Long Snows Moon

by Stacey Darlington

  “My old bathroom, Bat-Moon,” she slurred.

  Moon led her off the patio and out into the yard to a pathway to the rear of the house. It was a route she’d used many times as a teenager when sneaking out of the house. They went into the kitchen and up the back stairway to the second floor. Devon staggered down the hallway to her childhood bedroom.

  Devon rushed into the adjoining bathroom, swooning from the booze. She performed a clumsy swan dive to the commode. She caught herself on the back of the toilet with her left hand, with her right she flicked up the lid. She dropped to her knees and gauged the adequate distance from the water to avoid maximum splash. She was a professional puker.

  Moon tugged a towel off the rack and wiped Devon’s face, she flushed the toilet with her paw.

  “Thanks, Moon,” Devon mumbled as she fainted against the cool tile.

  Moon rested her head on Devon’s chest.

  “I guess I had one too many, huh?”

  Moon blinked her wise eyes.

  “A few too many, okay, but, I’m the one paying for it. Throwing up isn’t fun, you know. I wish you could get me a glass of water. My throat is raw. Oh no, I think I’m going to get sick again.”

  Devon appreciated the moral support. Moon did her thing with the towel and the toilet. Devon writhed and beseeched God to let her keep the rest. Some shot out of her nose, like a backward martini nose douche. She would try to remember that the next time she drank a martini.

  She woke up with water splashing her face. Moon stood over her, a plastic cup dangled from her teeth

  “You brought me water? Moon, you’re too good to me.” She gulped it, disappointed it but was a mere sip.

  Moon took the cup and dunked it in the toilet. She nudged Devon to take it.

  “No thanks.”

  Devon perched her chin on the porcelain rim. As she stared into the toilet bowl, she considered the past ten years of her life. She refunded what remained of the vodka and wilted to the floor and wondered if just she drank toilet water.

  Moon nudged her and barked.

  “Is someone coming?”

  Moon barked once.

  Devon used her foot to close the door. No one had any business upstairs and nobody would have reason to visit Devon’s old bedroom. Except Devon’s mother.

  She smelled her mother’s perfume, Opium. She’d worn the same scent for as long as Devon remembered. She smiled and inhaled the familiar aroma feeling less drunk. Devon crawled forward and cracked the door in time to see Analise enter the bedroom. She sat on the bed and held Mr. Noodles, one of Devon’s many stuffed dogs, against her chest. Mr. Noodles was a beagle that barked when you pulled his string. Her mother turned the toy over and smiled.

  “Do not pull the string,” Devon whispered. “Do not pull it.” Devon gave Moon a panicked look.

  Analise returned the toy atop the mountain of others and began to cry.

  Devon knew she was prying on a private moment and retreated from the door fighting the urge to rush to her mother and wipe her tears. Why would her mother be in Devon’s old room crying at her own party? Maybe Trevor had told her about the divorce. No, he was a too much of a coward. Maybe it was because she was having a birthday today. Unlikely. Her mother wasn’t vain, besides, she was fit and trim and youthful enough people often mistook them for sisters. Devon went in for another peek.

  Analise hung her head and her hair obscured her face. Claire sat on the bed and brushed it away.

  “What’s wrong, Birthday Girl?”

  Devon retreated but was still able to hear them.

  “I’m going to miss her so much,” Analise wailed. “Can’t I tell her good-bye?”

  “It’s not part of the plan, she won’t understand. None of them will. We said we would cut all ties. It’s the only way.”

  “She will understand. She is a free thinker, you know. She’s dealt with Trevor all these years.”

  “I agree Devon is intelligent and open, that’s not the point. We have waited a long time, Ana, over thirty years. It’s our turn to be happy. ”

  It was all too intriguing not to listen. Besides, proximity wouldn’t allow her not to, and on top of it all she’d been there first. Still, she didn’t have to peek, but the profound silence following the statement made Devon wonder if they left.

  She was stealthy as she inched to the door. She peered through the opening. The scene was so unexpected it caught her off guard. Her sudden recoil spilled the glass of toilet water. Her hand slipped on the water and she hit the back of her head on the toilet. The instant before she blacked out she remembered thinking she had never seen her mother kiss her father that way.

  * * * *

  “Now I finally see,” Devon frowned. A cloud sailed above in the shape of an owl perched on a branch. It nodded at her as if offering wisdom as it crossed the sky. She looked over and saw Moon watching the sky, too. When Devon looked back, the owl was gone, replaced by the shape of a howling wolf. She smiled, feeling as if it were a secret greeting.

  “It all makes perfect sense,” she breathed. “Why was I too blind to realize this before?”

  Devon sat up and rubbed the back of her head as the night’s events rumbled around inside. “Those hypocrites. Their whole lives are nothing than one elaborate charade. How long have they been together? Is that why they made me marry Trevor? I can’t wait to watch the mighty Claire squirm when I tell her I know the truth.”

  Devon jogged back down the path and out of the woods vacillating between the rage of betrayal and the glee of tormenting Claire. She and Moon emerged from the woods as Claire’s enormous black Mercedes rolled by. Analise was in the passenger seat and Devon was close enough to see stacks of luggage in the back.

  “Hey!” Devon called, but the car windows were up and the women were oblivious to anyone but one another.

  She raced back home and dialed her mother’s cell phone. Her mouth dropped when she heard the service disconnection. Her heart pounded in her ears when she got the same message from Claire’s phone.

  “I don’t even get the courtesy of a good-bye,” she screamed at her cell phone. “I can’t believe they really left.”

  Her head began to swim and she thought she was about to have an instant replay of last night’s main event. She trudged to her bar and jerked a bottle of bourbon off the shelf. She took a long pull, enduring the awful burning in her throat. The bourbon cleared her head. She took another drink and regarded the bottle with a fond stare. After another hefty pull, she placed it on the bar and ran upstairs to her bedroom.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and dialed her mother’s number again listening to the disconnection notice.

  The room started to spin and sudden nausea rose in her throat. She wished she had brought the bottle upstairs. Devon was a stranger in her own home. Even though Trevor left that morning, he had been gone for a long time. Her bedroom seemed ridiculous and foreign.

  “What is going on? Why is everyone leaving me?”

  Moon jumped on the bed and nuzzled her.

  Devon cuddled her pet. “I know, not you, never you.” She stroked Moon’s head. “We should get the hell out of here, too. We have no reason to stay. Where do you want to go? The Georgia Mountains?”

  Moon barked twice. She jumped off the bed and trotted to the balcony.

  The bird sunned itself on the chaise. She started to call Moon back, but watched, intrigued as Moon communed with it. It seemed odd that the bird was unafraid. Moon was part wolf, after all. It squawked with great importance. Moon listened with interest. The bird hopped up on the stone railing and penetrated Devon with its eyes. Devon chuckled at the bird’s odd posture and intense stare. It was as if it wanted to tell her something.

  “I don’t speak bird,” she smirked. She started to go downstairs to get the bourbon when the nervy bird flew into Devon’s bedroom. Devon ducked when the bird flapped by her head. It circled the room twice before depositing it last meal on her bed. Before Devon objected, it and flew out t
he French doors.

  Devon rushed to the balcony in time to watch the bird soar up into the sky and head west.

  “That was surreal. Was that a raven?” Devon wondered aloud.

  Moon barked once.

  Devon smiled. “Do you even know what a raven is?”

  Moon barked once. She went inside and returned with a book.

  Devon felt the blood drain from her face. The book was a recent purchase. It was about totem animals, but how in the world did Moon know that?

  “You freak me out sometimes,” she said. “You really do.”

  Moon barked twice.

  “Not in a bad way.” Devon dropped to the floor, opened to the chapter on the raven, and read it aloud. Moon listened, tilting her head from side to side, as if she understood.

  “The raven is the spreader of knowledge,” Devon pondered. “It is a harbinger of change and purveyor of spiritual growth, the defender of truth and the keeper of secrets. It is a trickster. It represents shape shifting and magic. I wonder if the bird has some meaning. Maybe it’s a sign.”

  Moon barked once.

  “You think the raven came here for me? Should we follow the raven west?”

  Moon barked in agreement.

  Devon smiled, excited about the idea. “We can go to the lodge. That’s west from here and I wouldn’t mind skiing and getting cozy by the fire with my boys Jack and Johnnie.”

  Moon got up when Devon mentioned whiskey.

  “Don’t be a fuddy-duddy. A little drink here and there can’t kill me. I just need to avoid vodka, I think.”

  Moon barked once and stomped her foot in agreement.

  “I want to visit the Four Corners monument. I will never forget the tepee shaped store off the last exit before the cabin. I told you about that place, remember? That’s where you were born. That’s where they got you.” She smiled at the memory of Jameson with the wolf-puppies and the sexy eyes. “I have always dreamed about going back there and finding her.”

  Devon touched the indentation at the base of her neck, feeling for the arrowhead. If it had been up to her, she would have never taken it off. She battled Claire and lost, as usual, when Claire insisted she take it off for her debutante party. The feel of it around her neck lingered, long after she removed it. She felt it there now, the chill of the amethyst as it grew warm against her throat, the etched serrations, and the pointed tip.

  She sighed remembering how intense Jameson was, how profound and intellectual for a young girl. How sensual was her touch.

  “So intimate,” she whispered. “I wonder if the store is still there.”

  Moon barked once.

  “You’re psychic now?”

  Moon bounded onto Devon’s bed. She grabbed the pillows in her teeth and, one by one, flung them at Devon.

  “Okay, we’ll go. Let’s follow the bird of magic and secrets and look for the tepee shaped store and the girl with the cat-eyes.”

  Moon followed Devon into the bathroom and watched as she collected and packed. Devon fished the arrowhead from the recesses of her jewelry box. She held it up and smiled as it winked under the fluorescent lights. The jags and ridges were familiar though she had not held it in almost fifteen years. She felt empowered by it, amazed by the heat emanating from it. She grinned and shoved it into her jeans pocket.

  Devon yanked off her wedding ring. “This has been a long time coming,” Devon said as she stood over the toilet. “There couldn’t be a more perfect place for it.” She dropped it into the toilet bowl. She took off the diamond choker from the previous night and started to do the same with it.

  “No need to let good jewelry go to waste.” She took off Moon’s collar and tags and replaced it with the elaborate choker. “That looks fabulous on you. Now let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

  * * * *

  Devon and Moon headed west as the sun came down. It was a Sunday and the Interstate was theirs. The windows and sunroof where open but Devon was oblivious to the bitter wind on her face. Moon was made for winter weather and would have enjoyed the ride if Devon felt better. Only when Moon placed her front paws on Devon’s arm stared at her with troubled eyes, did Devon realize she’d been crying aloud. The sight of Moon’s sympathetic gaze set Devon crying even harder and she even pulled off the road a time or two.

  It was a lousy way to start the winter, the time of year her family ever spent any time together. Now here she was more alone than ever, while the integral people in her life were gone. Trevor found the balls to tear him from his mother’s apron. Her mother and Claire vanished, weary from hiding their secret life.

  Without even realizing it, she ended up parked in front of her parent’s estate. She let herself in with her key and stood in the massive foyer. Memories of her life were a blur and this place, too, seemed foreign. She reached into her pocket, comforted by the arrowhead.

  She went into the study afraid to find her father there but knowing she would not. He was a rare ghost that haunted the house. She was sure it would take him weeks before he knew her mother was gone for good. She picked up the phone on his desk to call him but replaced the receiver without even trying.

  Her steps echoed through the house that last night had been teeming with people making merry. Now all evidence of the party was gone. The house was a tomb, a numbing hollow mausoleum. Devon made herself a drink at the wet bar and took it upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. She sat at the bathroom vanity and frowned at the bleak counter-top. If the creams, puffs, and powders were gone, her mother had truly made her bold move. All that remained was a magnifying mirror and a bottle of Chanel opened and sprayed once. Devon spritzed some on her wrist and wrinkled her nose in distaste. No wonder her mother left it. She downed her drink and left her glass there. She went for her mother’s closet.

  It was as empty as a schoolyard on Sunday. Devon walked inside and looked around for a clue. She slid down the wall to the carpeted floor and held her head in her hands.

  “You could have told me,” she whispered. “I would have understood.”

  Moon came in and nudged her, licked the tears from her face. She took Devon’s sleeve in her teeth and tugged.

  Devon sighed. “You’re right, let’s go.” She got up and followed Moon out of the house and back into her Range Rover.

  * * * *

  When the sun surrendered to the night sky, Devon checked into a motel and asked for a room in the back. As she walked under the waxing moon, she realized she’d been stroking the arrowhead in her pocket. She took it out and smiled.

  “Am I crazy?”

  Moon barked once.

  “You’re right I am crazy. Hell, I’m so crazy I think I’ll put it on.” The arrowhead swung on thin piece of leather that had seen its best day. Devon tied it around her neck. “There, I just turned back time. I’m a kid again.”

  Moon howled with obvious delight.

  The hotel room reminded her of a thrift store with mismatched furniture and dirty retro curtains. Twin nightstands pockmarked with cigarette burns flanked a king-size bed with a dip in the middle the size of a kiddy pool. The television was an archaic beast hunched on the dresser, a gargoyle standing sentry over the eighties time capsule. She grimaced as she stripped the comforter off the bed and placed it on the chair. Her college roommate, Emily Lang, told her side of the road motels rarely washed their comforters. She checked the sheets with a scrupulous eye before flopping on the bed. Moon joined her, nestled in the crook of her arm, and fell asleep.

  Devon stroked her head. “A dog’s life,” she whispered, “a life without worry.”

  She couldn’t get comfortable thinking about the dirty sheets, or ‘hot sheet’ as Emily called them. She hadn’t thought of Emily Lang in years. She’d tucked that memory out of her mind the day she said ‘I do’ to Trevor Danforth. She realized she was good about pushing things out of her mind. It was a real talent.

  Devon felt a rush at the memory of their first kiss. Why would she have suppressed a delicious reminiscence? Emi
ly’s kisses tasted like wintergreen gum and spiced rum. Devon remembered being drunk on both until the morning sun intruded.

  She shuddered at the thought of her mother kissing Claire. Hers had been a one-time encounter, no big deal. In fact, she hadn’t had any viable connection since, except for Moon. It was hard to guess how long the relationship between her mother and Claire had been going on.

  She thought of the girl with the wolf puppies whose name she couldn’t quite hear that day. The girl who gave her the amethyst and visited her dreams as a child, who later starred in sweltering, pubescent daydreams. Devon's hand drifted to its usual place when she thought of the girl. She withdrew her hand and went for her bottle. She shelved the feelings into the same shameful place she kept her memories of Emily Lang.

  Devon slid out from under Moon, careful not to wake her. She wrestled the bottle of bourbon from her overnight bag, smiling. Oh, yes, Jack Black had made the cut, oh faithful friend. The bourbon served her better here than on the bar at home in a huge empty house with no one to appreciate its comforting attributes. She didn’t bother with a glass with no one around to impress. Moon peered up and sighed in disapproval.

  Devon made a face at her and slumped in a chair. She picked up her cell phone and shook it like a rattle.

  “Call me, Mom, call me!” She took a long pull from the bottle and threw the phone on the bed. It hit Moon on the rear end. Moon raised her head. She seemed as perturbed as a dog could.

  “Sorry,” Devon said as she swaggered to retrieve her phone. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Your Majesty the Queen.”

  Moon buried her head under the covers and gave her a muffled bark.

  “Where did they go? Why didn’t they tell me? Why the hell did they turn off their phones?”

  In response, her phone rang. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Where is my mother?” he demanded.

  “Where is my mother?” she mimicked. “I have her tied to a chair right in front of me showing her pictures of you in my gowns and heels.”

  “Don’t be bitchy, what’s going on?” Trevor demanded in the growl that would rival Moon’s. “I need to speak with her.”