“Interesting. Are you uncomfortable with that?”
“A little. Sometimes. The people are remarkably easy to work with. Smart, and with very good attitudes. I like all of them I’ve met, without exception, including Mr. Aran. But the things they seem to believe . . .” She shrugged.
The waiter arrived, set their orders on the table, then left. Both women began to eat, Lee poking fitfully at her salad, afraid she’d said something she shouldn’t have. By contrast, Thomas ate with evident enjoyment, taking small bites and savoring them.
After a couple of minutes she asked, “Why did you come here if you have misgivings? Clearly you do.”
Lee nodded. “I like the job and the challenge. And my office. And in these times I especially like the money; they pay me well.”
“I suppose they do. Lor Lu says your job is quite important, and that you’re very good at it.”
“He’s right.”
“What does your husband think of all this?”
“He likes it unreservedly. I think he believes. Or maybe it’s more that he doesn’t actually disbelieve. He’s been interested in New Age philosophies since before we met. We’ve been together nearly five years.”
“And your daughters believe?”
Instead of answering aloud, Lee simply nodded.
“It’s that bad, is it?”
“Meryl—if it weren’t for the girls, I’d love working here. But they’re children. I’d never have brought them into a cult environment if my consulting business hadn’t basically died. We were seriously in debt, our home was being foreclosed on, and neither Ben nor I were having any luck finding work. So when this opportunity found us, it seemed we had no choice. I mean, they wanted both of us! Ben and me!”
Thomas frowned. “So the problem seems to be that your daughters believe. How bad is that, actually?”
“It’s a cult, Meryl, and my children are becoming part of it. They may grow out of it, but for now . . .”
“What makes it a cult?”
For a moment the question stalled Lee’s mental processes. “It’s—the things they say. That they believe.”
“And what are those?”
“Oh, past lives. And things like Raquel was talking about to you this evening—that she’s an old sage in passion mode. Passion mode, for god’s sake! She’s only a child!”
Meryl Thomas’s dark eyes were intent now, seeming to gleam. “What does that mean: old sage? And passion mode?”
Lee looked blankly at her. “I . . . don’t know. Some cultist thing.”
“Wait a minute. Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. Things like ‘old sage’ and ‘passion mode’ make it a cultist thing. But how can you know that if you don’t know what ‘old sage’ and ‘passion mode’ mean? And as for past lives, two of the world’s oldest and largest religions believe in them—as well as a lot of mainstream Americans. ‘Try this out, see how it feels.’ Instead of ‘true believers,’ think of the Millennium people as dedicated to what they consider as helping.”
She paused, waiting. When Lee didn’t respond, she continued. “What church did you grow up in?”
“Evangelical Reformed. It’s pretty strict, I’m afraid.”
“And they taught you . . . ?”
“About heaven and hell, and Jesus . . . The usual.”
“Those are pretty far out, aren’t they? And what does Ngunda teach?”
Lee sank inwardly. “I don’t know,” she answered, realizing that her WebWorld search had avoided that part of it. She’d told herself it was irrelevant. She realized now she’d been afraid to know.
“Maybe your fears are worse than the reality.”
Lee didn’t answer. It occurred to her she should be angry at this black woman who was exposing her to herself.
Thomas reached, and lay a hand on one of Lee’s. “My dear, I’ve horned in where I have no business being, and I apologize. It’s a characteristic of mine, I’m afraid. I’m a mature scholar in agression mode. Now it’s time for you to ask me questions.”
Lee sat unspeaking. Mature scholar. Aggression mode. Ordinarily she’d feel betrayed by this woman. Angry. Instead she felt somehow defeated. Defeated beyond redemption.
“Well then,” Thomas went on, “I’ll volunteer some things. I grew up in Arlensville, Maryland, in one of the projects. I never knew my father. But we weren’t as bad off as lots were, because my mom had a decent job, and my grandparents lived in the same building. They looked after me when Mom was at work. I grew up in the Methodist Church, and learned some strange things there that all in all did me more good than harm. A lot more, I think; I’ve never tried to sort it out. I’ve got an older brother who’s a career Marine NCO, a gunnery sergeant. After the third grade, my granddad home-schooled me. He’d been a teacher, but he quit to look after me, and worked nights at the post office. I took journalism at William and Mary, on a scholarship. I was married once, a disaster, and haven’t cared to try again. And I’m in aggression mode, as I mentioned. Overall it’s stood me in good stead, but it’s a considerably mixed blessing.