Valley of the Moon (38 page)

T
he change had been immediate. Like Sleeping Beauty, as soon as we stepped through the fog, Vivi awoke and her body flooded with life. Within a minute she went from slack in my arms, barely having the energy to raise her head from my shoulder, to galloping across the meadow.

I hadn't planned what to say to Joseph. Honestly, I'd almost given up on the fog ever appearing again.

He stared at Vivi and then at me. “Is it true? Is she mine?”

I nodded; I could barely see through my tears.

H
ow can I describe the next few days? They passed at a feverish pitch. That this creature existed, that she had been alive for a year and a half without my knowledge—it was impossible to digest. I'd long ago given up on my dream of being a father, long ago reconciled myself to a life without children, yet here she was in front of me; Vivi was no dream. She was decidedly of the flesh. Dipping and swaying. Flipping her hair. Talking without taking a breath. Darting between my knees. Exploring. Investigating. Touching. Sighing. Singing. Crying. Laughing. Tragedy—a dead spider! Triumph—an iridescent green beetle skittering across the floor! Sitting on my lap, her sweet-smelling head nestled into my chest, her eyelids fluttering, on the verge of sleep.

This late in life, to have a second chance at love and a first chance at being a father—it was exquisite. Once cursed, now doubly blessed.

After I'd returned from San Francisco, I had broken the news about Lux and me to Fancy, knowing it was the quickest way to ensure the information would spread throughout the community; I had no intention of sneaking around or hiding our relationship when Lux came back. I was prepared for people to be stunned. Instead they'd acted like it was inevitable. They'd seen what we hadn't long before we had.

So in this sense, at least, Vivi's arrival was less shocking than it might have otherwise been.

Vivi ran amok in the dining hall. She ran amok in the vineyard. She ran amok everywhere and we let her. She rapidly became everybody's darling. She was a miracle, you see. A child of two times. She gave us roots. She gave us a future.

And Lux? My darling Lux. Even though only a month had passed for me since I'd seen her last, I felt the two-plus years as if I'd gone through them as well. It was heart-wrenching to think of how she'd suffered, not knowing if she'd ever make it back and if Vivi would live. I didn't let her out of my sight. We went everywhere together, some part of our bodies always touching. Again and again I thanked her.

“When you found out you were pregnant, you must have considered—”

“Never. Not for a moment.”

She hadn't given up on me, on Greengage, or on our daughter. I owed her everything.

A
fter four glorious days together as a family, I finally spoke the words I'd been dreading to Benno.

“We've got to get back. You've already missed two days of school.”

“And two days at Morty's,” he said.

Benno had an after-school job working at Morty's Camera. He loved showing customers the cameras. Helping Morty run the photo lab he loved a little less: any monkey could do it, he said. He was old school. He liked to develop his own film in the darkroom. He'd become a master of light, of stop baths and wetting agents. He was trenchantly against special effects, but I suspected that would change as he got older. He would be seduced. He would dabble and find a way to mix the old with the new. That was his fate.

He put the camera up to his eye, sighted Vivi and Joseph in the lens, and frowned. “Hey!” he shouted. “Turn the other way. Face the sun.”

Vivi and Joseph ignored him. He photographed them obsessively; even Vivi had grown tired of posing.

“Wait until Grandma sees her,” I said. “And Rhonda. And Dr. Walker.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Benno.

“How are we going to explain her sudden recovery? ‘Well, Doc, the ablation finally took. Better late than never.' ”

“Mom, Jesus. Vivi isn't coming back with us.”

“Of course she is. Why wouldn't she? She's better. She's great.”

“She's great because she's here in Greengage, Mom. She won't be great in San Francisco.”

“She'll be fine at home. All she needed was this little visit back in time,” I said defensively.

Benno let the camera fall heavily against his chest. “You think she's healed now? Permanently?”

“Yes, I do. I think so.”

“You can't just think. You have to know. It took us over two years to get here. What if as soon as we get home she goes back to being sick? If that happens, she won't last another month, Mom. God. I thought you and Joseph had talked about Vivi. I thought you had it all worked out.”

Joseph and I
had
talked about Vivi. Every night. Her personality traits. Whose genes she'd inherited. The constant devilish look in her eyes. What we hadn't talked about was what happened next.

“I thought he knew that Vivi would be coming home with us. I thought that was obvious.”

“And he thought you knew Vivi would be staying. He—
we
—” he amended
,
“all thought that was obvious.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Well, why didn't you tell me?” I cried.

“ 'Cause we didn't think we needed to.”

Joseph heard us arguing and swung Vivi up in his arms. They headed away from us, toward the herb garden.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Bring her back.”

Joseph immediately put Vivi down on the ground.

“Vivi!”

She ran across the grass and hurled herself at me, screaming, “Tickle me!” I obliged and she writhed in paroxysms of joy. I lifted up her shirt and gave her a loud raspberry on her stomach.

“Do you know how much your mama loves you?”

“How much?” She threw her arms up into the air and preempted my answer. “To the moon and back.”

“Yes,” I said. “That goddamned moon. That much.”

“You could stay here with her,” said Benno as we watched Joseph and Vivi walk off to the dining hall. “I was going to tell you that. It would be okay with me. I'd be fine.”

“You're only seventeen. I'm not leaving you alone.”

“I wouldn't be alone. I'd have Grandma.”

“No, Benno, forget it. I left you once before. I'm not doing it again.”

“But now you're leaving Vivi.”

“It's different. I'm leaving her with her father. If I stayed in Greengage, you'd have no parents. At least this way each of you gets one of us.”

“She's a baby. She needs you more.”

“It will be easier for her. It will. She'll be able to count the days. She'll know exactly when she'll see us next.”

Neither of us said what we were thinking: that it would not be the same for us.

B
ut it was. Every month after, the fog appeared and Benno and I went back to Greengage. I got to see my daughter grow.

I concocted a story to explain Vivi's disappearance to everyone but Rhonda and my mother, both of whom knew the truth. People were aware Vivi had been sick, and I'd told a few people her father lived abroad. Abroad—a vague definition that suited my purposes perfectly. Vivi was temporarily living abroad with her father, getting treatment at a children's heart clinic.

I put on a good show, but the loss of Vivi in my daily life was crushing. I carried her photo with me. Dozens of times a day, I'd take the picture out of my wallet and look at her. I'd carry on a conversation as if she were there in the room with me. I'd wonder what she'd had for breakfast. If she'd napped that afternoon. What adventure Joseph had taken her on. How many stories she'd begged for before bed.

My mother missed Vivi terribly, too. I pleaded with her to come with us to Greengage, but she wasn't able to make that leap yet. Instead she wrote letters to Vivi and I carried Vivi's letters back to her. In this way they stayed in touch.

Back in Greengage, Vivi acclimated to her new life quickly. Even though Fancy and her family had eventually moved to a cottage of their own, Gennie frequently spent the night at the house. The wing was filled with the sounds of shrieking and laughter. Little feet pounding down the hall. The quiet hour. Dusk. Two girls freshly bathed, swatting away sleep, awaiting their bedtime lullabyes. They were more than cousins, they were super cousins. Bound together through time.

It was stunning to see Joseph with Vivi and Benno. I'd never experienced parenthood with a partner, let alone one who was as invested in my children as I was. It felt like a sort of miracle. The way he gently instructed them, nudged them. And the way he listened to them. The look of continual wonder on his face, that these two young humans belonged to him, to us.

I wondered if there would come a day when I wouldn't have to travel back and forth every month. I didn't imagine Benno would be ready for that anytime soon; he was only seventeen and as firmly embedded in 1987 as he was in Greengage. After high school he wanted to go to art school. And after that he dreamed about moving to New York City. Or to Barcelona. Or Paris. He was young—he wanted everything. I wanted everything for him, too. But whenever he told me of his plans, my heart stopped. How could he do all that and regularly come to Greengage, the only place we could all be together? He couldn't.

He'd eventually leave San Francisco. We wouldn't see him every month. Maybe we'd see him once or twice a year. The idea of this separation panicked me, but wasn't this what most children did? Sought out their fortunes? Left home? Moved to a different city? Only saw their parents a few times a year? Yes, it was—but there was one big difference. The fog. Although it was coming regularly now, I still didn't completely trust it. I found myself praying all the time.
Please, God, please. Let this continue. Just let me have this. Let
us
have this.

But for now, I tried to live in the present.

In April, Doro and Rose were in a car accident. They swerved to avoid a bicyclist and were broadsided by a truck. Rose died instantly; Doro passed a few days later. Neither of them had children: they were the last of their lines. I was stunned to find out that they'd left 428 Elizabeth Street to me.

The lawyer delivered a card along with the paperwork. Snoopy in a red plane, sailing off into the sunset. Written in Doro's spidery scribble…

Take care of our grand old lady!

They donated the rest of their fortune (and it was quite sizable) to the Lesbian and Gay Alliance in San Francisco.

How I would miss them.

Benno and Joseph had their own relationship outside of me. They took frequent long walks—rambles, they called them. I was never invited.

“What did you talk about?” I'd ask Joseph when they'd come back.

“Oh, this and that,” was always his answer.

“Do you give him advice?”

“Only if he asks for it.”

I'd continue to push him for details, but Joseph remained mum, so I had to imagine their conversations. What does a father figure teach a son? How to hold your liquor. Always carry a handkerchief (a bandanna in Benno's case), never make excuses, tell the truth except when it will hurt someone's feelings. And women. They must have talked about women. Did Benno have a girlfriend? I had no idea until the day Benno asked if he could skip going to Greengage that month.

“Your sister will be devastated,” I said.

“No, she won't.”

“She will! She lives for your visits.”

“She'll be fine. I'll write, and I've been making a cassette for her.”

“A cassette of what?”

“Music. Thoughts. Conversations. Silly things. Jokes I know she'd like.”

“Well, what am I going to tell her?”

“Tell her I had to see my girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Don't act so surprised.”

“You can't see her on another night?”

“I want to take her to see the Smiths at the Fillmore. A bunch of our friends are going.”

“Who's this girl?”

“A girl. You don't know her. One month, Mom. Come on. Please.”

“I'm sorry—no. We need you in Greengage,” I said.

Benno stomped off to his room. He wouldn't speak to me for two days.

“He's eighteen now,” said Joseph. “He's been so devoted. You can't expect him to come back to Greengage every month.”

He was
only
eighteen. Yes, I could.

Eleven full moons had passed since we'd left Vivi in Greengage, and eleven times the fog had appeared. Joseph and I had a hypothesis. The fog was coming every month and would continue to come every month because of Vivi. She was a bridge, just as Rhonda said she would be. She was holding open the door between the past and the future. The wall of fog still encircled all of Greengage, but time no longer sped up during the twenty-four-hour period of the full moon. Greengage was back on the regular calendar.

“Let's surprise Vivi and Joseph. Let's stay through a full moon this summer,” I said to Benno.

Benno held up a threadbare sweater. “Toss or keep?”

We were going through his drawers. He'd grown two inches—he needed new clothes.

He would be attending the San Francisco Art Institute in September. He'd applied to Pratt and RISD as well, and had been rejected by both. Secretly I was thrilled he'd be living at home for another few years.

“Toss,” I said.

He pressed the blue wool sweater to his nose. “But I love this sweater.”

“Then by all means keep it.” I sat down on his bed. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you.”

“Well—what do you think? Time isn't speeding up anymore. The fog has been coming every month for nearly a year.”

“That would mean we'd get there the morning after the full moon and stay through the next full moon? That would be almost two whole months. That's a long time, Mom.”

I still felt bad about not letting him go to that concert. But I was also scared I was losing him. Every day he became more independent, more insistent on making his own choices.

“It's a big deal, I know, but it means a lot to me. I won't ask you to do this again, I promise. If you want to skip a visit now and then this year, it's okay with me. But let's have this one long visit, the four of us. Please.”

“What about work?”

“I have a month's vacation time saved up and I think they'd let me take a month more as unpaid leave.” Pease had retired. I ran the loan department now.

“What about my job?”

“Tell Morty it's a family trip. He'll understand. You've been with him for so long.”

“Would you stay through the full moon if I didn't go?”

“No, of course not. The only way I'd stay is if you agreed to come.”

“Can I think about it?”

I wasn't going to force him. “Sure. But imagine what it would be like for all four of us to be together for an extended period of time.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Let's be honest. Imagine what it would mean to you. You don't want to stay without me, and you still feel guilty for staying through the full moon when I was nine, right?”

I nodded, my throat swelling. As long as I lived, I would never forgive myself.

“Well, don't. You had a good reason. Martha had just died.”

“That's not a good enough excuse. I wasn't thinking about you.”

“Yep, you weren't thinking about me. That's true. I wasn't the first thing on your mind. But how long are you going to beat yourself up over it? One day I'll be a parent and I'll fuck up, too; I'll stop looking for just a second. I'll make the wrong call, I'll forget to do what I said I'd do, and it will be inexcusable and there will probably be consequences. I know that will happen. And I also know I'll probably carry that guilt with me, because isn't that part of what being a parent is all about? But maybe that guilt isn't a bad thing? Maybe you felt that guilty because you loved me so much. Isn't that good?”

Suddenly he teared up. I hadn't seen him cry in years. I started crying, too.

“You don't have to prove anything to me. You don't have to rewrite the past. It's okay, Mom,” he whispered.

A week later he told me he was in.

We decided we'd leave the day of the July full moon and return the day before he had to start his classes. I couldn't believe we were really doing it.

When I told my mother, she basically moved in for the weeks remaining until we left.

“Mom, you see me every day, you live right downstairs.”

“That's not enough.”

The days passed in a flurry of activity. I put in long hours at work to prepare for my absence; I didn't want to let anyone down. My mother made dinner for us every night—my old favorites, American chop suey, corned beef and potatoes. I let myself be mothered.

I also did some mothering of my own. I took Benno shopping and bought him some new clothes. We browsed Tower Records and hiked from Muir Beach to Tennessee Valley.

And my excitement grew…we were about to have the longest time together as a family that we'd ever had by far.