I played dumb. “What?”
I wanted to keep us a secret for a while. Just until I knew for sure that it was real.
“Are you crazy?” I said.
She stopped. “Look at me.”
“No.” I pushed ahead of her on the staircase.
“Lux, what the fuck. Look at me.”
I spun around and faced her, my hands on my hips. She broke into a broad smile.
“My God, you’re in love with him, too.”
I groaned.
“What’s wrong? That’s not a bad thing. That’s a really good thing.”
“Don’t tell anybody.”
“Who am I going to tell?”
“Ginger. Benno.”
“Where is Benno?”
“He’s staying at a friend’s house. He’ll be back tonight.”
“But why don’t you want to tell him? He adores Joseph. He’ll be thrilled.”
I hung my head. “I don’t want to get his hopes up. What if it’s a fling?”
“A fling? You’ve been traveling back in time for almost ten years now in order to see this man, and he risked life and limb to get to San Francisco. He put all thought of his own safety aside—that’s how much he wanted to be with you here.”
She grabbed me by the upper arms and shook me a little. “You have loved each other through time. A fling. Please, Lux. Don’t insult what the two of you have.”
“I’m an idiot!” I cried.
She hugged me. “No, honey. You’re just scared. You have something to lose now.”
—
After Rhonda left, Joseph carried me to bed again, like a child or a bride; I felt like both.
He carefully undressed me. After he slid off my underwear, he climbed into bed next to me, shirtless, but still in his jeans. I could feel his erection through the material, stiffening against my leg.
I got a condom out of my bedside table. We hadn’t used one before, but I’d just finished my period, so I was safe.
“Here.” I pressed the condom into his hand.
He looked confused, then embarrassed. “I don’t need this. We don’t need this.”
I sat up. “Look, last night was an anomaly. What happened between us—it was so unexpected I didn’t think. But I’m thinking now and you have to wear a condom. The chances are slim I’d get pregnant, given where I am in my cycle, but I can’t risk it.”
“I wouldn’t have done that to you. I wouldn’t have put you at risk.” He grimaced. “I’m sterile. I’m unable to have children. We don’t have to use any kind of contraception.” He rolled over onto his back and stared dejectedly up at the ceiling. “The reason Martha and I never had children was because I wasn’t able to.”
I’d just assumed they hadn’t had children because they were so devoted to the farm; Greengage was their child.
“I had no idea. You and Martha seemed so content.”
“Nobody knew, except Fancy.”
“Did you want children?”
“God, yes.”
He was so amazing with Benno. Such a natural. “I’m so sorry, Joseph.” He laid his head on my chest and wept.
I found myself counting to eight over and over. It took me a few hours to realize this was happening. At first it was the quietest of background noises, virtually impossible to detect unless you brought all your focus to bear on the sound. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Like a ringing in the ear that drifts in and out. But soon, just in.
I took a shower to try to rid myself of it. I let the water pound on my head. It worked. The numbers receded, but once I was dressed they returned.
“I keep counting to eight,” I told Lux.
“What do you mean?”
“Counting off.”
“Numbers?”
“Yes. One, two, three, four—all the way to eight.”
“And then what?”
“Then I start all over again.”
“Really? Are you doing it now?”
“No, Lux, I can’t count and talk.”
“So keep talking.”
“That’s not a solution. I can’t talk all day long.”
She frowned. “An inner-ear thing? You still feeling off-balance?”
“A little.”
“Maybe you’re just anxious. When I get anxious, I repeat a phrase over and over again in my mind. A silly thing, like ‘Green, yellow, green, yellow.’ It gives me distance. Allows me to step outside the anxiety. Maybe that’s what you’re doing. Mentally trying to keep calm.”
Fine. Anxiety it was. I grabbed onto that explanation and for the rest of the day forced myself to believe it. Until Benno burst through the door that evening, dropped his bag on the floor, and looked at me with disbelief and delight.
One, two, three, four—the numbers unspooled, faster and faster.
“What the hell,” said Benno. “How are you here?”
“Beta blockers,” said Lux. “They slow down your heart. I got them from Rhonda. I don’t know why I never thought of it before.”
His eyes shifted back and forth between the two of us.
“Well, Jesus.” He leapt forward and hugged me.
I stood stiffly, my arms down by my sides; we’d never embraced before.
“Welcome to San Francisco, man. Welcome to the modern world. How long are you staying?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Does this mean you’ll be coming back and forth like we do? Does this mean everybody in Greengage can come?”
“Whoa, you’re getting ahead of yourself, Benno. He’s only been here since Friday night,” said Lux.
“This is awesome.” Then Benno’s face clouded over. “What are we going to tell people? How are we gonna explain him?”
“He’s an old family friend, that’s all you have to say.”
Benno grinned. “I can’t believe it. You’re standing right in front of me. In our living room,” he caroled.
He threw his arms around me again and this time I embraced him back.
—
Lux and I didn’t have a minute alone for the rest of the night, but I really didn’t mind. Benno wanted to show me everything: his Nintendo, his Rubik’s Cube. His photographs.
The Brownie camera I’d given Benno had been the beginning of an obsession for him. He’d taken a photography course. He’d spent hours at the library poring over books of photos. His tastes were eclectic. On his last visit to Greengage, he had rattled off names of famous photographers that he loved—none of which were familiar to me: Henri Cartier-Bresson, Diane Arbus, and Walker Evans. Man Ray, Ansel Adams, and Mary Ellen Mark.
Now I had the opportunity to examine Benno’s photos. The subject matter was varied, some portraits and landscapes. Buildings. Crowds. In some instances he’d shot so close up I couldn’t tell what the image was. His photos had a grit and beauty that belied his fourteen years.
“Do you like them?” he asked. “I know some of them aren’t so great. This one’s sort of overexposed and…”
I glanced at Lux. Here was all her hard work. Here was her undying love.
“Tell me more,” I said.
—
Lux announced she was going to bed.
“I’m not going to bed yet. It’s too early,” said Benno. “I want Joseph to see MTV.”
“Does Joseph want to see MTV?” she asked.
“It’s fine,” I said. In truth, I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to let Benno down.
“Okay. Don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night,” she said to Benno.
Benno jumped up from the couch to change the channel. Lux went to the bathroom and closed the door.
I stared at the bathroom door, willing her to emerge. Finally she came out, dressed in her nightgown, her hair loose. She looked down at the floor, then boldly swept her gaze up to me.
I hadn’t told Lux, but today I’d had to take three beta blockers.
One, two, three, four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
&nb
sp; I knew what the counting was now. My heartbeat—speeding up. Meting out the days.
On Monday I called Mr. Pease and told him that I had an urgent family matter I had to attend to, and therefore he would need to find somebody to fill my shifts all week. I didn’t give him a chance to say no.
Joseph looked pale.
“I’m worried,” I said. “I should take you to my doctor.”
“And say what?”
“Say you have a heart problem.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine.
“Please don’t worry,” he said.
“I should just give you some time?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll give you some time.”
He nodded tiredly.
“But why do you look that way?”
“Good God. What way?” He pulled himself erect. Widened his eyes.
“Have you changed your mind?” I asked. “About me? About us?”
“No,” he practically shouted.
“It’s not a stupid question. You might feel over your head. You might feel like you made a mistake. I would understand if that’s the case.”
I was losing him. I could sense him pulling away from me.
Joseph scraped his chair back and walked around the table. He yanked me out of my chair and into his arms.
“Listen to me. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to stay with you and Benno. Nothing. No matter what happens, you have to know that.”
“Then stay,” I begged him. “Don’t leave before you have to go. I know you’re scared; I know this is a lot to adjust to. You’re not going to be able to absorb everything in a week. We have all the time in the world for you to adjust to life here. Weeks. Months, if you want it.”
He hesitated and murmured, “All right. Yes.”
That afternoon we picked Benno up from school and the three of us took a stroll down Market Street. I caught a glimpse of our reflection in a store window. We looked—like a family. Remember this, I told myself.
I’d taken three beta blockers already today. Soon I’d be in need of a fourth.
“Oh, look, Benno. Lotta’s Fountain,” said Lux. “Let’s show Joseph.”
“Who’s Lotta?” I asked as we approached the cast-iron fountain.
“I think she was a singer or a showgirl,” said Lux.
“She was a vaudeville performer,” said Benno.
“How do you know that?” asked Lux.
“We came here on a field trip in sixth grade. Her big claim to fame was that she had the most beautiful ankles in the world.”
“People gathered here after the 1906 earthquake,” explained Lux. “This was the meeting place. Where people came looking for their loved ones.”
The fountain was in utter disrepair. The lion heads defaced with red paint, all the panes of glass on the lantern either missing or cracked.
A sudden rage washed over me. Why had no one come looking for us?
“They should clean it up. Paint it or something,” said Benno. He glanced at me. “They should take care of it better.”
“Oh God, Joseph. I didn’t think. I shouldn’t have brought you here,” said Lux.
—
“I have something to tell you,” Lux said, just before dinner. “Something I feel terrible about.”
A chicken was roasting in the oven. A loaf of bread sat on the table, slathered with butter and garlic. Benno was in the living room watching TV.
“I’ve kept something from you. The first time I came back from Greengage? I went to the library.” She shook her head. “Stupid. I was so stupid. I was trying to prove to Rhonda you existed. I knew you existed. That should have been all I needed.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I sighed. “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” she said sadly. “There was no record of Greengage and no record of any of you. I had the census reports checked back to the 1850s. It was like you never existed. I should have told you right away. But I just thought, what’s the point? Why hurt you unnecessarily? Wasn’t it better to just let you go on thinking your families had looked for you? That you’d always be remembered?”
My vision blurred. The room spun.
When I came to, I was on the floor. Benno and Lux hovered over me.
“Did you forget to take your meds this morning?” asked Lux.
“No.” It was the only word I could manage, my heart was beating so quickly. I pressed my hand on my chest in vain, as if I could slow it down.
“Can you swallow?” asked Lux.
Benno gently propped me up. Lux gave me two pills.
“I want you to rest now. Stay in one position. Don’t even move your head,” she instructed me.
I stared at the ceiling obediently.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
I closed them. A racehorse in my chest. Galloping, galloping. I blacked out again.
—
When I woke, I was in the car. Lux was driving. Benno sat with me in the backseat.
“He’s awake,” Benno said.
“Hold on. We’re almost there,” she said.
I felt dizzy and nauseous.
“I gave you a Valium along with the beta blocker,” said Lux. “To keep you calm.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
—
I don’t remember walking through the woods. Lux told me they half carried, half dragged me. I have a faint recollection of somebody crying, then the scent of bacon and freshly baked bread. When we stepped into Greengage, my heart rate went back to normal and I knew I would never see 1984 again.
For four short days I thought I could have it all. With the help of the beta blockers, Joseph could pass freely between my world and his. Now we knew that was a fantasy.
“You could stay,” he said. “Both you and Benno. You could stay.”
He looked so miserable. It was midmorning; everybody was off working. Nobody except the kitchen crew even knew we were back.
Elisabetta and Benno sat about twenty-five feet away from us at a table. Benno shoveled food into his mouth—bacon and a roll smeared with butter. That boy could eat three breakfasts every morning if I let him. Elisabetta kept glancing at us nervously.
“We can’t stay, Joseph. Benno has school. He’s already been absent five days this semester. He can’t miss any more.”
“He can go to school in Greengage.”
“His life is back home.”
“He has a life here, too.”
“Yes, he does. But it’s not the same for him as it is for me. I’m thirty-four. I’ve had plenty of time in my world. I could stay, I could make that choice, God knows I’ve thought about it. But Benno’s only fourteen, not old enough to make a mature decision, and he isn’t ready to commit to Greengage. Maybe someday. But not yet.”
Aware of the kitchen crew’s eyes on me, I did not reach out and touch him, although it took everything I had not to throw myself into his arms.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” I said.
He looked down at the floor despondently and I knew what he was thinking. Who knew how long it would be for me?
“A month. Maybe two. The fog is coming more regularly. The stretches have been shorter and shorter,” I reminded him.
“How can you be so hopeful?”
“Because I understand now,” I said. “The hours, the days, the months are irrelevant. Joseph, don’t you see that?”
The fog had brought us together; it would not keep us apart.
But the fog did not materialize the next month or the month after that. I was distraught—it physically hurt to be away from Joseph; my body ached for him. The only thing that kept me sane was knowing he had no idea. Time was passing normally for him. He could look on his calendar and mark the days until he saw me again. I, however, avoided the calendar; it was too painful of a reminder.
So it wasn’t unti
l the second fogless month that I realized I’d missed my period.
I’d believed Joseph when he said he was sterile. Apparently he’d had sex without contraception with Martha for twenty years and never impregnated her. How did they test men for sterility back then? Clearly it wasn’t foolproof, because it must have been Martha who’d been barren.
There should be a word to describe the particular combination of shock and fate one feels when faced with unimaginable news. I didn’t tell anybody for a while. Instead I stood on the shore of this new reality, testing the temperature. Despite my panic and burgeoning list of questions (How would Joseph feel about this? When would the fog return? What about my job? How would my parents react?), the most delicious anticipation began to flutter through me. The utter rightness of this conception.
Joseph would be elated. We would figure it out.
I wanted to do this for him—for us. A child. Our child. I had the sense she or he had been there all along, waiting, as I’d been waiting, as Joseph had been waiting all these years.
As soon as we’d returned from Greengage, I’d told Benno about me and Joseph.
“Great,” he’d said.
“That’s not a big deal? That’s not weird for you?”
“It would be weird if you weren’t together. I mean, anybody could have seen that coming.”
Okay, fine, being a couple was one thing, but being pregnant with Joseph’s child was another. What would Benno think? Here I was, in the same position I’d been in with him. A single mother, pregnant again.
I tried to soften the blow with waffles at Mel’s.
“You’re not hungry?” Benno asked after I’d broken the news.
“I don’t have much of an appetite these days.” Actually, I was trying to keep from gagging at the smell of the fake maple syrup.
He chewed thoughtfully. “I think you should keep it. Him. Or her,” he added. “But I think it’s a her.”
“You do? You—?”
He reached across the table and put his hand over mine. “This is a good thing, Mom.”
“Even if I have no idea when we’ll be able to get back to Greengage? Even if I’m all alone?”
“You’re not alone. You have me. Besides, I was sick of being an only child: all that attention, all that pressure to succeed. I’m sick of getting straight A’s. Let somebody else get straight A’s!” He grinned.
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