Valley of the Moon

by Melanie Gideon

  “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I’m not alone, I’m with you.”

  “What happens when I leave?”

  “You’re in seventh grade. You’re not leaving for a long time.”

  “Time is nothing but a construct.”

  “You sound just like Joseph.”

  He smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The 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.

  My 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 voi
ce.

  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.”

  The small blue tablet looked unremarkable. I held it in the palm of my hand. Could this really be the fix?

  Lux’s eyes bored into mine. She’d just handed me a medication that could potentially end our captivity. I should feel just one overriding emotion. Joy. Instead, fear and longing dueled it out inside me, making it quite difficult to summon up the appropriate response.

  “Thank you, I’ll think about it.” I handed the pill back to her.

  “You’ll think about it? What is there to think about, Joseph?”

  “I have responsibilities here. I can’t just leave.”

  “There are plenty of responsible people here. Everybody, in fact.” She crossed her arms. “I understand. You’re worried about how long it will take for the fog to return. Not knowing when you’ll be back. That’s the big question. But I’ve given that a lot of thought and I think this is a good time to risk it. The fog’s been coming more regularly now. In the past four years, it’s never stayed away longer than four months. There were even a few times it came every month. If you average it all out, the fog has been coming roughly every two months.”

  When I’d first met Lux, she was twenty-five. Now she was thirty-four. She had a single crease on her forehead. Faint lines around her mouth. She’d learned to inhabit her beauty; she lived now in all its rooms.

  “Two months! I can’t be gone for that long,” I protested.

  “Why not? Eight weeks is nothing. It will take that long to get acclimated, anyway, assuming you do make it through. We’re probably getting way ahead of ourselves.”

  I could tell by the high color in her cheeks how much she hoped the pill would work.

  “What am I going to do in San Francisco for two months?”

  How would I pass—a man of 1909 in 1984? And did I even want to pass? What if I hated the late twentieth century? What if the fog never returned? What if I got stuck there forever?

  “You’ll be with me. I’ll walk you through everything. Yes, it will be shocking, you’ll be disoriented just like I was disoriented when I first came to Greengage. But you were a patient guide. I’ll be the same for you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  She frowned. “Yes. That’s right. You don’t know. None of us knows anything. There are no guarantees, ever. Are you going to let that stop you?”

  “What if 1984 isn’t right for me?”

  “Then you’ll come back.”

  “What if others want to leave?”

  “Then they’ll go. Jesus, Joseph, it’s time. If you don’t try the beta blockers, somebody else will. And I don’t want it to be somebody else. I want it to be you. You’re the one who needs to do this.”

  She walked up and stood beside me, so close our arms touched. I knew etiquette required that I take a step to the left, reestablishing a proper distance between us; instead I increased the pressure the slightest little bit and waited for her to move her arm. She did not. We both stared straight ahead and pretended our limbs weren’t touching. I thought of that hot summer night down by the creek, Lux in her transparent nightgown, water streaming down her body. How difficult it was to look away from her. The jolt of that realization.

  She was the main reason, perhaps the only reason, I would consider this madness. I was haunted by her. She was the first thing I thought of when I woke in the mornings, and the last before I closed my eyes at night.

  What would it be like to live with her? To wake and see her pad across the room in her pajamas. To wait for her to come home from work every evening. To see her gloriously alive and competent in her own time.

  “I know it’s scary,” she said. “But aren’t you also curious to see everything I’ve been telling you about all these years?”

  I’d given up the idea that we’d ever get out of Greengage long ago. Hope was a torn sail lying on the deck. Lux was the breeze that poked at it.

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “Then you go back to this lovely, lovely life. Don’t you see, Joseph? There’s no way to lose.”

  Oh, but she was wrong—there was everything to lose. Once you let yourself want something, you could never take back the wanting.

  I swallowed the blue tablet anyway.

  “You took off,” panted Lux.

  She was bent over, hands on her knees.

  On
ce I realized it wasn’t going to kill me, I’d ridden the fog like a wave right out of 1909, seventy-five years into the future. I’d run as fast as I could away from Greengage.

  “The trees. The vegetation. It looks exactly the same,” I gasped.

  “How do you feel? Is your heart racing?”

  I took a few deep breaths. The medication was holding my heart rate back. A slightly uncomfortable pressure, but other than that, I felt normal. “I’m fine.”

  Lux looked over my shoulder. “The fog’s still here. Usually as soon as I come through, it vaporizes. It makes this funny sound, a kind of backward whooshing.”

  The fog was far less menacing on this side. It was a puffy, lacy sort of mist.

  “Let’s wait a few minutes, see if it goes,” she said.

  We stood in the clearing for five minutes. When five minutes was up, she checked her watch and mumbled, “Ten minutes more.”

  When those ten minutes had passed, she shook her head bewilderedly. “It’s like it’s watching. It knows one of you is out here. I don’t think it’s going to evaporate, Joseph. Maybe it won’t—not while you’re on this side. It’s keeping the door open for you, so to speak.”

  She turned to me, her eyes bright. “You know what this means? You don’t have to wait—you can go back anytime.”

  I felt strangely cheated hearing this news. Once I’d finally decided to go and had committed myself, I wanted the door to be completely shut behind me. I wanted to be forced to stay in 1984 for a few months so I could experience the heightened reality of being exiled with her.

  “I guess I should go back,” I said. I had a responsibility to tell everybody that it had worked, that they could take a beta blocker and leave Greengage, too.

  “Do you want to go back?” asked Lux.

  Her braid had loosened. Two long tendrils crept down her neck.

  “No.”

  “Then don’t. You’re not expected for at least a month. After everything you’ve been through, nobody would begrudge you that.”

  She nodded at me, seeking my approval. We were making some private decision that could only be made because we were standing together on the other side of the fog.

  I heard a rushing sound far in the distance. And closer by, music. A radio?

  “The highway,” she said. “And—” She listened for a moment. “Steely Dan. An oldie.” She laughed. “Perfect! ‘Reeling in the Years.’ It’s a sign.”