Minders

CHAPTER 15

On Tuesday Ford came straight home from work, brushed his hair, put on the blue checked button-down shirt from his date with Cali, and joined his mother on the couch five minutes before the Roque Community Health Evaluator arrived. Lulu was out on a four-hour session with a special counselor, so it was just the two of them, mother and son, no buffer.

Sadie had been worried about what the mother-son relationship might be like in the wake of the cigarette fire and Ford’s cruel words, but it felt exactly, heartbreakingly, the same. They could each be kind to Lulu, shower her with open warmth, but they were frozen toward each other. Sitting side by side on the couch the distance seemed even greater, as if their physical proximity magnified rather than reduced their emotional rift.

Ford was still unsure how much to believe of what Bucky had said, but he’d decided to take his words about the RCHE seriously and make a good impression. Sadie hoped that would also ease tensions with his mother.

Five minutes after six, Rondy Torch arrived in her green RCHE polo shirt and khakis. She was in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length dark hair that flipped on the ends, big brown eyes, dark brown skin, and a bright, warm smile.

His mother greeted her by her first name, as though they were friends, and, taking her arm, led her toward the couch. “Rondy, this is my son Ford.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Ford,” Rondy said. Sadie felt Ford looking into every cranny to find a hint of reproach or scolding in her voice, but he found none. But she could tell from the slate of hovering silver dots in his mind, lined up like an army battalion awaiting orders, that he was still on the defensive.

Rondy leaned forward and said, “I heard about the incident this weekend. Are you okay, Vera?”

Ford’s mother wrapped her hand around the gold oval locket she was wearing. “I am. You know, I’m just so tired.”

Sadie felt Ford’s jaw, hands, and chest tighten with emotion he couldn’t parse. He avoided looking at his mother and looked instead at Rondy, whose expression was understanding but not condescending.

Sadie sensed Ford’s surprise and felt him relax his guard slightly.

Rondy smiled at Ford. “Since we don’t know each other that well yet, I thought we could begin with a word-association exercise. It may seem a little hokey, but it helps to build rapport. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Sure.” Sadie didn’t recognize the mood Ford’s mind was settling into, slightly immature but eager to please. She was filled with the insane hope that maybe, maybe Rondy could get Ford and his mother to hear one another.

Plus this would provide good, objective data, she told herself.

Rondy: Let’s start with the word “sun.”

Sadie: Moon.

Ford: Day.

Rondy: Dark.

Sadie: Light.

Ford: Beer.

Rondy: Happy.

Sadie: Sa—

Sadie was knocked sideways by a draft of anger from Ford. His contempt for happy was so potent that she wondered if part of his constant anger was simply a way to avoid the far greater discomfort happy apparently represented. If the very idea that he had to find a word to go with it enraged him.

Sadie heard him settle on Ending—happy ending, thinking that would show them for picking such a stupid word. Adding: Here’s what I think of your little—

Ford: Ever after.

Rondy: Nude.

Sadie: Dressed.

Ford: Thigh highs.

Rondy: (Laughing) I’ve never heard that one before.

Ford: Does that mean I pass or fail?

Rondy. You’re doing great. Feel.

Sadie: Think.

Ford: Free.

Rondy: Father.

Sadie: Mother.

Ford: Nothing.

Rondy: Sister.

Sadie: Brother.

Ford: Safe.

Rondy: Angry.

Sadie: Calm.

Ford: Door.

Rondy: Drugs.

Sadie: Drinks.

Ford: No.

Rondy: Snow.

Sadie: Rain.

Ford: Man.

Rondy: Winter.

Sadie: Summer.

Ford: Cold.

Rondy: Mother.

Sadie: Father.

Ford: Artist.

Rondy: Ice.

Sadie: Water.

Ford: Fear. Sorry, I meant to say “beer.”

Rondy: Friend.

Sadie: Foe.

Ford: Jame—Bucky.

Rondy: Old.

Sadie: New.

Ford: Unexpected.

Rondy: New.

Sadie: Old.

Ford: Dull.

Rondy: Home.

Sadie: Alone.

Ford: Alone.

Rondy: Love.

Sadie: Tennis.

Ford: -ly lady.

Rondy smiled. “Excellent. Let’s stop there. What did you think, Ford?”

“Fun,” he said, and Sadie sensed bright candor and bouncy surprise. But he was also apprehensive, worried he hadn’t impressed this lady, worried he hadn’t done well enough. “What does it mean? Am I, um, normal?”

Not just this lady, Sadie thought. He was so nervous about what his mother thought that he couldn’t even turn to look at her, and there was a constant low buzz as though someone was running a lawnmower around his mind. He was afraid to hear what they said, afraid he’d disappointed them both.

Sadie knew Ford felt his mother tense when he paired thigh highs with nude, but after that his word choices were almost all unconscious, sliding out without thought like a sled ending a smooth, easy run. She wasn’t even sure he knew what he’d said for any besides ice, when he’d changed fear to beer, or friend, when his mind had gone blank and she’d glimpsed for the first time how James had been not just his brother but his best friend for his entire life.

Rondy laughed. “You’re quite normal, and anything but average, Mr. Winter,” she said, which acted like magic to reduce the volume of the lawn mower. “Your answers were all associations,” she went on, glancing down at her notepad, “which means either phrase completions like ‘sun–day’ or ‘snow–man,’ which you favored more at the beginning, or words that had a personal connection to you. People with patterns like yours tend to be what we call integrated, suggesting you are at ease with others and adept at making connections.”

Slightly milky opalescent dots hung as though suspended from filaments in his mind, turning from one side to the other in a swaying, pleasant rhythm as he listened to the woman. The feeling was a good one, but not associated with any powerful memories since there were no images, no voices to go with it. It resembled the shimmering current of pride he’d felt when he built the tree house, but quieter, like a private smile.

“What are other ways to do it?” he asked, and Sadie made a mental note about how a sense of personal achievement led to broader curiosity about the world and others.

“Some people use only antonyms, words that mean the opposite of the associative word,” Rondy said.

The milky circles stopped swaying. “Why would they do that?”

Because it is sensible and orderly, Sadie told him. It is the cleanest, most efficient approach to word association.

Rondy’s answer was similar: “It’s their natural tendency to see things in opposition. It feels tidy and comfortable. These tend to be orderly, rational individuals.”

“So everything to them is black or white,” Ford said with a tiny bit of the mind-curling contempt he’d lavished on happy. “That sounds repressed.”

Like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two about repression, Mr. I-associate-“angry”-with-“door,” Sadie pointed out.

Rondy shook her head. “We don’t judge. Everyone’s mind works in different ways.”

And by the way, Sadie wanted to tell him, my mind is flexible. Not all of my answers were antonyms. For example, love wasn’t.

Somewhere in the back of her own mind Sadie heard a shimmering laugh and a voice say, You picked tennis. Are you sure that’s the point you want to make?

This isn’t about me, Sadie snapped at herself. Focus.

Ford had shifted, nearly facing his mother, and now said, “Mom, what do you do?” Sadie could tell he genuinely wanted to know and that he was nervous about asking.

“Your mother has a brilliantly associative mind,” Rondy said. “She pulls things together I wouldn’t have imagined.” Her smile became a look of concern. “Vera, are you all right?”

Ford’s mother’s lips pressed together, and she gave a tight little nod. “Thank you,” she said and reached for Ford’s hand.

Sadie felt Ford’s pulse grow stronger and hers slipped into sync with it. The power of Ford’s heartbeat overwhelmed her, as if he had been waiting to unleash it for a long time. The milky opalescent rounds began to turn and sway again, darkening in color to a silvery purple.

Rondy looked at the two of them. “That’s about the end of our time today. Do either of you have any questions or concerns for me?”

Ford’s mother shook her head, but Ford said, “I have a question.” Giving his mother’s hand a squeeze, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped out his ID. After Bucky’s reaction to it, Ford had compared it with the IDs of the guys at work and discovered the only difference between them were the symbols in the bottom right-hand corner. He pointed there now, at a roman numeral three with a line through it: III. “Do you know what this is? I was talking to some friends at work, and we all have different ones.”

Next to him his mother gasped and began to cough very hard.

The purply silver dots stopped twisting and began to vibrate in nervous unison. “Mom, are you okay?”

She shook her head and gasped, “Water, please.”

He brought her a glass, and she sipped it. “I think—I need to lie down,” she told Ford, then thanked Rondy and went to her room.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Rondy said, handing Ford’s ID back. “Let me ask around the office. It was a pleasure getting to meet you, Ford. I hope you’ll be able to get off work early again in the next few weeks.”

“I’ll try. This was”—he looked at his mother’s door—“it was good. Thank you.”

Sadie felt Ford’s confusion but also the happy swaying of the milky circles. They seemed to glow from within, taking on the faint image of Rondy holding her notepad with his mother beside him on the couch, the image becoming more distinct and refined, as though being imprinted as a memory. He knocked on his mother’s door and opened it.

“Mom? Are you—”

“Why did you do that?” Her voice trembled, with anger, Ford assumed, letting the force of it shatter the memory he’d just been etching. “Why did you need to ask about that mark on your ID?”

Sadie wasn’t sure it had been anger, but once Ford unleashed his it no longer mattered. “Because I want to know what it means.”

“You—” his mother started to say, but Ford put up a hand to silence her.

“No. Stop. I don’t want another one of your lectures about behaving for the Roaches. I mean, RCHE.” His voice was trembling and his entire mental landscape had become dark, hot, and viscous. There were no real images, just skeletal bits of memories devoured by anger. It was an amazing equalizer, Sadie thought, capable of reducing the best and the worst memories to the same slop.

“I did what you asked me to do,” he told her. “I did my best.” Sadie felt his voice catch as his vocal cords tightened and knew that was the real cause of his pain. He’d thought it had gone well. He’d let himself enjoy it, and then—“I did a damn good job. I thought you would be happy. But all you can think of, the very first thing out of your mouth, is to find fault.”

“Because I care,” his mother said, her voice low and tense.

“Care what RCHE thinks. Not about me.” Sadie was torn between wanting to hug him and shake him.

The sound of a key in the front-door lock was followed by Lulu calling out, “I went to the park!”

“I don’t want her to see me this way,” Mrs. Winter whispered.

“Of course,” Ford agreed, stepping out of her room and closing the door.

Lulu was standing in the middle of the living room twirling back and forth, wearing a khaki flight suit. “I went to the park,” she repeated.

Sadie felt Ford working to keep his relief from Lulu’s view, thinking that he didn’t want her to know how much it meant that she’d done it so she wouldn’t feel bad if she couldn’t manage it again. He kept his hands in his pockets, to hide their shaking, Sadie thought. She didn’t know if she agreed with his not telling Lulu how brave she was, but she was impressed by how thoughtful he was about it.

“How was it?

“Dirty. But I went. Can I tell Mom?”

Ford shook his head. “In a little while. She’s sleeping.”

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Lulu’s eyes filled with worry, and Ford’s heart squeezed. Misdirect, his mind ordered. Distract.

“Mom’s okay, but I don’t know about you.” He picked Lulu up and tipped her over. “You seem to have flipped your lid.”

Lulu shrieked with laughter, and Sadie felt her heart expanding. She loved these moments with Lulu, loved the bouncy, supple feeling when his mind went in unexpected directions—even unexpected by him. Spontaneity.

“Let me go!” Lulu giggled. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, yes, Copernicus, get in there,” Ford said as the dog came to lick Lulu’s upside-down face.

“No,” Lulu squealed, wriggling. Soon she and Ford and Copernicus were collapsed on the couch, hiccupping with laughter.

When the hiccups subsided, Lulu laid her head on Copernicus’s middle, said, “What did you and James fight about before he died?”

Ford’s mind became a smooth glimmering surface, which Sadie knew marked the first steps in a self-protection sequence. Was this what he felt guilty about? That he and James had fought? “What do you mean?” he asked, and Sadie felt his deliberate effort to keep his tone light.

Lulu stayed sprawled against Copernicus, her eyes skewed downward, fingers fanning back and forth through the dog’s gold fur. “The month before he died, you two hardly talked to each other at all.”

“That wasn’t a fight,” he said, too quickly. “We were just annoyed with each other. Like how you get with me if—oh, wait, I can’t think of anything. Since I’m perfect.”

Lulu puffed out her cheeks. “Agree to disagree.”

“Time for dinner,” Ford announced. Cop-out, Sadie called. “Do you want mac and cheese or mac and cheese?”

“Let’s flip a coin,” Lulu said. “Copernicus, your call: heads or tails?”