The Good House: A Novel (3 page)

After quickly introducing himself to those seated around him, Brian stabbed at his salad with his fork. Instead of placing his napkin on his lap, he gripped it like a little cloth bouquet in his left fist, which he rested on the edge of the table.

After a few moments, Sharon cleared her throat and said, “Brian … Rebecca … I’m so happy to finally meet you after hearing such lovely things about you from Wendy.”

“Yeah? Well, nice to meet you, too,” said Brian, barely looking up from his plate.

“What brought you and Rebecca to this area?”

“Well,” Brian replied, rubbing his mouth with his napkin and glancing up at Sharon, “Rebecca went to boarding school here.…”

“Oh, Rebecca, you went to Wendover?” Sharon said, calling down the table to Rebecca.

Rebecca looked up at Sharon and was about to say something, when Brian said, “Yup. She loved it. Loved this area, and ever since we got married, she talked about moving up here. We lived in Boston until the kids were born, and while they were small, but Rebecca had horses that she was boarding up here, and, well, she grew up in the country, and that’s how she wants the kids to grow up, too.”

“How do you like it here?” Boatie asked. “Didn’t you grow up in Southie?”

“Yeah, I’m a city kid. My dad was a Boston fireman for forty years. Most of my relatives still live there. But we love it here. I don’t even mind the commute as much as I thought. Sometimes I stay in town a few nights during the week and then work from the house on Fridays and Mondays.”

“Well, I’d love to talk to you sometime about the Wendover Land Trust. Your name came up at a recent board meeting,” said Sharon.

“Sure, remind me to give you my card before we leave. I love all the work you preservationists do up here. It’s what keeps the area so nice. We’d be happy to get involved.”

This sent Sharon Rice into a sort of rapturous frenzy of praise, stammering about how fabulous that would be. How wonderful.

Those wonderful McAllisters!

Then Brian admired my watch. I had splurged the previous year, after a big commercial property sale, and bought myself a beautiful Cartier watch. I had never owned any fine jewelry and never a nice watch of any kind. But I had noticed this watch in a magazine and decided I had never seen anything so exquisite in my life. So I bought it. It was my little reward to myself. For my success. For my sobriety. I don’t wear it every day, so I was thrilled that somebody noticed it.

“Nice watch ya got there, Hildy,” Brian said. “I bought a Cartier for Rebecca, years ago, but she destroyed it. She’s one of those people who can’t wear watches. Something in her body chemistry, some static electricity or magnetic pull or something, makes all watches stop when she wears them.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Mamie said.

“Yeah,” Brian said, “well, don’t let my wife try on your watch, that’s all I have to say. She interferes with car electronics, too. She’s destroyed every goddamn stereo and GPS in every car she drives. Isn’t that right, Becky?”

Rebecca had been talking to Lou Rice, who was seated next to her, and she turned to Brian with a quizzical expression. She couldn’t hear him, apparently.

“I won’t let her sit in my car,” said Brian.

“I think I have that.” I chuckled. “Things are always breaking on me.”

“This is different,” Brian said. “We’re on our second TV in the den, and how long have we lived in that house, Becky? Three months? Now she doesn’t go near the thing. Oh, and we’ve never had a refrigerator that will make ice. In our house in Aspen, the apartment in Boston. Here. No matter how expensive the Sub-Zero or whatever, the ice maker dies once Rebecca tries to use it.”

Peter Newbold was laughing, too. “You don’t really think these things could possibly have anything to do with Rebecca’s body chemistry?”

Brian took a long swig from his beer and said to Rebecca, “BECKY … BABY … tell him about the time the cord on the brand-new toaster started smoking when you plugged it in. The thing was
brand new
. Hey, Becky?”

Rebecca had been about to take a bite of her salad, but she turned back to face Brian, and it was clear she didn’t find this as amusing as he did. There was an awkward moment before she laughed and said, “It’s because I’m a witch, apparently.”

We all laughed, but truthfully, it was a little awkward. Then Mamie made it more so by hollering across the table, “IS IT TRUE YOU DESTROY THINGS WITH YOUR MIND?”

Rebecca said, “With my mind … no. But I do stop watches.” Then she turned to those seated around her, and I could see her pointing to her wrist and shrugging some kind of explanation.

Peter was amused. “I hate to tell you this,” he said to Brian, “but your wife’s just had bad luck with watches and electronics.”

“Peter’s a doctor,” I explained.

“Yeah? What kind?”

“I’m a psychiatrist,” replied Peter. “I just think we might have touched on this type of thing in medical school if it existed.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve heard of this,” said Mamie. “I know I have. I’m gonna Google this when I get home.”

Peter just chuckled and shook his head. Then I saw him look down and across the table at Rebecca. She was playing with one of the rings on her slender finger, and when she looked up and saw his eyes on her, she looked away. After a moment, she looked back at Peter, who was still gazing at her.

“Sorry,” Peter said, smiling and blushing a little. “My wife is always criticizing me for staring. It’s what I do for work. I’m supposed to study the people I’m working with, so I end up studying everybody, everywhere we go.”

“It’s okay,” said Rebecca.

“I bet she can make you stop. WITH HER MIND,” shouted drunken Mamie.

“Maybe,” said Rebecca, and then she smiled at Peter, and this time, after a moment, he looked away.

“Speaking of doing things with your mind, Hildy’s a psychic!” Mamie exclaimed.

“Yeah?” Brian asked. “You a mind reader, Hildy?”

“No,” I said.

“She is so,” said Mamie. “It runs in her family. Her cousin, aunt, they all have psychic gifts.”

“Is that really true, Hildy?” Sharon asked. “I never knew that about you.”

“No, it’s not true. Sometimes I can make people think I’m reading their thoughts. It’s just sort of a parlor trick, that’s all.”

My father’s sister Peg was a “psychic” who once made her living off of the occult-hungry tourists down in Salem. She also did readings in her home. My cousin Jane and I grew up watching her, so we picked up a few tricks, which made us wildly popular on the slumber party circuit. I’ll still stage a reading for fun sometimes, just for skeptics, but I have to be in the right mood.

“Hildy, come on. Do Brian,” Mamie said.

“Yeah, Hildy, let’s see what you got,” said Brian, and soon everybody around us, even Peter, was cajoling me.

“Oh, okay,” I said. I wouldn’t have agreed if Brian hadn’t already proved himself to be a rather easy read. I paused for a moment, then said, “Okay, Brian, I’d like you to think about something that happened to you in the past. A memory. I’m going to present a few questions. Just try not to nod or give anything away with your eyes. It should be easy, here, by candlelight. Easier for you not to give me any signals.”

“All right,” said Brian.

“You’ll have to give me your hand,” I said.

Brian extended his hand as if for a handshake and I took it in mine and then turned it so that it was palm-up and resting on the table. His fingers curled in slightly toward his palm, and I smoothed them gently with mine so that they were lying flat on the table. I kept my hand resting lightly on his open hand, each of our fingers barely touching the other’s wrist.

“Just look at me. By keeping your gaze passive, you’ll avoid giving me cues. Sometimes people give cues, by kind of blinking or nodding. Try not to do that. Now think about this memory. Think about it.… Oh, it’s a happy memory,” I began.

I knew he was going to be easy, but not this easy.

“It’s from your childhood—no, don’t nod,” I said.

“I didn’t nod.” Brian laughed.

“I didn’t see him nod,” said Sharon.

“He gave a little nod,” said Mamie.

“Shush,” I said. Then: “It wasn’t a regular day. It was a special day. I’m not sure if it was Christmas.… No, it wasn’t Christmas. Was it … Yes, it was your birthday.”

Brian grinned. “You’re good.”

“Stop helping me,” I said. Then I said, “It was when you were still a child, not very young, not very old. Were you … nine—no, wait, ten. I believe you were ten.”

Brian was trying on his poker face now. Too late.

“It was something you were given. A present. Think about where you were when you first saw it. You weren’t in the house.… No, you were outside.”

Brian was trying not to smile.

“Outside. You were led outside and you saw it and you were very happy. Was it…”

Now I paused. I always find this a good place to pause and look intensely at the other person, look intensely into their eyes and cock my head a little, as if I’m trying to hear something. And if I’m in a group, as I was that night, you can hear a pin drop. You want people to think you’re still probing the other’s mind. You don’t want it to look too easy.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “Your memory is of your tenth birthday, when your parents gave you a bike.”

“Holy SHIT!” exclaimed Brian. “THAT WAS IT! That’s amazing.”

“EVERY TIME,” Mamie said.

“You’ve seen her do this before?” asked Sharon. “Is it always a birthday that a person thinks of? Is that the trick?”

“No, it’s always something different. She always nails it,” said Mamie.

“Not always,” Boatie said.

“I’m not always right,” I agreed.

“You’re almost always right, Hil,” conceded Boatie.

“That’s fucking freaky,” said Brian.

I released Brian’s hand and took a sip of my nonalcoholic beverage. I won’t lie; I was pleased with myself. I’ve struck out before, but this was easy. I’m so much better at this now that I’m not half-tanked when I do it.

“Why do you say you’re not psychic, Hildy?” Sharon asked. “I never would have been able to do that.”

“It’s really not mind reading, I promise you,” I said.

“It’s not even a major memory for me. It’s not something I’ve thought about in years, that bike,” said Brian. “I don’t know why I thought of it now.”

“Did you tell him to think of a birthday?” Boatie asked.

“No,” Mamie said. “Weren’t you listening? It could have been anything.”

Peter said, “It could have been anything, but I believe that Hildy did tell him to think of a birthday. Am I right, Hildy?”

“Perhaps.” I smiled.

“Do you mind if I try to deconstruct what you just did?” Peter asked.

“No. Go ahead. I’m the first to admit that it’s just a trick. Tell me what I did. This’ll be fun.”

“Well, first, I noticed that you said a few things that were suggestions. Like you said you were going to ‘present’ some questions, and then you said, several times, ‘Try not to give anything away,’ so maybe the word
present
along with
give
and
away
formed a suggestion—that he think of a memory about a present or a gift.”

“No, I don’t think she said those things,” said Brian. “I was listening to see if she was saying anything leading.”

“She said them,” Peter said.

“Did I? Hmmm.” I smiled. This
was
fun.

“So that sort of narrowed it down to Christmas or a birthday. I think you said something like ‘by candlelight.’ Right? Something like that. Candles. Candlelight.”

Mamie couldn’t help herself. She jumped right in. “Yes, Peter. You’re right. Who wouldn’t think of a birthday? Candles? Candlelight?”

“More than once,” Peter continued, “Hildy ran two words together. ‘By candlelight’ became ‘bycandlelight.’ Say it fast—‘BYCANDLELIGHT.’ It sounds like ‘bike and delight.’ The
bike
word came through a couple times. I think she said ‘by kind of.’ Again, ‘bike-kindof.’ These words weren’t apparent to the others on a conscious level, but you had sort of anchored him with your touch and were able to access his subconscious a little, and so it’s possible you made the suggestion.”

I just laughed. “I suppose anything’s possible.”

“After that, it was a classic cold reading,” Peter said to Brian. “She was asking you questions and reading your responses in the way your eyes moved. She had her fingers on your pulse. She knows a little NLP, some neurolinguistic programming techniques.… Do you know what that is, Hildy?”

I had never heard of it until then, so I shook my head.

“They’re techniques to decipher signals people give subconsciously with their eye movements and other subtle body language.”

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” I laughed. Imagine! There was actually a scientific term for something my cousin and I just figured out on our own.

“Yes, and you’re very good at it.” Then to Brian, Peter said, “She was basically asking you yes or no questions and you answered her with subtle signals.”

“I didn’t move my eyes, I know that. She told me not to move them,” said Brian.

“Which made it almost impossible for you
not
to move them,” Peter said. “Then, once you had told her that it was not an indoor present, it was quite easy. What present would a ten-year-old have to go outside to see?”

“That’s the part I don’t get. It could have been a pony,” said Mamie. “Anything.”

“In Southie?” scoffed Boatie.

“It’s all true,” I said.

Mamie said, “There’s more to it. I’ve seen her do this too many times; it’s always different.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m impressed, Hildy,” said Peter.

“Why, thank you, Peter,” I replied.

I really was flattered. Peter is another reader, after all. That’s what psychiatry is based upon, I presume. I wondered, then, how easy it would be to read him. I had never read another good reader.

I excused myself right after dessert, as usual, and was pleased to be heading out to my car dead sober. This is one of the things I’m truly grateful for the girls’ intervention. I used to float through the town in my Range Rover, quite drunk. I can admit that now. I thought I was being safe, that I actually drove better when I was drunk. I’d cruise along, tree by tree. House by house. Slowly. Slowly. Blinking and smiling. All aglow. Of course, it was like a bad dream the next day as I tried, in a mild panic, to recall the journey. But in truth, there were times I didn’t remember driving home at all, and now I was grateful that that craziness was all behind me. No more drunk driving. No regrets the next morning.