Valley of the Moon (36 page)

Vivi wailed all the way home, batting her chest, trying to pull off the event monitor.

“How the hell are we supposed to keep that on?” I cried.

Dr. Walker had given us two choices. Have her wear a monitor or start her on beta blockers. I didn't want to medicate her, and I doubted the beta blockers would be a long-term solution if Vivi's heart issues were a result of her being Joseph's child (which I firmly suspected they were). I had begun to believe the only real solution was to bring her back to Greengage.

“We have to dress her in layers so it's impossible for her to get to it. Poor baby, she doesn't know what it is. But you'll get used to it, won't you, Viv?” Benno crooned, reaching into the backseat and holding her hand.

I looked into the rearview mirror and watched as she calmed, her eyes blinking shut.

“Did she just pass out?”

Benno shook her gently.

“Isn't that thing supposed to give off some sort of an alarm?”

“I don't think so; it just records. Vivi, Vivi.” He squeezed her hand.

Her eyes opened. “Ba,” she said.

“Oh Jesus. Jesus, thank God!”

“Mom, calm the hell down. It doesn't do any of us any good if you freak out, does it, Vivi? We don't like it when Mom freaks out, do we?”

“Nil,” said Vivi, her word for vanilla ice cream.

“She wants Nil,” said Benno.

I put on my blinker and turned right, trying not to cry. A few minutes later I pulled into a Denny's parking lot. Just an ordinary family out for an ordinary meal, I told myself. I'd put her in a high chair. Benno would turn his paper napkin into an origami swan, and we'd order a plate of fries and bowls of ice cream. Salty and sweet. Happy and sad. That's the way we all liked it.

“I can't believe Benno's a sophomore,” said my mother. “It seems like almost yesterday that I was at the airport waiting for a five-year-old to arrive.”

She'd come bearing suitcases of presents. For Benno, clothes. For Vivi, she'd just about emptied the shelves at the Toy Soldier in Newport. I told her it was far too much, but she told me it was far too little. She was trying to make up for my father's absence. He'd flown out with my mother for a visit just after Vivi was born, but we hadn't seen him since.

Vivi squealed in her high chair and waved her arms. “Gamma!”

I handed my mother a banana. “She's hungry, you better hurry up.”

What had I told my mother about Joseph? There was a father. He lived abroad. It was complicated. We were in love. What else was there to tell her? Until something changed and Greengage opened its door to us, there was nothing left to say. She'd accepted it just as gracefully as she'd accepted my story of Benno's origins. She'd asked only one question: was she expected?

“She wasn't an accident,” I'd told her. I'd grown into that truth—both Benno and I had. All you had to do was take one look at Vivi and you knew that this baby belonged in the world. She had enough life force for two worlds.

“Your father wanted to come, but he was feeling under the weather,” my mother said. She gave Vivi a piece of the banana and took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.
We
have something to tell you, me and Dad. Your father has prostate cancer, Lux. We've known for a few months.”

My mouth fell open in shock.

“Oh, no, please don't look at me like that,” she pleaded. “I've been under orders not to tell.”

“He's got prostate cancer? Are you kidding me? Mom, why didn't you let me know?”

“It was his idea. He didn't want to burden you. Besides, you have your own medical crisis here.”

“God, you've known for two months?”

“Well, actually a little more than a year,” she confessed.

I gasped.

“Gamma,” said Vivi, aware her grandmother's attention had wandered. “
Harry Dirty Dog
?”

My mother leaned over and kissed Vivi on the cheek. “I'll read to you in a little while. After you finish your snack. Has she had her medicine this morning?”

Last month, when it became clear Vivi had been fainting—not often, but often enough to scare the hell out of us—we'd given in and put her on beta blockers. They were helping and I was hopeful.

“I can't believe this,” I said. “I'm coming back with you. I'll book the flight right now. Sunite Patel can take care of Vivi, and Benno's very independent.”

“No. There is no need for you to come back to Newport. I'm telling you now because he's doing okay. He's much better. He's been through two cycles of chemo. He's weak, but officially in remission. That's the good news. That's what I wanted to share with you.”

“How long will he be in remission?”

She gave me a weak smile. “Could be a long while, the doctors say.”

“That's good, Mom. That's really good.”

A month later she called to say he was dying.

“M
om.” I opened the screen door and stepped into the living room. “Mama, I'm here.”

No answer. I heard the water running; she must be upstairs. I put my suitcase on the floor and tried to slow down my jackrabbity heart.

They'd gotten a new Sony TV and there were stacks of VHS tapes piled on top of it: Jane Fonda's
Low Impact Aerobic Workout,
Out of Africa,
and
Tootsie.
The radio still sat on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. Memories came flooding back. The Kinks
.
My plaid skirt. My fifteen-year-old tanned and muscular legs.

On the fireplace mantel were three photographs, one of my father and a gap-toothed Benno sitting at the counter at Newport Creamery. The second was a photograph my mother had taken of Benno and Vivi in my kitchen. The third was of me on my first day of kindergarten, Dad holding my hand. My braids so tight my eyes were almond shaped.

“You're here,” said my father from the top of the stairs.

Once he'd had a full head of thick brown hair. Now he was bald, his scalp covered with age spots. His eyebrows were sparse and wiry, his lips thinned to two lines. He looked like an ancient toddler.

My breath caught in my throat—his appearance was so shocking. Had the decline happened slowly or had it suddenly ramped up in the last month? I hadn't been here to witness it, to be with him and my mother.

He clutched the banister.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

He shook his head.

I thought of Benno and Vivi and my heart clenched. I could just picture Vivi in bed, clutching her stuffed monkey to her chest. She'd be sleeping in her Winnie-the-Pooh onesie. Sunite was staying with them, but Benno would be the one to retrieve her in the morning. The lucky one to have his cheek patted with her tiny hand. “Ba, Ba,” she would say, a dazed look in her eye, the same look she had on her face every morning.
I'm still here?
She was so new.

My father walked carefully down the stairs and sat on the couch.

“Can I get you some water?”

“I have a favor to ask,” he said.

“Where's Mom?”

“Your mother has gone to the store.”

“At nine o'clock at night?”

“We've run out of whiskey. It's my last vice.”

He sounded so grave. Was he going to ask me to give his eulogy? Help him pick out a plot?

“What is it, Dad? What do you need?”

He looked down at his lap. “Would you come with me to Lapis Lake one last time?”

The next morning, my mother raced around the kitchen. She packed a cooler full of sandwiches, some cut-up celery, and grapes. She poured whiskey into a flask and filled two thermoses, one with tea, one with orange juice.

“Is the whiskey for him or me?”

“It's for whoever needs it. If his blood sugar plummets, we'll give him the juice.”

“
We'll
give him the juice? You're coming with us to Lapis Lake?”

“Well, I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“Am I invited?”

“Jesus, Mom, of course you are. You don't need an invitation.”

“Then I'm coming.”

She was coming. My mother was coming to Lapis Lake. I tried to imagine her using the outhouse. Knowing her, she'd hold it all day and make us stop at a gas station on the way back. Well, we'd have a picnic and be back on the road within a few hours. That's all the excitement my father could tolerate anyway.

My father slept all the way to the New Hampshire toll booths, then he woke with a start.

“We've crossed the state line?”

“A few miles back,” I told him.

He shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Do you need another pill, George?” asked my mother. The two of them were sitting in the backseat. He'd stopped chemo a month ago. The only thing he took now was pain medication.

“Not yet. Damn.”

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“We missed the state liquor store.”

When I was a kid, we always stopped at the liquor store and loaded up, because the booze was tax-free. He got beer. I got red licorice whips.

“I packed you a flask,” said my mother.

“She likes it when I drink now. She pushes it on me.”

“Yes, George, I want you drunk.”

“She wants you to be happy,” I said.

“She wants me unconscious.”

“Dad!”

“You think I don't know I'm a pain in her ass?”

He rolled down the window and tipped his nose up like a dog, sniffing the wind.

“Humph, not so rural anymore,” he said, when I turned onto Rural Road 125. I had the same butterflies in my stomach I'd had when I was a child.

“When did they pave it?”

“A while ago.”

“It's nice. Easier on the suspension.”

“It's not nice. The dirt road was fine. Now that it's paved, leaf peepers come down here. I had to put up a No Trespassing sign.”

“George, you only come up a few times a year. You can afford to be generous. Let other people enjoy it, too,” said my mother.

I drove slowly down the maple-lined road. The leaves were brilliant shades of orange, red, and yellow. It was peak foliage season. Woodsmoke hung in the air.

“I don't think I've ever been here in the fall,” I said. My father had always come alone on Columbus Day weekend to close down the cabin for the winter.

I pulled into our driveway and parked.

“My God,” my mother said. “It looks exactly the same. Like no time has passed at all.”

“I can smell the lake,” said my father.

He excitedly swung his legs out the car door, but even that tiny effort cost him. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily for a minute or two. When he opened them, he looked defeated.

“Give him a minute,” said my mother.

“Where's the key, Dad?”

“In the usual place,” he said. “Go with her, Miriam.”

“I'm staying with you. I want to make sure you're okay.”

“Go with her, I'm fine,” said my father.

“You might want to wait, Mom, let me air things out a bit.”

“Go ahead, Miriam,” said my father.

I ducked under the porch and retrieved the key, which hung from a rusty nail. My father hadn't visited at all this summer, which meant the place had sat unused for over a year.

“Brace yourself,” I said to my mother.

I slid the key into the lock and opened the door hesitantly, anticipating the stale cardboard scent of decaying mice. Instead the cabin smelled pleasantly of cedar and lemon cleanser.

We stepped into the cabin and gasped. Every surface had been scoured clean. The curtains were pulled and fresh air streamed through the open windows. A pot of mums sat on the counter.

I opened the fridge and was hit by a blast of cool air. Not only was it running, but it was fully stocked: strawberries, a quart of milk, a pint of cream. A roasted chicken. A container of potato salad. A jar of pickles. A six-pack of Coors Light. A wedge of cheddar and sliced salami. A package of Oreos and a bottle of Boone's Farm apple wine, my mother's favorite.

We peeked in the bedroom. The bed was neatly made up with fresh sheets. There was a stack of clean towels on the dresser and a candle on the bedside table.

“I feel like Sara Crewe in
A Little Princess,
” I said.

My mother had her hand cupped over her mouth, her eyes wet. “He did this for us.”

“He did it for you,” I said.

She nodded. “I suppose this means we're spending the night.”

“I think that's the idea.”

“Lux!” my father shouted.

“I'll get him,” I said. “You stay.”

I took my father's arm and helped him out of the car. “It's like Christmas in there.”

“Did she like it?”

“Yes, she liked it.”

“Was she surprised?”

“She certainly was. How did you do it?”

“I hired a caretaker. She looks after the place. After I got sick, it was too hard to open and close up the cabin by myself.”

Slowly we walked around to the front of the cabin and climbed the porch stairs. He nodded in satisfaction at the two rocking chairs, each of which had received a new coat of glossy green paint. When we stepped into the cabin, he grinned.

“George,” said my mother.

“Miriam,” said my father.

“You little sneak. This isn't a day trip. We're not going home this afternoon, are we?”

He sat down in a kitchen chair. “One night. All right? That's all I want. One last night here with my family.”

I was the only one awake. My mother had fallen asleep on the pullout couch. My father snored raspily in the bedroom. The loons were calling, that distinctive, forlorn cry.
Hoo-hoo-hoo
. My thoughts were forlorn, too:
Vivi is so sick. I may never see Joseph again. My father is riddled with cancer.

I put on my bathing suit and walked down to the lake. I dipped a toe into the water. Not too bad. I dove in before I could change my mind.

The water was glorious. I'd always loved night swimming the best. I stayed in as long as I could bear it, but when I started to shiver uncontrollably I went back to the cabin. My mother was still conked out on the sofa; she'd had three glasses of wine, two glasses past her limit. I thought about making coffee but I didn't want to wake my parents. Instead I lit a candle and perused the bookshelf. There were lots of paperbacks, mostly thrillers, John le Carré and James Patterson, along with the classics my father had read to me when I was a girl. On the topmost shelf I found the copy of
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
I'd sent Benno the year we'd been apart. On the inside cover in pencil he'd written,
Property of Bennett Lysander.

Had my father read it to him?

I didn't hear him snoring anymore. I opened the door and his bed was empty. He must have gone to the outhouse. But his slippers were neatly lined up beneath the dresser. He'd left the cabin without shoes?

I checked the outhouse. He wasn't there.

“Dad?” I called. “Dad?”

I checked the car. Empty. I started to panic.

It was four in the morning. I got a flashlight and began making my way through the woods. I walked through our neighbors' yards, then back along the waterfront. I kept calling his name. I'd alternate between “Dad” and “George.” Finally, on my fourth round, I heard his tremulous voice: “Lux.”

Three cabins down from ours, I found him. He was on the ground in front of the Harrises' outhouse. He was barefoot, in his pajamas. I could just make out his face.

“I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to bother your mother.”

He'd fallen.

“Why aren't you wearing shoes?” Of course he'd fallen. Not only was it dark, but one of his legs was two inches shorter than the other. “Let me look at your knee.”

“No, goddamn it. I only skinned it.”

“Okay. Can you stand if I help you?”

He grunted and I stooped beside him. He put his arm around me and I gently hauled him up. We hobbled back toward our cabin.

“Why did you go to the Harrises'? Why didn't you go to our outhouse?”

He gave me a confused look. He thought it
was
our outhouse.

“I woke and you were gone.”

“I went for a swim. I couldn't sleep. Look. Here we are now.”

We stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“Come on, let's get you back into bed,” I said.

We climbed the stairs, but when I opened the front door he said, “I don't want to go to bed. Not yet.”

We settled into the chairs that still smelled of fresh paint.

He was disheveled. His hair mussed, his bloody shin exposed. I felt light-headed with guilt. Finally, here we sat, all these years later, on the porch of our beloved cabin. No real rapprochement in sight and my father was dying. He was
dying
. How could I have let so much time pass?