myself, ‘Reader, I married him,’ and then I’d just sob. It had remarkable staying power. Reader, I married—ooohhh!” She demonstrated herself sobbing dramatically like a teenage girl, hand to her forehead.
Zoe laughed.
Frances said, “You’ve read Jane Eyre, right?”
“I think I saw the movie once,” said Zoe.
“Ah well,” said Frances sympathetically. “Anyway, I know that Reader, I married him line has become virtually a cliché now, it’s referenced so often: Reader, I divorced him. Reader, I murdered him. But for me, at that time of my life, it was … well, profound. I remember being amazed that four words could affect me in that way. So I guess I just developed an interest in the power of words. The first romance story I ever wrote was heavily influenced by Charlotte Brontë, except without the madwoman in the attic. My leading man was a heady mix of Mr. Rochester and Rob Lowe.”
“Rob Lowe!” said Zoe.
“I had his poster on my wall,” said Frances. “I can still taste his lips. Very smooth and papery. Matte gloss.”
Zoe giggled. “I felt the same way about Justin Bieber.”
“There might even be one of my books here,” said Frances. “There often is in places like this.” She scanned the shelves of paperbacks then smiled, a hint of pride. “Bingo.”
She stood up, clutching her back, went to one of the shelves, and squatted down to pull out a battered-looking chunky paperback. “There you go.” She handed it to Zoe and sat back down on the couch with a grunt.
“Awesome,” said Zoe. The book looked terrible.
It was called Nathaniel’s Kiss and the picture on the front showed a girl with long curly fair hair staring wistfully out to sea. At least it didn’t look erotic.
“Anyway, my last book got rejected,” said Frances. “So I might be looking for a new career soon.”
“Oh,” said Zoe. “I’m sorry.”
“Well,” said Frances, and she shrugged, gave her a half smile, her palm up, and Zoe knew what she was trying to say. Zoe’s friend Erin thought she wasn’t allowed to complain about her life anymore without first prefacing it, “I know this is nothing compared to what you’ve been through,” with this solemn wide-eyed look, and Zoe always said, “Erin, it’s been three years, you’re allowed to complain about your life!” And then she nodded along sympathetically while thinking: You’re right, your car needing three new tires is nothing to complain about.
“I guess I should go back downstairs,” said Zoe. “My parents get paranoid if they can’t pinpoint my location. I think they’d like to put a tracking device on me.”
Frances sighed. “I guess I should too.” But she didn’t move. She gave Zoe a quizzical look. “Do you think we’re all going to be ‘transformed’ by the end of this thing?”
“Not really,” said Zoe. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Frances. “I feel like Masha could do anything. She scares the life out of me.”
Zoe laughed and then they both startled at the clamorous sound of a gong being struck repetitively and aggressively from somewhere within the house.
They jumped to their feet and Frances grabbed Zoe’s arm. “Oh God, it’s just like boarding school! Do you think we’re in trouble? Or maybe there’s a fire and we’re all evacuating?”
“I think it probably just means the silence is starting again.”
“Yes, you’re right. Okay, we’ll go back together. I’ll go first; I’m older, I’m not scared of her.”
“Yes you are!”
“I know, I am, terrified! Quick, let’s go! I’ll see you on the other side of the silence.”
“I’ll read your book.” Zoe held up the paperback as they left the Lavender Room and headed back downstairs. It was a crazy thing to say, she had no interest in reading a romance book, but whatever, she liked Frances.
“You’re not meant to read in the silence.”
“I’m a rebel,” said Zoe. She shoved the book under her top and into the waist of her bike pants. “I’ll be in an alliance with you.”
She was just making a weak joke in reference to Frances’s comment earlier about Survivor, but Frances stopped in her tracks and turned around with a radiant smile. “Oh, Zoe, I would love to be in an alliance with you.”
And all of a sudden it felt like they were.
13
Masha
Two guests, Zoe Marconi and Frances Welty, had excused themselves from the meditation room and not yet come back. The silence had been broken and one guest, Tony Hogburn, was now demanding his money back and threatening to report Tranquillum House to the Department of Consumer Affairs,