Ten Thousand Saints - Eleanor Henderson [72]
At this point, Les returned from the kitchen, balancing three glasses of soda water. In the pocket of his shorts were the two letters, now freckled with red wine: the bill from Mount Sinai Hospital for the balance of services rendered (he’d thought he’d paid the whole thing), and the notice of expulsion from Eliza’s school (We regret to inform you . . . unanswered phone calls . . . take truancy very seriously . . . out-of-town permissions . . . disregard for disciplinary probation . . .). Both had arrived in Di’s mailbox that afternoon, and by the time Les arrived to help with the party, Di had burned through half a pack of cigarettes. For once he’d managed to keep a secret, but after Di confronted him with those letters, he broke down, spilled all the details—the ER, the baby, the father.
“Jeezum Crow,” he said now, clanging the glasses down on the table. “Just tell her.”
Di stopped tickling. Eliza stopped giggling. No one seemed sure which one he was talking to. Les withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, then tossed the pack and lighter on the table. Jude sat frozen. Johnny worked a macadamia nut in his cheek.
“You give me hell about keeping it from you, but now you’re just torturing the girl! And she’s so desperate to tell you, to get an ounce of support from you, she’s got it written on her dress! I didn’t tell her, Eliza, but she found out. And by the way, you’re kicked out of school.”
“I know,” Eliza mumbled, sliding off her mother’s lap.
“You girls are two of a kind.” He looked at Di. “Why do you think she doesn’t tell you anything? Because you control the shit out of any situation you get your hands on! And why do you think she does that, Eliza? Because you’re so goddamn out of control! Three schools you’ve been kicked out of? It’s a good thing your mother’s sending you to one of those Florence Crittenton homes, because at this point no other school would take you.”
Les stopped for a breath. His hands shook as he held the cigarette to his lips. He had never felt entirely at home here, in this apartment bought with Wall Street money. Les was everything Daniel Urbanski was not. He was all the long-haired men Di had given up for marriage. Her downtown man. Mother Nature’s Son. Her joker, her smoker, her midnight toker. “Blessed are the pot sellers, illusion dwellers!” So many nights they’d spent adrift on her waterbed, smoking joints with the windows open, Simon and Garfunkel anointing their unlikely union. But it seemed that the illusion had been his.
“Florence who?” Eliza asked.
“I’m sorry, Lester,” said Di coolly, leaning over to snatch up the cigarettes. “I didn’t know you were so concerned about education. I’m the irresponsible parent. I didn’t notice that my fifteen-year-old daughter is pregnant because she was enrolled in school. I suppose I could have kept better tabs on her if I let her drop out and smoke reefer all day. Maybe I could build a special room for her to have sex in, with a heart-shaped bed and a big mirror on the ceiling.” She lit a cigarette and drew on it forcefully.
“Mom, you don’t smoke anymore.” Eliza crossed her arms over her stomach, gripping her elbows.
“I don’t smoke pot anymore,” pointed out Jude.
“She’s not fifteen anymore,” pointed out Johnny.
“I’m sorry—sixteen.” Di spoke slowly, without anger, clipping each word. “Fully prepared to raise a child.”
“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here! I’ve got resources. I’ve got money, a lot more money than a lot of mothers have. When I turn eighteen, I’ll have enough money—”
“Enough money for what, Eliza? What will you do until then? I’ve already got a room set up for you at a facility upstate. I called