What the Dead Can Do, page 9
Matthew winced, but Tamira and her professionalism didn’t miss a beat. “Matthew, Nicole …” she started, her face unclouded to match her ethereal calm. “Your situation is unusual, I get that. I wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy. The press can be nasty, and that’s me being kind. Little pitchers …” Then she nodded toward Ethan while eyeing Nicole, perhaps to suggest Nicole specifically would do well to stop cursing for the remainder of the conversation.
Amanda’s mouth pursed at Tamira’s civility.
“We appreciate your understanding,” Matthew said meekly from across the table. “It has been rough.” He probably should have left his assessment there, but he added, “For all of us.”
Though Tamira politely nodded, she made no verbal confirmation that she agreed.
It was possible the woman’s empathy wasn’t authentic, that Tamira was a proficient actor using an agency script dictating language and tone, and her whole vibe had been directed—Curtis’s, too. There’s no room for improv when telling parents an investigation into their child’s welfare has been opened. Nicole’s abrupt outburst hadn’t deterred Tamira, at least not yet.
But this was Act One stuff—it wouldn’t be wise to pretend otherwise.
With the power granted to her by the state, Tamira could turn into a wrecking ball as part of Act Two. Tag had read more than one article about by-the-rules citizens losing their kids to the system because of a misunderstanding with the agency and sometimes because of a misunderstanding with the world.
There was no misconception here.
By then, Tag and Amanda had seen Nicole’s sidewalk incident secondhand. Once while Matthew reviewed the clip on his phone and several other times when Nicole had done the same.
Tag had enjoyed watching Nicole clock the shit out of Claire Bear Original—she definitely deserved it—and he wasn’t the only one siding with her. The public response was easily fifty–fifty. Tag had read over Nicole’s shoulder as she had scrolled through the comments underneath the influencer’s post, reveling in the ones where strangers said they’d have done the same, if not worse. At a minimum, Tag felt the assault was understandable even if Tamira, in good conscience, couldn’t.
“The assault was certainly the impetus,” Curtis said. Tamira’s eyes seemed to give her coworker permission to go on. “But possibly it was just a symptom of a much larger issue.”
So far, everything had been said kindly, but it was all business.
“Christ, let’s get on with it already,” Amanda said, laughing as she did. “Amateurs.”
Tag was happy her apparent ambivalence had cracked, but her mirth was disgusting—and it hadn’t felt like a mimic either. She soured again just as quickly as Curtis patiently explained what he’d meant by “symptom.” Had Amanda left Tag alone in the observation right that second, it wouldn’t have surprised him.
As if on cue, Tamira asked, “Have you had anything to drink this morning, Nicole?”
Matthew bristled at the question, and Nicole somehow increased her slump in her chair, rolling her eyes as she did. “Oh, here we go. This isn’t about Ethan at all, is it?” Nicole asked.
Until that moment, Tag hadn’t noticed the two empties sitting to the left of the kitchen sink: one with only a sliver of red wine at its bottom, the other a Grey Goose bottle. There were many more liquor bottles piled into a blue recycling bin tucked tightly against the end of the lower cabinets, too. Over the past three weeks, Tag had indeed observed Nicole drinking a lot and often. He hadn’t liked snooping on Nicole or Matthew as a dead person any more than he would have as a living person, but he’d seen her drug use, seen the drinking.
Still, Tamira’s question felt like it’d come out of nowhere—until a particular scent hit Tag: an odor of booze and sweat that had often wafted from his father, a smell Dad’s body released sometimes a full twenty-four hours after the man’s latest bender. Tag was unsure he’d truly smelt anything as a dead man so far. Ideas of scent, maybe, the fabrication of molecules and aroma compounds he once knew, but nothing so pungent and certain as what Nicole smelled like now. There was no way to know if Tamira and Curtis smelled it, but he thought they must.
“Don’t play naïve, Tag,” Amanda said, reading him too easily. She waited for a beat before continuing. “Oh, wait … you weren’t here the other night. You didn’t get to see Nicole creep down the stairs with God knows what pills in her hand, ignoring Ethan the whole time, frantically searching for what was left of the vodka she’d already nearly polished off while giving zero shits about your son.”
That was true. He hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, but Amanda had told Tag all about it. She had relayed the whole incident to tee-up some incredibly troubling demands of him, but before Tag could respond, Nicole shouted at Tamira, “What fucking business is it of yours?”
“Do you normally carry liquor in your purse?” Tamira asked, still calm.
“Is that a crime?” Nicole asked, her voice begging for a fight.
“No, just a question,” Tamira said. Her continued commitment to a civil tone was impressive, especially in the face of Nicole’s fidgeting, which was bordering on looking like it could give way to an even bigger mistake than she’d made with Claire. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous here, but as a recovering alcoholic and addict myself, I can assure you: I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help you.” Her eyes found the kids on the couch. “To help all of you.”
“She’s a drunk,” Matthew said as he stood up. “But I’m doing my best. It’s just—”
“Who wouldn’t be wasted all the time, married to you?” Nicole said, but she was unable to stand. What she said after that barely registered as a sentence, let alone English words.
“Real swell family you picked, Tag,” Amanda said.
“I’d like to ask both of you to calm down,” Tamira said, holding up a low hand just above the table to signal Curtis to stay put. Under the threat of this meeting going off the rails, Curtis suddenly reminded Tag of the muscle working the door of a Russian nightclub he hit once in Brighton Beach. Nicole and Matthew exchanged profanities with each other, but Tamira and Curtis remained dutifully seated. “Please, now,” Tamira tried, with only the slightest crack in her repose, “You’ve got to calm down.”
Ethan started wailing from the family room, and Tag quickly looked at Amanda, catching her struggling to contain the subtle curl at one corner of her lips. The smile her son’s distress unleashed was an abomination. He could only assume she thought the tragedy before them would convince him to help her bring Ethan to Second Plane.
“Enough,” Tamira said sternly. “Good lord, it’s not even eight o’clock. Enough!”
Matthew finally sat back down. It wasn’t lost on Tag that neither his friend nor Nicole, who had gone surprisingly quiet, had bothered to excuse themselves from the table to care for Ethan. Only Emily had tended to his crying son.
For a moment, the four adults sat in the uncomfortable aftermath of the argument.
“I’m not going to lie,” Tamira finally said, sounding exasperated—
no, sorrowfully resigned—for the first time since she’d walked through their door. “This doesn’t look good. For you and definitely not for your children. Can either of you say any different?”
Matthew shook his head, but Nicole said nothing. Tag watched his friend’s fingers squeeze Nicole’s knee lightly under the table—to no avail.
Her face wasn’t calm at this point so much as checked-out. It was likely she’d popped a couple of Xanax before coming down to investigate the commotion. He’d observed her routine.
“What I’m going to say next is required of me. We are well beyond this formality, but I hope you’ll listen,” Tamira said before exhaling deeply. “Our job is to tend to the children. This is the first of maybe only a few visits, or maybe many. The number of times you see us will depend on how cooperative you are as we move forward with your case. ACS will make some suggestions, but your next steps will be your own.”
“That makes sense,” Matthew said. “I think you’ll find us agreeable.”
“Oh great,” Amanda said. “An enabler and an oblivious dummy to boot. Who the hell are these people? Not the Matty and Nicole I remember. But hey, what’s done is done, right?”
Tag ignored her hostility. It sounded rhetorical, but even if it wasn’t, he wanted to remain focused on listening to Tamira, not try to defend his friends or go into detail about the fragility of the human species. His wife was looking at Ethan only now, watching closely as he played with Emily in the family room while the adults in the kitchen continued talking. Tag studied Amanda’s gaze. If eyes were the windows to the soul … he didn’t finish his thought but shuddered nonetheless and felt what must have been a mimic of revulsion. For the moment, he let his wife be.
“We want to be sure that Ethan and Emily are being well-cared-for, no matter what extenuating circumstances you might claim,” Tamira said. “Does that make sense?” She paused as if she expected that alone to reignite Nicole. It didn’t, and she pressed on. “You’ve been handed a difficult situation, but I have to tell you: You are damn lucky that Claire Reynolds, the woman you assaulted, didn’t press charges.”
When that didn’t animate Nicole either, Tamira’s voice cracked just a bit.
“I’ve seen the footage and I can’t say I would have extended you that same courtesy.”
Matthew squeezed his wife’s knee again, nodded, and said, “Understood.”
Amanda turned to face Tag. “Was everyone this fucking dumb before we left? Tag? Hon?” She tugged at him. “We need to help Ethan. We can’t leave him with any of them. Not our friends. Not ACS.”
Then she turned away from him, putting her whole focus on their son again, watching as Emily used two of Ethan’s favorite stuffies to help guide him back to giggles and his sweet smile.
Tag prayed right then—to a God he now knew didn’t exist—that his wife wasn’t expecting an answer or a solution because nothing comforting came to him. He couldn’t remember any time while they were alive when she’d sounded so desperate, so lost.
She didn’t turn back to face him, but she wasn’t done. “We just can’t. We’ve left my Silly Boy in a nightmare. We just … I don’t know … majorly fucked up.”
She sounded as adrift as he felt. He reminded himself that whatever he thought she might be ruminating on at this point wasn’t urgent. She’d never be capable of causing an accident to happen to Ethan. What she wanted to pull off was impossible. Donovan had said as much. Amanda’s mentor, Rebecca, had said basically the same thing. Or had she?
By now, the nausea of the observation was wearing Tag down. He’d kept his eyes mainly on the conversation between Tamira and Matthew the whole time, but his mind hadn’t really been there. He looked at Amanda and then turned to stare at Ethan with her. As he did, everything Rebecca had told him the other day came to a head, and he decided to try and get some answers from his wife before they both slipped back into Second Plane. Some part of him suspected this would be the last time he saw her again, at least for a while. Amanda had forgiven him for plenty over the years but had rarely cut him any slack for not having a plan.
“Why are you seeking a new mentor?” he asked.
Amanda responded but never looked away from Ethan. “Turns out there’s no actual rule against changing mentors, hon.”
He was pretty sure there was, but not surprised she’d decided it didn’t apply to her.
“And why wouldn’t I want to hear from multiple people instead of just one? How can you be so content to only connect with a single soul instead of many? If you moved to London and knew you were going to be there forever, you wouldn’t ask just one person what their favorite restaurant was, would you? No. You’d ask a handful of people, at least.”
That made good sense, but he wasn’t about to interrupt her to say so.
“Why in the hell are we supposed to let The Text and suggestions from one new friend guide us into eternity? Honestly, how are you OK with that, Tag? It’s like you’ve given up on everything that made you you, and I guess that’s fine—but I’ve told you what I want, and you don’t seem ready to do anything about it.”
“That’s because you don’t know what could—”
“Ooh, there’s a fate worse than death? Oh no! I’m scared.” She waved her hands at him like she’d just seen a shit ghost on a haunted hayride. “It’s bullshit, Tag. Fear tactics. And when I have what I need to prove to you that it’s bullshit, trust me, you’ll be the first to know.”
She turned and stared at him—with black irises now—and left before he could respond.
His first instinct was to chase after her; something akin to adrenaline raced through him, and he could feel Second Plane’s pull. This observation had been a long one for Tag, but he fought the physics of a return and managed to stay put.
Stand in Amanda’s way when she wanted something? Bad idea.
This was their son, not a new title or career move, not a seat on a neighborhood board. She would figure out a way to get to Ethan. Nothing he said was going to matter, and continuing to chase Matthew’s family all over Prior Plane to observe some bit of good news he could share with her to change her mind seemed like a fool’s errand. But he loved her, and he hoped she just needed the space to see things more clearly. For her sake. For all their sakes.
Tag hadn’t realized how blurry ACS’s conversation with Matthew and Nicole had become—he’d pushed the observation time to its limits—but then, Tamira’s partner, Curtis, said something that recrystallized it.
“There are many great drug and alcohol treatment programs available within the Tri-State area,” Curtis said. “But you can’t do this for your family, Nicole. You have to do it for yourself.”
“We understand this is a lot to drop on you on our first visit,” Tamira added. “You don’t have to give us an answer today, but I’d encourage you to think hard about what next steps you’ll take to help us help your beautiful family. In my opinion, rehab is a step in the right direction.”
With her hands to her face, Nicole nodded.
“We’re here to help you. We’re here to fix this.”
Tears escaped from between Nicole’s fingers. She barely made a sound as she cried.
The whole room stayed quiet. Tag looked for Ethan, but his son and Emily had left.
“I’ll go,” Nicole finally said. “I’m sorry … I’ll go. If it means Ethan gets to stay, I’ll go.”
She sounded sincere, but his own father had always sounded sincere when he’d said the same types of things after a week-long bender.
I’m going to nip this thing in the bud, Taggart, you’ll see.
In Tag’s experience, an alcoholic’s promises were flimsy until they hit a bottom they could no longer climb out from with their cons. He’d had a handful of friends achieve sobriety when they were ready. In the case of his dad, cirrhosis of the liver hadn’t been “bottom” enough for him to ever make a promise that stuck. He died still making empty promises on his deathbed.
Still, Nicole’s willingness to try rehab was good news. Her cooperation was a development that Tag could share with Amanda.
He let Second Plane claim him back, cautiously optimistic or foolishly so.
He had hope, and he felt hopeful—even if The Text said that he could not.
THE TEXT | SECTION EIGHT
LOVE.
Be advised: That which bound you in life can still bind you here.
That said, your space here can be lonely, even when inhabited by another resident you knew in Prior Plane. IN FACT, you may have arrived with a significant other, but that doesn’t always mean you’re meant to continue your journey together.
Not surprisingly, the most frequent reasons for COUPLE-ARRIVALS are particularly intense: accidents, murder-suicides (YIKES!), or being at the wrong place at the wrong time in tandem.
Any prior legal document defining your relationship is NULL AND VOID here. Free of distractions, fragile relationships forged on earth can fray quickly. Strong relationships have grown stronger here, too.
HINT: The privilege to exist here is not well-served by lingering suspicions, forced interactions, or resolutions to remain with another resident predicated on prior beliefs, religious or otherwise.
Like all resident interactions, any communion made here between the formerly coupled is only possible when both residents agree to have a connection.
Only blood relations are excluded from making a mutual commitment for a connection to occur. You may ask why, but the only answer we can offer is that it’s never not been this way.
What you are here only starts with what you were.
9
EMILY
Though she and Ethan had been left behind in the waiting room, it wasn’t hard for Emily to hear the video of Nicole’s assault on Claire playing or the therapist’s good-lord reaction.
When Nicole started crying, Emily pressed even harder on the filth between the carpet fibers under her fingers. The floor was years removed from its original beige and held biology native to a Manhattan sidewalk. Even if it had once been brand new, the color had been a poor decision.
The crying was more sincere than the wailing her mother had managed during the ACS visit to their apartment a few days ago. Authentic or not, Emily didn’t think Ethan should have to hear it.
A toy that made a noise capable of hiding Nicole’s sobs would have been a big win, but the collection scattered between them consisted of mostly oversized plastic blocks in bright primary colors, two generic rag dolls, one of which had been given a black marker mustache, and a Fisher-Price Noah’s Ark set that was missing all but two elephants and a zebra. None of it was electric or played music, and the dolls made no squeaking sounds when she squeezed them.
The toys indicated parking kids there was common. “Wait here, honey, Mommy has to go spill her guts.” Adults, it seemed, loved getting it all out in front of what basically amounted to a stranger. Nicole was one room over, doing just that. Emily hated her for it. Add it to the list.
