Page 63 of A Better World

Linda’s center of gravity went low. She’d seen Josie have tantrums as a kid. Seen her throw ceramic dolls, mash wet paintbrushes against her own artwork because it wasn’t perfect,lose itright before a big soccer game, punching pillows in her room to relieve the tension. But that had always been contained and at home. Outside, she’d always been charming, cheerful—a delight.

In the video, Josie was screaming, whaling on the sign, like something savage.

“Oh, honeys,” Daniella Bennett whispered to her stepkids an hour later. “You’re safe now.”

The stepkids had just flown back from visiting their mother, who lived in Denver. There’d been a shooting at the restaurant where they’dgotten dinner. They’d seen their first dead body. Linda listened from the parlor while Daniella helped them unpack upstairs. They were in their late teens and early twenties and Linda was surprised by how patient her friend sounded. She wouldn’t have assumed that. Daniella could be mercenary. It was nice to overhear this soft side.

The altar at the top of the hall was filled with six powder blue caladrius eggs that emitted a light sulfuric scent.

Eventually, Daniella came down the grand stairs, gathered Linda, and brought her into her private study.

“I’m sorry they witnessed that,” Linda said.

Daniella flopped into her red velvet fainting couch, raised her arm over her forehead. “They’re wrecks. I had to call Chernin for sedatives. It’s lucky he’s so loose with them. By the time I was their age, I was working twenty-hour days as a hostess at a social club. Not much surprised me. You see many dead bodies as a kid?”

Something about the very tackiness of this office made it easy to relax. Linda melted into the sofa, legs spread. “Between the junkies and the climate refugees, floaters were always washing up along the Hudson.”

“We were grown-ups,” Daniella said. “We don’t cry unless we’re physically hurt.”

“Or so traumatized we no longer have access to our feelings, so when bad things happen our first reaction is to say it’s no big deal and get mad at people who try to make it a big deal.”

Daniella flipped Linda the bird. “My shrink tells me I resent the better life I’m giving them. Apparently, every time I’m disappointed they aren’t tougher and more resilient, it’s really my own resentment. I’m perpetuating a cycle of trauma. Or perpetrating. Let’s say perpetrating. I prefer that spoonerism. Do you resent your children’s better lives?” she asked.

Linda guffawed. “Absolutely!”

Daniella cracked a smile. “These PV shrinks are messed up. They raise children who bite and draw on walls, and I’m supposed to take their advice? Then they’re surprised when a whole generation turns out like Keith Parson.”

“Can’t you get a shrink from outside?” Linda asked.

Daniella shook her head. “No money to pay them.”

“You don’t have anything tucked away?”

“Lloyd does. But I’ve got no idea where.”

It was an insight into Daniella’s marriage that she hadn’t expected. She’d assumed, given how in love they seemed, that relations between them were equal. “Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

“My kids are turning soft,” Daniella said.

“You can’t judge that yet. They’re not done cooking.”

“Hollow’s supposed to address it a little bit. The competitions and maze and race—it’s survival-of-the-fittest role-play. But I don’t know,” Daniella said.

“We could give them combat lessons,” Linda joked.

Daniella laughed. “Can you imagine Hip trying to slug someone? That fey thing would hurt himself!”

Linda squirmed. It never paid to disagree with Daniella. Still, it was a shitty thing to say. “It’s still better than New York. They weren’t allowed outside the apartment at night. Josie played soccer with a particulate filter because of the pollution. With bomb threats and strikes, I had to keep them home from school half the time. There’s a reason you never see them on bicycles—that I have to drive them to school. They can’t ride. New York didn’t make them street tough, because I never let them out. You could say both places are cages. The scenery here’s better.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” Daniella said. “Perspective. You’re so smart, Linda!” This was Daniella’s superpower. Sometimes she didn’t have time, or she wasn’t in the mood. But sometimes, like then, her light of favor shone, and despite the way she’d insulted Hip just seconds before, her praise still gave Linda an adrenaline rush.

“I try.”

Daniella indicated the kids on the second or third floor by pointing her chin. “It would be more rewarding if they didn’t hate me. They think I took their mother’s spot. But their mother was useless to Lloyd. A total liability.”

“Kids are dummies,” Linda said, though she felt a pang of sympathy for wife number one.

Daniella laughed.

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