Nothing to See Here (17)

“Honey,” Madison said once Timothy had received his father’s full attention, “this is Lillian.”

He kept holding on to Timothy, who had hidden his face against Jasper’s chest. “Hello, Lillian,” he said.

“Senator Roberts,” I said.

“Oh, Jasper, please,” he said, though he looked pleased at the formality.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jasper,” I then said.

“You are almost mythical in this house,” he said, his voice so measured, so hypnotic, the right amount of Southern accent. It wasn’t Foghorn Leghorn and it wasn’t a newscaster in Atlanta. It was lyrical and honeyed and entirely natural. It sounded nice. “Madison thinks the world of you,” he continued.

“Oh, okay,” I said, embarrassed. What would Madison have told him? Did he know about the fact that I’d kept Madison from being kicked out of a fancy boarding school? Was it better or worse if she’d told him?

“We are so happy to have you here,” he said; he didn’t blink. I didn’t know if this was something necessary for a politician, if blinking was a sign of weakness or something. As a result, I began blinking so much that I almost started crying.

“I’m happy to be here,” I finally said, like I was in a play and I’d finally remembered my next line.

“Dinner?” Jasper then said, not to anyone in particular, like a magic spell. I knew that when we walked into the dining room, there would be food that had not been there before Jasper said that single word.

“Yes!” Madison said. “Are you hungry?”

“I am,” he said, still not smiling. Maybe he was thinking about his fire children. Maybe he was thinking about me, this strange woman, taking up space in his house. Or maybe he was just thinking about the steps necessary for him to become the president. The point was, I didn’t know what he was thinking, and that made me nervous.

“Are you hungry, Lillian?” Madison asked, and I wondered what would happen if I said no. Sometimes I didn’t eat dinner until one or two in the morning. It was six o’clock in the evening. If I said no, would everyone go to their room and wait until I was ready? It wasn’t worth finding out. I was actually pretty damn hungry.

“Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” I finally said, and we all walked into the dining room. I marveled at how easily I had been absorbed into the rhythm of this family’s life. It didn’t feel natural, but it also didn’t feel like I was expending all my energy trying to make it work. It made me think that wealth, as of course I already knew without firsthand experience, could normalize just about anything.

It made me think that these two children who were coming over the horizon like twin suns would not do a thing to this place, that they would be purified. I didn’t think about it then, but later I remembered that these kids had already been in this very house, had called it home, but had been expelled. I didn’t know what the lesson was. I didn’t think about it.

After dinner, which Mary had prepared—angel hair pasta with olive oil and lemon chicken, bread that cracked open like a geode, icy-cold wine, and some kind of spongy cake spiked with alcohol—we all went outside, the sun still out, a perfect evening. Madison wanted to show me something, and we walked through the grass, which honest-to-god squeaked under my feet, until we reached a basketball court, the surface shiny onyx asphalt and the lines painted in sparkling white, regulation. Madison flicked a switch and lights crackled to life and illuminated the court.

“Oh my god,” I said, unable to really take it in.

“It used to be boring tennis courts,” Madison said, “but I had it converted.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. Honestly, it was more impressive than the mansion.

“Basketball isn’t really a refined pastime,” Madison said, frowning. “No one ever wants to play.”

“I do,” I said. “I want to play.”

Jasper, as if this had all been planned in advance, took Timothy by the hand and led him to a modest set of bleachers. Madison went to a waterproof chest and produced a ball that looked like it had never once been bounced. She flicked a pass to me, and I caught it and then dribbled it three times and sent up a lazy jumper that, thank god, fell right through the hoop, with that sexy sound the net made when you’d hit it just right. If I’d missed that shot, I think I would have cried.

Madison caught the ball before it hit the ground and then posted up against an imaginary defender, spun to her left, and executed an old-school hook shot that banked into the hoop.

“Do you play a lot?” I asked. If I had this court at my disposal, I’d sleep on top of the rim.

“Not as much as I’d like. You know, it’s boring to just shoot free throws. I miss five-on-five.”

“You can’t just get your employees to play?” I asked. Why did you need a gardener, I wondered; why not hire the Washington Generals to live in the guesthouse?

“They wouldn’t be able to hang with me,” she said. She wasn’t being arrogant. It was probably true. Iron Mountain had won state in her junior and senior years, and she’d been All-State both times. She’d played at Vanderbilt. She hadn’t started, but I knew how good you had to be to ride the bench on an SEC team.

And I knew that she was happy to have me here. I’d been All-State my senior year, though it was mostly because our team was so crappy that I had to do everything on my own, which drove my stats through the roof. We didn’t even make it out of the region. I could never decide if I was happy or sad that my high school and Iron Mountain were in different classes, that I’d never get a chance to drive on Madison and see what she’d do to stop me.