ARIEL

Abstract

1 3 1 R A R I E L J E A N R O S S J U S T I C E Easter eggs, pumpkins on the front porch for Halloween, notes to teachers – those almost forgotten things were coming back into her life. And so late in the game! They were what the boy was bringing with him. (And who knew what else?) She walked over to school with him the first day. A couple of other women were there, mothers of transferring pupils. One of them smiled at her in a way she took to be sympathetic, which she didn’t like: did the woman think she was a grandmother in charge of the child because of a family calamity? She wanted to say, ‘‘My daughter’s work schedule makes it awkward for her to come.’’ Which would not have been true. She’d already asked about his schooling back in Oregon; he was nine – fourth grade? He’d been home-schooled, and he was vague about it, as if he barely remembered it or had slept through it (or gone through it in a druggy haze, the way his mother, God bless her, God damn her, apparently went through her days). At the school, the secretary said, ‘‘Ariel! That’s unusual.’’ ‘‘It’s in Shakespeare,’’ Marietta said firmly. She didn’t like the name. Maybe she could somehow enact a nickname? Some people 1 3 2 J U S T I C E Y had nicknames out of nowhere, like her cousin Wilfred, always called Bob. ‘‘Oh, it’s nice,’’ the secretary said. ‘‘You can call me Ari if you want to,’’ Ariel said. Was that what they called him back home? She didn’t ask him; she didn’t want the secretary to see that she didn’t know everything about him. The secretary asked what he’d covered in math – fractions, decimals? He said yes but maybe not enough; he seemed to have dealt with workbooks that came in the mail, or computer programs . The secretary said they’d put him in fourth and see how things went. It was the boyfriend who’d called, the man Becca, her daughter, called her partner. An uno≈cial stepfather for Ariel: Sebastian. Sebastian said Becca was going to rehab; they would be really happy if Ariel could live with Marietta for a while – would that be possible? ‘‘Rehab? What for? Oh. Oh God. I’m sorry . . . Of course he can come. Thank you for calling. No, listen – tell her to call me. She can do that, can’t she?’’ The least! ‘‘She needs to ask me herself.’’ If that meant the end of it, so be it. Sebastian was taken aback, of course. ‘‘Oh.’’ He said he’d give her the message. Marietta sat staring at the phone; it took her breath away to think what she’d done. All day she thought of calling back. Well, with any luck she might be able to put it out of mind again in a few weeks. The child had been five when she last saw him, sweet and malleable, but who knew about the time since? (With someone who needed rehab.) Anyway, he might well hate the idea of coming. But Becca called. It was nearly three years since she’d called last. Marietta had begun to call it ‘‘estranged.’’ She’d called Becca time and again and left messages, calls that were never returned. ‘‘Mummah, please, I’m sorry I’m such a mess, I’m really sorry, I don’t know how I got here, I really don’t. I’m going to get cleaned up, please help us through this, Ariel needs you – ’’ She began to cry. It sounded sincere, the crying. ‘‘All right, baby. It’s okay, just get rehabilitated, hear? You’ve got to do that. And you’ve got to call me o√ and on, okay? – you can do A R I E L 1 3 3 R that too. You remember that, we need to keep in touch. Okay. Tell me when to meet him.’’ At the airport, the flight attendant who led him over to her said, ’’He...