Malaika does not. She seldom does when it comes to Alice. But she has picked up on the fact that Alice isn’t a fan of Nick’s family, which seems particularly awful given they all live on the same street. It explains why Alice always looks so… sad. Malaika has even wondered if maybe there are postpartum depression issues at play. Not that it’s any of her business.
“Or Gina could host it,” Alice continues. “At least then I could sneak out early. Why should I suffer just because her husband decided to dip his pen in the company ink?” Alice shakes her head. “Sorry, that was crass. You’ve heard the rumors, I assume?”
“Yes, Mrs. Dewar.” Yolanda had filled her in this morning. If you ask me, Mr. Bobby didn’t do it. He’s a good man, she’d said. Malaika hadn’t bothered pointing out that there was no such thing. And he no can resign, Yolanda continued. Mr. Bobby wants to keep Alma Boots in America. If Mr. Nick in charge he will sell the company, send the factory overseas! Is very bad. No factory, no town. As simple as that.
Malaika has googled the legal definition of sexual harassment. She’d heard the term before, of course, but she had wanted to understand its exact scope. The results had been… disturbing. It had reminded her of the creepy guests who’d stayed at the Euler Hotel, where she grew up. (It had not made her think of Hans: what he did to her was a lot worse than sexual harassment.) She shuddered in solidarity for the poor woman who has been brave enough to come forward.
“Of course you have,” Alice says now, shaking her head. There’s a faraway look in her eyes—they seem to have landed on the chrome floor lamp at the far end of the room—as if she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This town isn’t built for secrets. People are horrible gossips. What else is there to do in a place so small? No one has any sense of boundaries.” She meets Malaika’s gaze. “What’s the word for boundaries in German?”
“Grenzen,” Malaika offers, even though it’s not entirely true. Grenzen is a territorial term. A clear line demarcating a space. Americans use it in a different way. Boundaries in this country seems to be all about emotions. It’s more than a little confusing.
“Anyway, they’ll be here at six,” Alice says.
Allegra looks at her mother. “Calan?”
“Yes, buttercup.” Alice nods. “Calan is coming for dinner.”
This is good news because Allegra adores Calan. Malaika can see why: he’s a sweet kid and a devoted cousin—he used to babysit Allegra before Alice hired Malaika. On her very first day, Malaika had overheard Alice and Nick discussing what they referred to as Calan’s situation in school. Yolanda had filled her in on the rest: Calan is being teased for being gay. Severely teased—what Americans call bullying. An ignorant, horrible thing, especially in this day and age. The poor boy.
Malaika wonders how he’ll handle what they’re saying about his dad.
Four
Calan
Friday, September 6th
Calan first hears about it on Friday morning.
He’s sitting at his desk, headphones on, about to go online—his usual morning routine. It helps, the brief check-in with his friends before the beginning of yet another torturous day in school. There’s a quick knock at the door, and then his mom walks in, sits on the edge of his bed, and tells him that a woman at Alma Boots has accused his dad of sexual misconduct and is demanding that he resign. She sandwiches the news between asking if he’d like a ride to school and telling him to bring a sweater, even though it’s much too warm for that.
“So what happens now?” Calan asks.
For a moment, Calan is happy. A shameful thought, but the irony is too good to resist: his dad will finally know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of people’s hurtful comments. He keeps telling Calan to man up, play sports. Act like a normal kid. His favorite line is, “If what they’re saying about you isn’t true, then it shouldn’t bother you.”
Now, he’ll have to walk the walk.
“It’ll be all right. Your father didn’t do it.” His mom goes on to explain that somehow news has gotten out. “We’re not sure how, but this is a small town, so…”
So now everyone, from Maggie at the bakery to Clive, the butcher, is talking about it. Calan knows what that’s like, too. Rumors spread like wildfire in Alma. He’s used to it.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted you to hear it from me.” There’s a very specific sort of sadness in his mom’s voice. It breaks his heart. He shouldn’t have felt happy, not even for a second. Calan loves his mom more than anyone in the whole world.
“What exactly is she saying?” he asks.
Calan knows what sexual misconduct means. They’ve had assemblies about it in school. He is familiar with the language, with the movements that were born from scandals. Consent. Toxic masculinity. Time’s Up. #MeToo. He knows the names of the most egregious offenders. Harvey Weinstein. Roger Ailes. Jeffrey Epstein. He understands that women have been subject to hostile, often abusive, work environments for decades. He understands that wrongdoers are finally being held accountable. He just can’t reconcile the idea of his dad being one of them.
“This woman,” his mom begins, pausing to swallow and shuffling on his bed, “she claims she had a relationship with your dad. An inappropriate, long-term relationship.”
“Like… an affair?”
His mom nods. “But you don’t have to worry about it because it’s not true. A week from now, people will have forgotten all about it.”
How can she be so sure? It’s the question stuck in Calan’s throat, the question he worries will upset his mom.
“OK, Mom,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.”
His mom smiles, but it’s a sad smile. Does she think his dad is guilty?
