Free Much Ado About Jessie Kaplan by Paula Marantz Cohen

antihallucinatory drugs.”
    â€œBut from what you say, she’s not hallucinating exactly; she’s—what does she call it?—remembering.”
    Carla shrugged. “She’s remembering hallucinations. Or maybe hallucinating memories. I don’t see that it matters.”
    â€œThe question is whether or not it’s doing her harm.”

    â€œIt can’t be doing her good to live in a dream world.”
    â€œI’m only saying that we have to weigh what’s best for her. You know how depressed she was before.”
    Carla considered this. There was no denying that her mother’s spirits were much improved and that she appeared happy in her delusions. But that was part of what was so disturbing. It was as though Jessie had found an alternative world that suited her better than reality.
    â€œYou can’t imagine how upsetting it is to have Mom talking this way.” Carla sidestepped the issue of her mother’s mood. “You know how levelheaded she’s always been.”
    Margot nodded sympathetically. “I could take her in for a while, if you want. A change of scene might do her good.”
    â€œNo,” said Carla quickly, “she needs the routine of the house. Besides, you’re at work during the day, which would leave her alone too much of the time.” (The idea of Jessie puttering around Margot’s Rittenhouse Square apartment, with its white-on-white minimalist décor and empty refrigerator, seemed like the worst possible idea.) “I can certainly handle having her. It’s just that with Mark so unhappy with his practice and the teachers saying that Jeffrey should go on Ritalin, it comes at a bad time. And there’s the bat mitzvah to worry about, and the fact that Stephanie can’t find a dress. It’s all I need to have Mom channeling Shakespeare’s girlfriend.”
    â€œWell, one thing I can do,” Margot responded with relief. “I can help Stephanie find a dress. That can’t be too hard … .”

Chapter Thirteen
    â€œ W hy didn’t YOU TELL ME ABOUT THE NEW DATE FOR Back-to-School night?” Carla asked, standing in the door of her daughter’s room. Stephanie was sprawled out on her bed, studying her French vocabulary, listening to her haftorah tape, and using the curling iron on her hair.
    Stephanie’s room was in a chaotic state. Carla had recently read a magazine article that counseled against criticizing children for minor infractions like messy rooms. The advice had seemed logical enough at the time, but when faced with a week’s worth of clothing on the floor, an entire cosmetic counter on the bureau, and a veritable trash heap of crumpled tissues on the bed, she found that logic went out the window.
    Lately, she had tried to adopt a see-no-evil approach and taken to squinting when entering her daughter’s room. This was an art she was beginning to perfect, and she noticed that her peripheral vision had now weakened to the point that she could look at Stephanie and see her as if etched in relief against a blank background.
    â€œDidn’t you have a sheet about the new Back-to-School Night that you were supposed to give me?”
    The original date for Back-to-School Night had been changed
when the middle-school principal tripped on a skateboard left unattended in front of C Hall and had to spend two weeks in traction. When Carla heard about the accident, her first thought was of Jeffrey (her tendency was to think of Jeffrey when any school-related mishap occurred). In this case, however, her suspicions were ill-founded, since Jeffrey was in elementary school and, despite an impressive level of hyperactivity, could hardly have made it across town during fourth period to leave his skateboard in front of the middle-school C Hall.
    Part of Carla’s irritation about Back-to-School Night came from feeling she should have known about the new date. It was one of the