and tan, his nails trimmed. Guys’ feet can be gross; his are not. The hair on his legs is fine and golden. There is a large ugly scar above his left knee. Inside the hut, the floor is covered with straw mats, just as I had imagined. A low altar holds one white pillar candle, a statue of the Buddha and a single white orchid in a green pot. Two round red pillows face the altar. No glass in the windows; no door. It’s beautiful but kind of stark. I can’t imagine wanting to meditate out here during a Seattle winter. But then again, I can’t imagine wanting to meditate at all.

As if reading my thoughts, Alex says, “Nori told me that Angela only uses this in good weather. She has another meditation space inside.”

We go back across the bridge and Alex points out various plants as we wander through the garden:
butterfly bush, lady’s-mantle, delphinium, phlox, lavender. It occurs to me that he may be trying to impress me, and since I don’t know much about plants, it kind of works. Eventually he stops playing botanist—I think he’s run out of plant names—but I don’t mind; the garden seems to welcome silence. I think about my mom, trying to meditate in her cluttered office. I wonder how she feels, if she’s jealous of Angela and Nori with their beautiful house and garden, their two incomes and two kids, their loving relationship. Does she have regrets? Does she wish this were her life?

“Was your mom ever married?” Alex asks as we approach the house. It’s starting to freak me out a bit—the way he always seems to know what I’m thinking.

“Nope,” I say. “Not her thing, I guess. She left home really young, and Verna took her in. She went to school for years and now she works super hard. Not much time for a relationship. At least, that’s what she tells me.”

“Verna?”

I’ve forgotten that Alex hasn’t met Verna, but I’m surprised Meredith hasn’t told him about coming to the salon.

“She’s my grandmother. Not by blood—I’ve never met my real grandparents—but she helped raise me. She’s here for dinner too. It’s a regular family reunion.”

“Or irregular,” Alex says.

I laugh, and we climb the stairs to the deck just as Lucy comes out of the house with Meredith.

“Our moms are bonding like crazy,” Lucy says. “Turns out your mom teaches with one of Angela’s friends. It’s like old home week in there, isn’t it, Meredith? Verna and Nori are setting up the Scrabble board for after dinner. Angela hates games. She wouldn’t even play Uno with us when we were little. She claims games
encourage a negative spirit of competitiveness
. Nori disagrees.”

“Verna’s a pretty cutthroat Scrabble player,” I say. “She may look like a sweet old lady, but she will block your triple word score in a heartbeat.”

Alex laughs, and Meredith’s thin lips stretch over her little teeth. Tonight she’s wearing a pink-and-white-checked shirtdress with a wide pink belt. Demure but not dowdy. Her hair is more gamine than spiky tonight. What is it about her that rubs me the wrong way, apart from the fact that she always seems to be wearing a costume? Retro movie star. Girl next door. It all seems so calculated. Or maybe she’s just more interested in fashion than I am. Almost everyone is.

By the time we’ve finished the salmon and new potatoes and salad, I’ve figured out another thing that bugs me: Meredith is an expert on everything we talk about. She danced professionally, she volunteered at a shelter for at-risk youth, she worked on an organic farm one summer, she writes poetry, she won a competition for young chefs. She even took woodworking in high school because
home ec was so lame
. She built bookcases
for the school library and did fundraising for a school in Africa. I get tired just listening to her, but I can’t exactly compete, although I do agree about home ec. And everyone else seems impressed.

When Mom asks her where the shelter was, Meredith says, “Boise.”

“Oh, you must have been at Your Place,” Mom says. “A friend of mine’s the director. I didn’t think they had peer volunteers.”

“It’s a new program,” Meredith says, and before Mom can ask her anything else, Angela brings in Verna’s cake, which is so delicious that all conversation stops for a while. Meredith doesn’t eat much cake—she asks for “just a sliver”—but I can see her darting glances at Mom. Her expression is odd—not exactly fearful but certainly wary, which is weird. Mom’s tough but hardly threatening. At the first opportunity, Meredith excuses herself from the table and goes inside. When she comes back, she sits at the top of the stairs, her back to the rest of us, gazing into the garden. Mom looks thoughtful, as if she’s working through an interesting problem.

When Verna and Nori go inside to play Scrabble, Angela starts to clear the table. Meredith jumps up to help, but Angela is firm—Lucy can help, but guests cannot.

Mom wanders out into the garden, leaving Meredith, Alex and me on the deck.

“This is the most peaceful place I’ve ever been,” Meredith says. “Lucy is so lucky.”

I nod. I want to ask her what her home in Montana was like, but she is already talking to Alex about getting a community-garden plot and growing all their own vegetables.

“Do you have a garden?” she asks me.

“Not like this one,” I say. “Tiny front lawn with a few flower beds. Brick patio in the back. A few planters. Gardening’s not really Mom’s thing.”

“Maybe you could garden in Harry’s front yard,” Alex says to Meredith.

I can’t tell whether he’s joking. I hope so. I don’t know what to say, so I ask him if we’re still on for a dog walk the next day. Meredith glares at Alex when he says yes.

“We should get going,” she says to him.

“We can drive you home,” I say. “Mom won’t mind. Unless you live in Edmonds or something. But we’ll have to wait for Nori and Verna to finish their game.”

“We’ll take the bus,” Meredith says. “We have to work tomorrow. Let’s go, Alex.”

Alex says, “I’d like to stay awhile,” and Meredith looks as if she’s been slapped. Her face reddens.

“Suit yourself,” she says. “I’m leaving.”

She get up and stalks into the house; Alex follows her. I stay behind on the deck. When Mom comes in from the garden, she raises her eyebrows and asks, “Where is everybody?”

“Nori and Verna are playing Scrabble, Angela and Lucy are doing the dishes, and Meredith and Alex
are arguing over whether to take the bus or wait for a ride.”

“I’m happy to give them a ride home,” she says. “Unless they live in Edmonds.”

I laugh. “That’s what I said. Why is it we always say Edmonds is too far to go?”

“Because it is,” she says. “Alex seems like a lovely person.”

I nod. “Except for being Meredith’s bitch.” The words pop out of my mouth like jawbreakers from a gumball machine.

Mom’s eyebrows go up again. “They’re obviously very close,” she says. “Have they been friends a long time?”

“Since they were little kids.”

Mom nods. “Hard to get in the middle of that, I would imagine.”

“She hates me,” I say.

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, Harry. Maybe she feels threatened by you—it’s pretty clear that Alex likes you.”

I shrug and feel myself blushing. “Maybe.”

Mom laughs. “Maybe? It’s to his credit that he wants to be a good friend to Meredith too.”

“Not if he never stands up for himself.”

“Give it some time,” Mom says. “You only just met. Maybe if she understands that you won’t take him away from her…”

I’m about to say,
But I’d sort of like to
when Alex appears on the porch.

“We’re going to take the bus. Don’t want to inconvenience anyone. See you tomorrow, Harry,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Della.”

“You too, Alex,” Mom says.

I’m suddenly so upset, all I can bring myself to say is “Bye.” Maybe I should just go back to the café and flirt with Nate. It would be so much simpler.

On the drive home, I sit in the backseat and listen to Mom and Verna dissect the evening: the house (gorgeous, but the taxes must be huge), the food (delicious, especially the cake), the garden (wonderful, but a lot of work), Angela and Nori (delightful and tough, respectively), Lucy (cute and talented). When they get to Alex and Meredith, there’s a long pause before Verna declares, “He’s a peach, but I’m not sure about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I think Harry would agree with you about that,” Mom says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“There’s something peculiar about her,” Verna continues. “I thought so when she came to the salon. And before you start lecturing me about being judgmental, Della, tell me you don’t agree. I saw the look on your face when she was talking about that shelter in Boise. Do you think she ever worked there?”

Mom sighs. “No, I don’t. The woman who runs the shelter is very outspoken about peer volunteers.
She’s against them, for various reasons. But why would Meredith lie? That’s what puzzles me.”

Verna says, “Who knows? But she’s troubled, that’s for sure.”

“But still, why lie?” I lean forward and ask. “Because she wants people to like her?”

“Maybe the reality of her life is too difficult,” Mom says. “Didn’t you say she’s estranged from her family? And she’s not having any success finding her donor?”

“Do you always have to play sociologist?” I ask. “Maybe she’s just a shitty person. End of story.”

“It’s never the end of the story,” Mom says. “You know better than that, Harry.”

“So nobody’s a jerk for no reason?”

“Not usually,” Mom says.

“That’s such bullshit.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Harry.”

“Yeah, you’re the one with the PhD. I forgot for a minute.”

“Stop it, you two,” Verna says. “We don’t know Meredith well enough yet to know what motivates her. But I hope Angela and Nori keep an eye on Lucy. She’s clearly very impressionable.”

Mom nods. “I agree. But Meredith is Harry’s half-sister too, and I think we need to give her the benefit of the doubt. For now.”

“Are we even sure she’s my half-sister?” I say. “She doesn’t look anything like me or Lucy or Ben or Adam.”

“Just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean you’re not related,” Mom says.

Even so, I wonder how you go about testing
DNA
. It looks so easy on
TV
: a hair here, a fingernail clipping there. I pull out my phone and Google
DNA
sibling test
. Turns out that for two hundred dollars, I could find out whether Meredith really is my half-sibling. I wouldn’t even need a cheek swab (which is the preferred method).
DNA
can be extracted from all sorts of gross things: used chewing gum, Band-Aids, dental floss, toothpicks. Of course, it would be a total invasion of her privacy, but at this point I’m not sure I care.