she’d been something of a slob, and I could see that nothing in that part of her personality had changed.
“That day you told me about,” I said to Theo after my short visit to Maddox’s apartment, “the day we all went to see
Beauty and the Beast.
Did she say why she thought that was the happiest day of her life?”
Theo shook his head. “No, but it was clear that it meant a great deal to her, that day.”
I remembered “that day” very well, and on the subway back to Manhattan, I recalled it again and again.
It wasn’t just that day that returned to me. I also recalled the many difficult weeks that had preceded it, causing a steady erosion in my earlier confidence that Maddox would adjust well to New York, that she would succeed at Falcon Academy and, from there, go on to a fine college, her road to a happy life as free of obstacles as Lana’s.
At first, Maddox had been on her best behavior, though in ways that later struck me as transparently manipulative. She’d complimented Janice on her cooking, Lana on her hair, me on my skill at playing Monopoly. On the first day of school, she’d appeared eager to do well; she had even seemed proud of her uniform. “It makes me feel special,” she’d said that morning, and then she flashed her beaming smile, the one she used on all such occasions, as I was soon to learn, and that I’d taken to be genuine, though it wasn’t. But the dawning of this dark recognition had come slowly, and so, as I’d walked Maddox and Lana to their bus that first school day, then stood waving cheerfully as it pulled away, I’d felt certain that I now had two daughters, and that both of them were good.
Janice was still at work when I returned home after making my bleak tour of Maddox’s apartment. I was already on the balcony with my glass of wine when she came through the door. By then the sun had set, and so she found me sitting in the dark.
“I went up to the Bronx today,” I told her. “To Maddox’s apartment.”
She looked at me with considerable sympathy. “You shouldn’t feel like you failed her, Jack,” she said quietly.
With that, she turned and headed for the bedroom. From my place in the shadows, I could hear her undressing, kicking off her dressy heels, putting away her jewelry, and then the sound of her sandaled feet as she came back onto the balcony, now with her own glass of wine.
“So, why did you go there?” she asked.
I’d never told anyone about that day, and I saw no reason to do so now. “I was just curious, I suppose,” I said.
“About what?”
“About Maddox,” I answered, “Whether she ever …” I stopped because the words themselves seemed silly. Even so, I couldn’t find more precise ones. “… ever became a better person.”
Janice looked puzzled. “Maddox was just a child when she left us, Jack,” she said. “It wasn’t like she was … formed.”
But she hadn’t just “left us,” to use Janice’s words. I’d sent her back, and I couldn’t help but feel that Maddox must have known why, must have understood what had become so clear to me
that day.
It had come at the end of a harrowing eight months of difficulty, and even as I’d bought the tickets for
Beauty and the Beast,
I’d suspected that my options were becoming fewer and fewer with regard to Maddox staying with us.
There’d been the continually escalating problems at Falcon Academy, where Maddox had repeatedly made excuses for the accusations hurled against her. She’d never intended to steal Mary Logan’s fancy Mont Blanc pen; she had simply picked it up to give it a closer look, then mistakenly dropped it into her own backpack, rather than into Mary’s. And, after all, didn’t those two bags look similar, and hadn’t they been lying side-by-side in the school cafeteria?
Nor had she lied about how she’d gotten hold of Ms. Gilbreath’s answer sheet for an upcoming history test, because it really had fallen out of the teacher’s pocket,
“That day you told me about,” I said to Theo after my short visit to Maddox’s apartment, “the day we all went to see
Beauty and the Beast.
Did she say why she thought that was the happiest day of her life?”
Theo shook his head. “No, but it was clear that it meant a great deal to her, that day.”
I remembered “that day” very well, and on the subway back to Manhattan, I recalled it again and again.
It wasn’t just that day that returned to me. I also recalled the many difficult weeks that had preceded it, causing a steady erosion in my earlier confidence that Maddox would adjust well to New York, that she would succeed at Falcon Academy and, from there, go on to a fine college, her road to a happy life as free of obstacles as Lana’s.
At first, Maddox had been on her best behavior, though in ways that later struck me as transparently manipulative. She’d complimented Janice on her cooking, Lana on her hair, me on my skill at playing Monopoly. On the first day of school, she’d appeared eager to do well; she had even seemed proud of her uniform. “It makes me feel special,” she’d said that morning, and then she flashed her beaming smile, the one she used on all such occasions, as I was soon to learn, and that I’d taken to be genuine, though it wasn’t. But the dawning of this dark recognition had come slowly, and so, as I’d walked Maddox and Lana to their bus that first school day, then stood waving cheerfully as it pulled away, I’d felt certain that I now had two daughters, and that both of them were good.
Janice was still at work when I returned home after making my bleak tour of Maddox’s apartment. I was already on the balcony with my glass of wine when she came through the door. By then the sun had set, and so she found me sitting in the dark.
“I went up to the Bronx today,” I told her. “To Maddox’s apartment.”
She looked at me with considerable sympathy. “You shouldn’t feel like you failed her, Jack,” she said quietly.
With that, she turned and headed for the bedroom. From my place in the shadows, I could hear her undressing, kicking off her dressy heels, putting away her jewelry, and then the sound of her sandaled feet as she came back onto the balcony, now with her own glass of wine.
“So, why did you go there?” she asked.
I’d never told anyone about that day, and I saw no reason to do so now. “I was just curious, I suppose,” I said.
“About what?”
“About Maddox,” I answered, “Whether she ever …” I stopped because the words themselves seemed silly. Even so, I couldn’t find more precise ones. “… ever became a better person.”
Janice looked puzzled. “Maddox was just a child when she left us, Jack,” she said. “It wasn’t like she was … formed.”
But she hadn’t just “left us,” to use Janice’s words. I’d sent her back, and I couldn’t help but feel that Maddox must have known why, must have understood what had become so clear to me
that day.
It had come at the end of a harrowing eight months of difficulty, and even as I’d bought the tickets for
Beauty and the Beast,
I’d suspected that my options were becoming fewer and fewer with regard to Maddox staying with us.
There’d been the continually escalating problems at Falcon Academy, where Maddox had repeatedly made excuses for the accusations hurled against her. She’d never intended to steal Mary Logan’s fancy Mont Blanc pen; she had simply picked it up to give it a closer look, then mistakenly dropped it into her own backpack, rather than into Mary’s. And, after all, didn’t those two bags look similar, and hadn’t they been lying side-by-side in the school cafeteria?
Nor had she lied about how she’d gotten hold of Ms. Gilbreath’s answer sheet for an upcoming history test, because it really had fallen out of the teacher’s pocket,
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