Spirit Level (7 page)

I arrange my tiles on the little wooden rack. I love the feel of the tiles, the clicking sound they make in the bag.
Q-A-W-J-I-O-O
. Good thing Mom is going first. She puts the word
BREATHE
on the board, and Verna writes down her points. Even I know a sign when I see one.

I take a deep breath and let the words rush out as I exhale. “I went on
DSR
to look for my half-siblings,
and I’ve found two sisters and three brothers so far, and my two sisters are here.”

There’s a moment of silence. For once, they are speechless. It doesn’t last. Mom says, “Holy shit,” and Verna lets out a hoot.

And then come the questions:

“When can we meet them?”

“How old are they?”

“What are their names?”

“Where are your three brothers?”

“Do you have any pictures on your phone?”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

The last question comes from Verna, and before I can answer it, Mom says, “I can understand why you didn’t, Harry. This is the kind of thing you need to process before you share it.” She shoots Verna a look that I know all too well:
Don’t push it
, the look says.

Verna says, “Well, we’re glad to know now, aren’t we, Della?”

“Absolutely,” Mom says. “Harry, it’s your turn. Take your time.” And I know she’s not just talking about Scrabble. I put down
JAW
and then Verna plays
BANDAGE
and complains that she could have had a Bingo if she’d had an
I
to make
BADINAGE
. Mom tells her to stop whining and write her score down. Business as usual.

“I met Lucy first,” I finally say, “but I heard from a Mormon guy named James before that. He’s older, and he lives in Florida. It’s weird to think that I’m related
to a Mormon.” I expect Mom to lecture me about the importance of keeping an open mind, but she just nods and I continue. “Lucy’s fifteen, and she’s half Japanese. She’s a ballet dancer. Her brother Adam is at college in Portland. And she found another brother, Ben, in Australia. Or he found her—I’m not sure which. Her moms are Nori and Angela. I only met Meredith today. She’s from Montana. She’s eighteen. Really, I barely know any of them.”

Mom plays
MOANED
. “That’s a lot to take in. When did you say you met Lucy?”

“Just over a week ago. She’s pretty cool. Really friendly and bubbly. Meredith—not so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wanted to show me a picture of our donor, and I stopped her by grabbing her arm. Not hard or anything, but she didn’t like it.”

“Because you grabbed her arm?” Verna asks.

“I guess so. Or maybe because I didn’t want to see a picture of him. I didn’t even know you could get pictures of donors.”

“It’s optional,” Mom says, “but I can understand why you wouldn’t want to see a picture. I never did.”

“Meredith’s convinced that he’s here—in Seattle—because he went to medical school here.”

“Could be,” Mom says. “But he could be anywhere. Do you want to find him too?” She doesn’t sound upset, just curious.

I shake my head. “Neither does Lucy. Not yet, anyway. Siblings are all I can handle right now.” I look down at my Scrabble tray and realize I haven’t picked up new letters. I pull an
R
and a
P
from the bag and put them on my tray. Then I stare at the board and can’t think of a single word to make. I must stare for a while because Verna says, “It’s your turn, Harry.”

“Sorry. I can’t concentrate. Maybe you two should play without me.”

Mom gets up and puts the kettle on. Verna picks up her crocheting and says, “I’d like to hear more about these girls, Harry.”

I shoot Mom a desperate look. I can’t talk anymore tonight. I’m exhausted, and I want to check my phone to see if I’ve got any texts from my sisters.
My sisters
. Sounds so strange.

“Let’s have tea and play some crib, Verna,” Mom says. “I think Harry’s tired.”

Verna nods. “Give this old lady a kiss then,” she says, leaning toward me. “And don’t be late for work tomorrow.” I kiss her on the cheek and give Mom a quick hug before I head to my room.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“Sleep well, Harry,” she says.

When I get to my room, I check my phone for messages (nothing) and get under the covers in my clothes. My last thought before I fall sleep is, I hope Alex calls.

But it’s not Alex who calls me; it’s Meredith. My phone rings just as I’m leaving the salon on Tuesday. When I answer, the first thing she says is, “I can’t talk for long. I’m on my break.”

“Okay,” I say. I hate it when people make or answer calls and then say they’re too busy to talk. It’s so rude.

“Look, I’m sorry about leaving without saying goodbye to you on Monday.” Her voice wavers, and it sounds as if she’s going to cry.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It was a weird situation.”

“I’d like to see you and Lucy again. Maybe Thursday morning? Before I go to work? I have to be there at noon.”

She sounds so eager that I can’t bring myself to say no. And who knows? Maybe Monday was just a bad day for her. Maybe she had
PMS
, or she got shit on by one of the million gulls in Seattle. Giving her another chance seems like the right thing to do. And besides, maybe she’ll bring Alex.

“I work at a hair salon in the mornings, but you could come by and I’ll take a break. Not sure if Lucy can make it—she might be at class—but I’ll text her.”

I give her the address before I can think better of it and suggest eleven as a good time. If it goes well, we can meet again soon. If not—well, we’ll see.

When I get home, Mom is out, and I make a ham sandwich before beginning another transcription. I text Lucy about meeting Meredith on Thursday.

My phone pings. Lucy.
Where and when?
I text her back with the address and time. What’s that expression Verna uses?
In for a penny, in for a pound
. Which basically means “go big or go home.” Well, at least I have a home to go to.

“Lucy and Meredith are coming by this morning,” I tell Verna on Thursday when I get to the salon. Keeping it casual, as if having my sisters drop by was a routine occurrence. “Hope that’s okay.”

Verna stops folding towels and gazes at me, her head slightly tilted. “Of course it’s okay. But why here? Why not at home? I’m sure your mother would like to meet them.”

I punch the salon’s voice-mail code into the phone and start listening to the messages. Appointments, cancellations, questions about products and prices. The usual.

“Meredith works,” I say, which is true. “This is the only time she could come. I told her I was working too. But I figured you wouldn’t mind if I took a break.” I glance at the appointment book. “It’s not super busy.”

Part of me wants Verna to say,
No, you can’t take a break
, but that’s ridiculous. It’s not like I punch a time
clock or anything. She nods and goes back to folding towels. I spend the next hour returning calls, doing a couple of shampoos and sweeping the floor so often that Verna takes the broom away from me. I want to scrub the sinks and dust every flat surface, but I control myself. It’s not that I’m ashamed of the salon or of Verna. I’m not trying to impress Meredith and Lucy. That’s not the way I was raised. And I don’t know them well enough to know what would impress them anyway. So why do I feel so antsy?

“What’s that stupid expression?” Verna says after she notices me straightening the pens and the appointment book for the tenth time. “
It is what it is
. Stop fussing and take out the trash. It’s pickup day tomorrow.” She smiles at me and starts drying Mrs. Wallace’s hair.

I take the trash out into the alley behind the salon, and when I come back in, Meredith and Lucy are there, standing by the battered Ikea desk that passes for a reception table. The desk was mine when I was about eleven. You can still see where I wrote my name in glitter nail polish.

I brush off some stray hairs that are clinging to my T-shirt and say, “Hey, guys, sorry about that. Just, you know, working.”

“This salon is adorable,” Meredith says. “So retro.” Today she is wearing a plain white shirt tucked into dark skinny jeans. Her red patent-leather belt matches her shoes. Lucy has on a very full, very short turquoise skirt and a
bright orange crop top that shows off her toned midriff. On her feet are Dr. Seuss Converse high-tops—Thing One and Thing Two. Once again, I am the drab sister.

Verna finishes up with Mrs. Wallace, who is telling a long story about her son, who has just gotten out of jail, where he got his
GED
.

“You remember Lenny, don’t you, honey?” she says to me when Verna swings the chair around.

“Sure do, Mrs. Wallace,” I reply. “Glad he’s out.” Lenny was a few years ahead of me in school. Good-looking but a total stoner. Got busted for dealing. Big surprise.

Her eyes widen when she sees Meredith and Lucy. “And who are these lovely ladies?”

“We’re Harry’s—”

Before Lucy can say “sisters,” Verna says, “These are Harry’s friends. Why don’t you girls grab a soda or make yourselves some coffee while I settle up with Mrs. W.?”

Verna helps Mrs. Wallace out of the chair (she’s not a small woman) and over to the desk to pay her bill while I lead Lucy and Meredith to the tiny room in the back of the salon that holds a small fridge, a coffeemaker and a stacked washer-dryer combo.

“There’s coffee or”—I open the fridge and peer inside—“Diet Pepsi?”

“Diet Pepsi, please,” Lucy says.

“Do you have bottled water?” Meredith asks. “Diet drinks are full of chemicals, you know. And I don’t drink coffee.”

Why am I not surprised?

“Just tap water. Sorry. You want some?”

Meredith shakes her head as Lucy pops open her can of soda and takes a long swig. “Ahhh.” Lucy wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “So good.”

We go back into the salon, where Verna is closing the door after Mrs. Wallace. “Got everything you need?” she says.

I nod. Lucy burps, giggles and then apologizes. Meredith looks around and says, “Are those vintage?” She points at the three swivel chairs, which are upholstered in faded red vinyl.

“If by
vintage
you mean they came with the shop when I bought it fifty years ago, then yes.” Verna laughs. “Haven’t changed a thing.”

“Cool,” Meredith says, sitting in one of the chairs and twirling languidly from side to side. “I love the lino.”

I look down at the floor, which I’ve always thought was hideous. Speckled white background (now gray) with weird atomic-looking red and black starbursts. I sit on the loveseat and try to see what Meredith sees, but I can’t. I love the salon, but it still seems shabby to me.

“Believe it or not, I get people coming in all the time, trying to buy my chairs.” Verna chuckles. “Not to use in salons, but to put in their living rooms. And one fellow wanted a tile from the floor to frame. Can you imagine?”

Meredith nods solemnly. “Totally.”

Lucy, who has been turning pirouettes on the ugly lino, sits beside me on the loveseat and watches Meredith twirl. Verna sits in one of the other chairs and turns to Lucy. “Harry tells me you’re a dancer.”

Lucy nods. “Since I was three.”

“Me too,” Meredith says. “But not ballet. I started with ballet, but I found it much too”—she searches for the word—“too rigid. So many rules. And toe shoes? Sheer torture.” She turns to me. “Did you ever take ballet, Harry?” Her close-mouthed smile is almost a simper. She must realize that I’m not exactly ballet material. Too tall, for one thing. Probably too heavy too, by ballet standards.

I shake my head. “Basketball’s more my thing,” I say, even though I haven’t played in years. Verna shoots me a look that I know means
What is going on here?

“It’s such an incredible commitment,” Meredith continues. “A calling, almost. For a while I thought that’s what I’d do with my life, but after a couple of years in a company—well, let’s just say it’s not for me. I got sick of starving myself and competing with other dancers. So toxic.”

“You were in a company?” Lucy sounds awestruck. “Where?”

“Denver.” She names a company I’ve never heard of, but clearly Lucy is impressed.