Valley of the Moon (31 page)

T
he heat was unbearable. Two weeks of unrelenting high temperatures.

“We are living in hell. Go home,” I told Lux when she arrived after breakfast.

I didn't mean it. I could tell by her face she was relieved to be here, which meant it had been more than a few months since the fog had come, but I wanted to appear cavalier, as if I could do without her monthly visit.

“Jesus, it's hot.” She batted the air, trying to swat the heat away.

“Benno?”

“Newport.”

It was the only time of the year he didn't come with her to Greengage, his annual visit to his grandparents.

“How can you be wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants?” she asked. “Aren't you dying?”

What did she expect me to wear?

“You're not serious?” she asked. “About me going home?”

I said nothing and she scowled.

“I'm from New England. The summers are incredibly humid. This is nothing for me.” A bead of sweat appeared in the indentation above her upper lip, and she wiped it away with her finger. “I'm staying.”

“Then may I suggest you join the building crew with me today? We're digging out a new root cellar.”

It was a dirty job, but at least you weren't working under the blazing sun.

She dug frantically, chipping out large blocks of dirt. The rest of us went about our work in a measured way. We knew from experience that was the only way to survive the heat.

“Slow down. You're no good to us if you faint.”

She dug even faster.

“Are you staying for a few days?”

“Yes, of course.”

“There's no reason to work so hard.”

“What other way is there to work?”

“I'm only looking out for you.”

“I don't need anybody looking out for me.”

“Yes, you do.” I grabbed a shovel and started digging beside her.

That night it was too hot in the upstairs bedroom, so I grabbed a blanket and my pillow and went outside on the porch. I lay on the wooden floor praying desperately for a small breeze. I must have drifted off, because when I awoke, Lux was standing in front of me.

“I can't sleep,” she said.

Her nightgown was white, sheer, without sleeves.

I sat up. “Come with me.”

“I'm hungry,” she said when we went past the vegetable garden.

She had tucked her nightgown into the legs of her drawers. I would have been shocked, but it was dark, I could barely make out her thighs. Besides, I felt the urge to strip myself, the air was so stifling.

“Carrot? Radish? Onion?” she asked.

“Carrot.”

She stooped, plucked two carrots out of the ground.

“They're a little dirty,” she said, wiping one carefully on her nightgown before handing it to me.

I heard her teeth bite into the crisp orange flesh. “Where to now?” she asked.

I brought her down to the creek.

“God, yes,” she breathed as we stood on the bank. The carrot fell out of her hand. I dropped mine beside hers, then I led her into the water.

The water bound our clothes to our bodies. It was like being swaddled in a cool bandage. She moaned softly with pleasure.

“Now under,” I said.

We dove down to the bottom and stayed there until we could hold our breath no longer. Then we swam up to the surface, gasping.

“This is just what I needed,” she said.

I'd never seen her with a head of wet hair. Rivulets of water streamed down her cheekbones and shoulders. Her nightgown pooled around her.

“Good?”

“So good.” She floated on her back.

We didn't speak after that. What was there to say?

When finally we climbed back up the bank, our wet clothes plastered to our skin, we both politely averted our eyes, but I was incapable of diverting myself from the fact that Lux was standing beside me in a transparent nightgown, giving off a golden light like a firefly.

M
y mother melon-balled in my kitchen. My father sat on the couch watching the news. In a few hours a mob of people would descend upon the apartment for my graduation party. I hadn't wanted one, but my mother and Rhonda had insisted. I'd finally gotten my associate's degree in business at City College, and according to them, this was something that had to be celebrated.

My mom looked up, her fingers covered in watermelon smush. “Your father's sitting in front of the boob tube again?”

“It's fine, Mom.”

I didn't mind that my father spent so much time watching TV; it gave us both a break. We were deeply uncomfortable around each other. Even though I'd gotten my life back on track, he'd never forgiven me for abandoning Benno. There was a part of him that would always distrust me.

After Joseph told me about his father, the dull ache of our estrangement receded somewhat: I wasn't the only child who'd been such a disappointment. But every once in a while, triggered by some sense memory of Lapis Lake—the smell of a charcoal grill or suntan lotion—a tidal wave of regret plowed me under.

“Where's Benno?” asked my mother.

“I sent him to the store for ice.”

“That's an errand your father could have done.”

“Are we finished in here?” I asked.

“Pretty much.” She flicked her fingers at me. “Take a shower, get dressed. Have a little rest before the guests arrive.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes, this'll take me five more minutes and then your father and I are going back to the hotel to clean up. We'll be back at…” She looked at the clock. “Four-thirty. Half past. Okay?”

I did exactly as she said. I took a shower, got dressed, did my makeup, and stretched out on my bed. Who was I kidding? There was no way I could nap. I opened my bedroom door. My father was already back, sitting on the couch. He'd changed into a pair of khakis and a blue sports jacket with gold buttons. He'd had that jacket for years.

“Where's Mom?”

“She's still at the hotel.”

“You came back early?”

“I wanted to give you this.” He held out a white envelope.

“Mom already gave me a card.”

“This is from me.”

I took the envelope and put it on the mantel.

“You're not going to open it now?”

I opened the envelope.
Congratulations, Graduate
the card said in sparkly letters. Inside was a check for one hundred dollars.

“Thanks, Dad. That's really nice.” I slid the card and check back into the envelope. “Do you want something to drink? A beer? Scotch?”

“I'll take a beer.”

I walked into the kitchen.

“City College,” he called out. “That's a good school.”

I got a glass. He hated to drink out of the bottle.

“Do you have a coaster?” he asked when I handed him the beer.

“No.”

“You don't use coasters?”

“No, Dad, we don't.”

He blinked at me. “It's good you have your degree. Without a degree you can only go so far.”

“So I've heard.”

“You hit the ceiling and then they won't let you go any further.”

“Right.”

“I didn't want that for you. I didn't want that to happen to you,” he said in a shaky voice.

I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and my mother and Benno burst through the door.

“George! You just left without telling me you were going!” said my mother.

“Here's the ice,” said Benno, stuffing the bag into my arms.

My father gazed down into his lap. He looked so small sitting there. Had he lost weight?

“Is everything all right? Did we interrupt something?” asked my mother.

“Everything's fine,” said my father quietly.

“Dad got me a card.”

“Did he?” said my mother. “You got her a card, George?”

Oh, the pleasure that radiated across my mother's face. She wanted nothing more than to see us reconciled.

“Some money, too,” I added.

“You should do something special with it,” my father said. “Go out to dinner. Give yourself a break.”

“Well,” said my mother, smiling. “Well.”

Everybody came. Rose and Doro; the Patels; Rhonda, Ginger, and the girls, and Rhonda's mother, Betty.

Betty had slowed down quite a bit: she had angina. She greeted me, then retired to the living room, sinking into the recliner with a groan.

“Is she okay?” I asked Rhonda.

“It's the beta blockers,” said Rhonda. “They do a great job of slowing her heart down, but they wipe her out.”

Penny was seven now, Sophie, two. They were the most adorable children. Light auburn hair, freckles, caramel skin. They wore party dresses and patent leather shoes. They smiled at me shyly.

“Hugs, right this very instant.” I held out my arms. “My goodness, don't you look beautiful! Like princesses.”

The doorbell rang. Into the apartment poured friends from school and colleagues from work. Even Mike turned up, carrying a pony keg of beer on his shoulder.

“I fuckin' knew you had it in you,” he said, hugging me. “All the way, baby, you're going all the way.”

Who wasn't there? Whose absence could I not speak of? Fancy and Magnusson. Eleanor and Friar.

Joseph.
A little shiver ran through me. What was he doing this very moment? Mucking out the stalls? Working in the vineyard? Did he think of me as often as I thought of him? The time that separated us had been pulled taut. I could feel his presence from seventy-five years away. The charge between us was so strong, sometimes it felt like he was in my apartment with me. His parlor superimposed on my living room. I frequently envisioned him sitting in his leather chair, staring into the fire, waiting. Waiting. For what?

I filled a glass with ginger ale and brought it to Betty.

“I'm so proud of you,” she said weakly.

I put the glass on the side table and sat down next to her. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I'm fine, Lux.”

“Rhonda said you're on medication?”

“Beta blockers.”

“Do they help?”

“They're very effective—it's just that I'm so tired all the time.”

Back when I first started going to Greengage, I'd interrogated Friar about what happened when somebody walked into the fog. Joseph was the only one who'd made it back alive. What had he reported? His heart rate had sped up to four hundred beats a minute, Friar told me. Another few seconds in the fog and he would have died, too.

“They lower the amount of oxygen my heart needs,” said Betty.

“By slowing your heart down.”

“Yes, I believe that's how it works. Why are you so interested? Is there somebody in your family who has heart issues?” she asked.

I kissed Betty on the cheek. “Yes.”