by Rio Youers
Paula and Doris looked at each other, clutching their Kleenex. Angela shook her head and stared at Valerie.
“I haven’t seen a watch—or any timepiece other than the sun—for four years. But I know what one looks like, and I know what one represents. Not a prison, Valerie, but system, order, and continuity. It’s all about perspective. Where you see restraints, I see possibility.”
Again, an answer for everything. Valerie sneered.
“I want to thank you,” Angela continued, “for everything you’ve done. You provided comfort when we were downtrodden and afraid. More importantly, you gave us the freedom and space to regain our Christian strength.”
“A true Samaritan,” Doris sobbed.
“Our appreciation is sincere, Valerie.” Never Mother Moon—not with this one. “But we are being called by a higher power.”
“Very well,” Valerie said.
Angela lifted her chin and said, “I’ve been very generous over the years, but from this point forward my money will be shared with the True Light House of God.”
“I’m sure they’ll be very grateful,” Valerie said. She had a stone caught in her throat that pinched when she swallowed. “And of course, I have to remind you—in order to protect the people here, and everything we’ve built—not to tell anybody about us. There are a lot of broken Americans out there, as you’ll discover, and I fear we’ll be overrun.”
“We’ll direct them to God’s light,” Angela said. “Which can shine on all, and has no maximum capacity.”
“Similarly, we’ll not talk about you when you’re gone. One of our great successes is in embracing the present, not dwelling on the past. Your names will never be mentioned.”
“It’ll be like we were never here,” Angela said. She turned to Paula and Doris. They nodded. “We can accept that.”
“Nolan is off-community at the moment.” Valerie stepped toward the three women, squaring her shoulders to appear undaunted. “As soon as he returns, I’ll arrange for him take you home.”
“Jesus will be glad to see us,” Angela said.
Valerie said, “Yes, he will.”
* * *
Nolan returned a week later, full of energy. He all but skipped up the pathway toward Valerie’s cabin. As if his shit don’t stink, she thought.
“Good news,” he said by way of greeting, and with all the enthusiasm of a stage actor delivering his only line.
Valerie sat on her front step, glass of water in hand. She’d been watching her worker ants do their thing: gathering crops, chopping wood, moving supplies between the storage barn and the canteen. It was quite relaxing, in its way. Now she turned her attention to Nolan, one eyebrow raised skeptically.
“Are you okay?” he asked. They’d known each other a long time. It wasn’t an intimate relationship, but he knew her as well as anybody ever had—including Pace, including her fuckwad parents—and could tell when she was in a shitty mood.
“I’m just peachy,” she snapped. “Tell me the good news.”
“Sure. Okay.” He also knew when not to push. “We’ve got three new people coming in. A father and his two girls. Mommy dearest was a teacher at Flint Wood High. And yes, I know it’s risky to recruit our own victims, but they were ripe for the picking.”
“Children?” Valerie curled her lip. “How old?”
“Sixteen and ten,” Nolan responded. “Minds like wet clay, I’ll bet, and looking for a maternal influence in their lives.”
“You don’t know much about young girls, do you?”
“I…” Nolan had no more on the subject. He shut his mouth.
“And does the father have money?” Valerie asked. “A life insurance payout for the wife? Is he selling his house?”
“I’m not sure what his financial arrangement is, and it’s usually not a good idea to ask too many questions.” Nolan folded his arms. His nostrils flared. “Why do you ask?”
Valerie drank from her glass of water, wiped her mouth, and sighed. “We’ve gained three people, and that’s great. Bravo, Nolan. But we’ve also lost three, and that’s definitely not great.”
“Who’d we lose?”
“Paula, Doris, and Angela.”
“Well, fuck.”
“And when Angela goes bye-bye, so does her money.”
Nolan drew his hands down his pale, chiseled face. “Fuck,” he said again. So much for his bouncy mood. “We’ll get through this. We always lose numbers at this time of year. Winter’s on the horizon. People freak out, they—”
“It feels like we’re bleeding people,” Valerie said. “But it’s the money I’m most concerned about. Angela frequently signed over thousands of dollars. Every time I met with the Society, the transport to Engine City, the motels I stayed in … it was all on Angela’s buck.”
“Yeah, she’s like a rich aunt,” Nolan agreed. “And you can’t … you know, persuade her to—”
“She’s God’s girl. I can’t get close.”
Nolan planted his fists on his hips and sighed. “We’ll find a way, I promise you. We can sell the truck. I’ll get a job on the mainland and come back weekends. I’ll commute, at least until I’ve recruited people with money.”
Valerie found a scrap of warmth inside her and used it first to smile, then to take Nolan’s hand. “Yes, Nolan, if fate is kind, we’ll scratch together the money to coordinate a few more events. I’ll find the Skyway, and everything will be roses.”
“I’ll rob a goddamn bank if I have to.”
“Such a faithful puppy.” Her smile slipped. “I can only hope you get what you deserve. The one thing I know for certain is that something is coming. I can feel it. I just don’t know if it’s the beginning, or the end.”
Nolan frowned. His hand dropped from hers and thumped limply against his thigh.
Valerie finished her water, got to her feet. “When do the new people arrive?”
“We have an arrangement for October third,” Nolan replied blankly. “So, yeah … a week from today, unless you have any objections.”
“I don’t,” she said, and nodded toward where Angela Byrne was loading pumpkins into a wheelbarrow. “You’ll have three of God’s little lambs on your outbound journey. He’s calling them home, apparently.”
“I understand,” Nolan said. He pulled a whistling breath into his chest. His gray eyes flickered. “I’ll make sure they get there.”
15
It was easier for Martin to think of it as a temporary move, even though he had no idea how temporary it would be. He kept telling himself six weeks—that was the probationary period—but hoped it would be longer. On his own, he saw himself staying until his beard was long and white and he’d forgotten the Pledge of Allegiance. He was just one-third of the equation, though (and a minor third, at that). Their time on Halcyon would come down to how comfortably the girls settled.
“No phones?” Shirley had complained, and more than once, as if a world without cell phones was inconceivable. “No internet? And this is supposed to help us?”
“It will help,” Martin promised. “We’re going to refresh our pages, focus on what’s important.”
“By going back to prehistoric times? Jesus, will we have to bathe in the river? Kill our own food?”
“We’re doing this, Shirl. It’ll be good for us.”
And maybe it was a blessing that he didn’t know how long they’d be gone. He could be vague about it with the girls and not have to lie. “Think of it as an extended vacation,” he’d say. Or another favorite: “We’re just taking a break from the real world.” It didn’t exactly silence their remonstrations. They were post-millennials being asked to live—albeit temporarily—like the Ingalls kids from Little House on the Prairie. An extreme change of pace, and tough for them to see the benefit, no matter how deeply they were hurting.
Jimmy and Felicity didn’t understand, either. Martin gave them the car—a loaner, he insisted—and the house keys. He’d set Jimmy up as trustee with instructions to sell after
six months, if they hadn’t returned by then.
“Drop the money into my savings account,” he said. “And put all our shit into storage. I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”
“Do you honestly think you’ll be gone that long?” Jimmy asked.
“No, I don’t. This is a precaution.”
Felicity looked at Jimmy, then lowered her eyes. A sympathetic gesture. He’s lost his mind, it said. She sat close enough that Martin could smell her perfume. It was jasmine-scented, more expensive than Curate.
“If you need to get something out of your system,” she started, trying—and failing—to keep the patronizing tenor from her voice. “Then just do it. Go. Visit the Dalai Lama. Run across the country like Forrest Gump. Whatever it is, we get it. And you can leave the girls with us. We’ll look after them until…”
She trailed off, but Jimmy finished for her: “Until you’ve found whatever it is you’re looking for.”
They were in Jimmy and Felicity’s living room, all chrome and dark leather, with a huge 4K TV built into the wall and a stereo system that was worth more than Martin’s car. It was the modern living space of a couple who valued their material possessions, and would surrender them for nothing.
“I’m doing this for the girls,” Martin said. It was perhaps the fifth time he’d tried to explain it to them. “And okay. Sure. For me, too. This is an opportunity to take a deep breath and move forward in a different light. Because it’s all shit right now, and I need to know—and need my girls to know—that there’s still some good in the world.”
“Can you at least tell me where this place is?” Jimmy asked. “You know, for when I need to come rescue you.”
“I don’t know where it is,” Martin said. “I told you that. It’s probably a gated community in the Adirondacks. Or maybe an island on a lake somewhere. It’s close by, that’s all I know.”
“Jesus Christ, listen to yourself. You’re shipping off to some secret location—cut off from the outside world, no phones, no fucking email—because some random guy in a bar showed you a business card.” Jimmy ran his hands through what remained of his hair. “I’m worried about you, man.”
“Well, shit, I know it sounds crazy, but do you know what’s crazier? Sending my daughters to school in the morning and not knowing if they’ll make it home. Checking for suspicious packages every time I use public transit. Going to the movie theater and worrying that some dickless psychopath is going to start shooting the place up.” Martin ran his hands through his hair, too. His was fuller and darker than Jimmy’s, but the expression was the same: total exasperation. “Halcyon may not seem very safe to you, but I have to believe it’s one hell of a lot safer than being out here.”
“Fear and paranoia.” Jimmy shook his head. “That’s why this country is on its knees. It’s not damaged, it’s cowering. And if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.”
“Shit, Jimmy, you’ve hit the nail on the head,” Martin said sarcastically. “And I totally forgot that you volunteer at the Clear Conscience Soup Kitchen, and that you donate thirty percent of every paycheck to the lower classes.”
“Hey, asshole, don’t try to make me feel bad just because I choose to work my ass off. A few more Jimmy Lovegroves and this country is a better place.”
“I’m not arguing with you.” Martin held his hands up and sighed. They were coming at this from different ends and were never going to meet in the middle. “America’s problems go beyond the size of your TV. And I don’t want you thinking this is a protest move or political statement. I’m just taking my family out of the mix for a little while. We can heal quicker if we feel safe.”
“You should move to Canada,” Felicity said. “At least we can visit you there.”
On the morning of October 3, Martin sat at his kitchen table and ran through a brief checklist. He’d taken a leave of absence from work and made a similar arrangement with the girls’ schools. He’d set up direct payments with the bank to cover the bills—there was enough money to keep things ticking over for at least six months. He’d canceled his internet and cable subscription. Ditto Spotify, HBO Go, and Netflix. He’d arranged for Anthony Palazzo—Claudette’s not-so-little brother—to rake the leaves every couple of weeks, and shovel the driveway if they hadn’t returned before the snow blew in. He’d given his car and house keys to Jimmy and Felicity, who’d promised to drop in occasionally and make sure he still had a house, that it hadn’t been ransacked or hit by a tornado. He’d packed one suitcase with clothes and toiletries, and another with towels and bedding. Edith and Shirley had done the same. They were also allowed to bring a few non-electronic personal items. Martin brought Laura’s wedding ring, which he wore on a chain around his neck, a photograph of him and Laura in Rhode Island, and a copy of Kerouac’s On the Road, both his and Laura’s favorite novel, with little love notes scrawled into the margins for each to discover when rereading it. You’re MY girl, MY kind of girlsoul, read one. That’s a GREAT idea: let’s love each other madly, read another.
Martin checked off the items one by one. The only thing he didn’t have was his daughters.
Shirley was in her room, using her last moments of cell-phone coverage to update her social media pages. He glimpsed what she’d posted to Instagram—a shot of the Hindenburg going down in a ball of flame, which she’d captioned: MY LIFE IN ONE PICTURE. This was followed by a string of emojis in various stages of distress, as if the burning zeppelin weren’t graphic enough.
“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Martin said.
She put down her phone. “I still think this is stupid.”
“No. It’s important. We’re going back to good old American values: family, community, helping one another. It’ll make you stronger. So when you come back here and see all the shit on the news, you’ll know it’s not like that everywhere. It’ll give you hope. And if you’re going to build any kind of future for yourself in this country, you need hope.”
She looked at him, her eyes full of sadness, her hair standing in punky black jags. Seeing her like this—a dark outline of the bright girl that was tucked deep inside—he knew they were doing the right thing.
“It’s not forever, right?” she asked.
“It’s not forever,” he said.
He found Edith in the backyard, sitting on the stoop, rocking to and fro with her hands linked behind her head. She didn’t react when Martin sat beside her and placed one hand on her back, because she wasn’t really there. It looked like Edith—a hunched, troubled version of her, at least—but her mind was somewhere far away.
“Hey,” Martin said. “Come on out, babygirl.”
These mental jaunts were still frequent enough to be concerning. The good news was that there’d been no more premonitions—none that had woken her screaming in the night, anyway. Martin wanted to believe they were a thing of the past, but even if they were, she still had problems. “Detached from reality,” her teacher remarked on one of the few days Edith had made it to school. He’d heard similar expressions over the last few months. Lost in her own world … Spaced out … Away with the fairies. Jimmy had admonished him for not taking her to a child psychologist, but Jimmy didn’t know about the streaming. Martin was afraid—as Laura had been—that after digging into Edith’s mind, a shrink would place her on heavy meds, or worse, admit her into a psychiatric facility.
Halcyon would help.
He rubbed her back until she stopped rocking, recalling how she’d loved that as a baby. He’d place her belly-down on her blankie and sit beside her, his hand as wide as her back, rubbing ever so gently, and she’d lie there for however long, cooing and bright-eyed. Now she turned those same eyes toward him, frowning slightly, as if seeing him for the first time, or perhaps waking from a dream.
“You told me you wanted to be safe,” Martin said, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. Her face was ash-colored, so delicate he thought it might break apart if the wind picked up. “It’s time.”
“Come on, babygirl,” he said. “Come on.”
16
Some seventy miles north, on a small island in the blue, blustery middle of Lake Ontario, Nolan Thorne was helping three jolly ladies make the opposite journey. He extended his hand and ushered them from the dock to the boat. They clucked and giggled as the deck pitched gently beneath them. “Safety first, ladies,” Nolan insisted, fishing four bright lifejackets from one of the lockers. They clucked and giggled again as Nolan helped secure them, adjusting and tightening the straps. “The Lord is my true lifejacket,” Doris said mirthfully. Both Paula and Angela laughed at that. So did Nolan. He thought it was very funny.
They took their seats behind the cockpit. Angela started humming, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” and the others joined in. Nolan fetched their luggage from the dock—not much, you never accumulate much on Halcyon—and stowed it securely.
There was no big send-off for the ladies. No fanfare. Mother Moon had numbers to protect, and she didn’t want anybody thinking that returning to the mainland was cause for celebration. There were a few cursory goodbyes, but only Alyssa Prince accompanied them to the dock. She and Doris had a solid bond—an ethnic closeness, Nolan assumed, as if relationships were only determined by skin color.
They waved at each other now. Alyssa very sweetly made the heart symbol with her thumbs and forefingers. Doris—despite her obvious excitement at going home—had little tears in her eyes.