Blue Moon

by Luanne Rice

  “Hey,” he said, stopping across the street from her. She sped up; she probably thought he was a gross old horny guy trying to flash her. “Alison!” he shouted.

  She slammed on her brakes. “T.J.?” she said, her mouth dropping open. “What are you doing driving?”

  “I felt like going for a ride. Want to hop in?”

  “You drive?” she asked, just standing there. “You have your license?”

  “Yeah,” T.J. said, thinking she looked gorgeous in her tight white sweater and white jeans. No one but Alison wore white jeans during the school year.

  “You’re not old enough,” she said.

  “I stayed back,” T.J. lied. “In first grade. Come on.”

  “Okay. Wow,” Alison said.

  T.J. stuck her bike in the truck bed. Then he got in the cab. Alison was looking around, dazed, as if she’d just agreed to take a ride in the space shuttle.

  “I’ve never been in a truck before,” she said.

  No kidding, T.J. thought. Her parents probably had a Mercedes. “I could have brought the Volvo,” he said awkwardly. Never mind that it was the family tank, fifteen years old—the same age as T.J.

  “No, this is awesome,” she said. “I can’t believe you drive.”

  They cruised along without saying anything. T.J. was in shock that his first time alone behind the wheel, he’d picked up Alison McCabe. It seemed like this was meant to be. He glanced sideways at her. She had such a beautiful athletic body, clean swishy hair, and the cutest profile. Everything turned up: her thick eyelashes (from this angle T.J. could see she wore violet mascara), her nose, the corners of her mouth, even her chin.

  “You have dimples,” he said.

  They deepened, her smile growing wide. “When I smile.”

  “You’re always smiling,” T.J. said.

  “You don’t know me very well,” she said. “I have my moments.”

  “Oh, you mean a deep, dark secret?” he teased.

  “Yes, I guess it is.”

  She sounded serious. T.J. shifted down, so he could look right at her. She wasn’t smiling.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she said. “I have problems.”

  “Like what?” More than anything, T.J. wanted Alison to tell him her problems. Maybe she had a split personality. Maybe no one in her family understood her. T.J. pictured them taking the truck to California, right now. Two misunderstood kids escaping their families—the kind of kids River Phoenix and Winona Ryder always played in the movies. They could pretend to be from the same troubled family, a brother and sister in need of lodging. They could call teenage hotlines, stay in runaway shelters. Late at night, when all the other runaways were asleep, they could hold each other under the blankets.

  “Like what problems?” T.J. didn’t want to press her to tell him painful things, but he thought he’d explode if he couldn’t know. “I have problems, too.”

  “What, like your parents are too strict?”

  Suddenly her voice had a mean, bitter edge that T.J. had never heard before.

  “No. Like my sister almost died because of me,” T.J. said.

  “Really? How?” Alison asked. She sounded suspicious, like she didn’t really believe him.

  “She’s only four, and she can’t hear. The one who answered the phone when you thought Belinda was ragging on you.”

  T.J. hadn’t told this story to any of his friends—even Sean, who was there the night of Josie’s accident. T.J. had only said he felt bad for Josie. He’d left out the part that it was his fault. Right now, he didn’t know whether Alison was going to be nice about it or jump out of the truck. He just didn’t want her thinking he was a run-of-the-mill kid with wimp teenage problems, like acne or strict parents.

  “Oh, T.J.,” Alison said. “That must be so awful for her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s still in the hospital?”

  “Uh-huh.” T.J. had thought that telling the story would make him feel better, but instead he felt more depressed.

  “I don’t think it’s your fault. You didn’t know the waiter was coming that exact minute. I think it’s really horrible of your mom to make you feel so bad.”

  “She took it back.”

  “Look, you still feel it, right? It’s written all over your face.”

  T.J. tried to laugh, wondering what she meant. Did he look ugly? Was he going around with a frown all the time? He knew how quickly a frown could turn a person ugly.

  Alison undid her seat belt and slid across the seat toward him. She brushed her fingertips across his forehead, just above his stitches. “How did that happen?”

  “Trying to get to Josie.”

  “Your mom sounds really sick,” Alison said. “Blaming you when you got hurt trying to help.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me?” T.J. asked, really wanting her to get off the subject of his mom.

  “Tell you what?”

  T.J. didn’t like being played with, and he knew that was what Alison was doing. So he kept his mouth shut and drove along, like he didn’t care.

  “Oh, you mean about my problems?” she finally asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Alison exhaled, as if she were trying to get up the courage to tell him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I started off kidding, saying I have problems. I mean, people always say that, but the problems turn out to be something stupid, like their parents are getting divorced. You know?”

  “That’s stupid?” T.J. asked, thinking that someone’s parents getting divorced counted as a pretty big problem.

  “But then you told me about Josie. So maybe I can tell you.”

  “You can.”

  “Okay,” Alison said. “My parents are getting divorced.”

  Billy drove the Norboca across the waves, through the night, into the North Atlantic. The two guys on watch, Cliff Sherman and Joe Markopolous, stood on deck talking. Their voices drifted back to Billy in the wheelhouse; he saw their cigarettes glowing in the dark. He steered out to sea, but his thoughts turned back to home. To Cass.

  This morning, he’d seen her emotions veering out of control. He’d felt it at the breakfast table. Leaving her now, with Josie still in the hospital, had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. When he’d looked at her eyes, at the face he loved more than any in the world, he’d seen her hiding some terrifying fear. As if she hadn’t expected her life to turn out to be so difficult; as if, somewhere along the line, their lives had gotten too complicated for her to handle, and she didn’t know what to do. It killed Billy, because he didn’t know what to do, either.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave, but now it felt good to be away. He breathed the cold air, so dry it made his throat ache. Overhead, the stars blazed. Billy knew these northern stars; he followed them to the fishing grounds. Even with all the electronic equipment onboard, Billy still would rather steer by the stars. The Milky Way swept across the sky, filmy as a woman’s scarf.

  “Pretty night,” Cliff said, coming into the wheelhouse. “We’re making good time.”

  “We’ll be fishing before dawn,” Billy said.

  “Maybe I’ll sleep a little,” Cliff said. “If you can spare me.”

  “No problem.”

  “Hey, it’s great, you buying your own boat. If you need crew …” Cliff left the offer hanging.

  It seemed strange to be fishing without John Barnard; they’d been together on over a hundred trips, and they knew each other’s style and pattern of fishing. Billy glanced at Cliff, wondering if he—or any of this crew—would ever fit in the way John had.

  “Thanks,” Billy said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Hey, how’s your little girl?” Cliff asked. “Joanie said she was in the hospital.”

  “She’s doing better,” Billy said, turning his attention back to the helm. “She’ll be fine.”

  The silence stretched out. Cliff arched his back and yawned. “Well, I guess I’
ll turn in. See you at four.”

  “Good night,” Billy said.

  He checked his course, adjusted the wheel. He stared at the stars, tried to conjure their magic again. But it wasn’t there. His emotions were pushing it away: feelings for Josie and Cass. Thoughts of his wife, seventy-five miles behind him, and her desperation, overshadowed the magic of the stars.

  15

  When Cass arrived at the hospital on Josie’s fifth morning there, the doctor gave her good news.

  “The swelling’s gone down,” she said. “So I’m sending Josie home.”

  “Today?” Cass asked, feeling her heart leap.

  The doctor gave her a bright smile. “Tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll watch her one more night to be absolutely sure.”

  “Thank you,” Cass said.

  Cass poked her head into Josie’s room. Josie held her new doll, a gift from her grandparents, between her stomach and the cast on her left wrist.

  “Guess what?” Cass asked, kissing her. “The doctor says you can come home tomorrow!”

  “Yay!” Josie bounced in her bed. But she seemed to have something else, equally exciting, in mind. She wedged her doll under her left arm. With her free, right hand, she saluted Cass. Then she tapped her chin with her thumb and wiggled her four fingers.

  “Are you playing?” Cass asked.

  “No, talking,” Josie said. “I’m saying, ‘Hi, Bob.’”

  “With your hands?” Cass said, feeling a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Josie didn’t answer, but continued making the same gestures over and over, smiling as though she were enormously pleased with herself.

  “Who showed you that, sweetheart?”

  “Zach,” Josie said.

  Cass wandered out to the nurses’ station. The nurses were huddled together, preparing to change shifts, briefing one another on the previous night’s developments. A few doctors sat at a long Formica counter, writing notes for patients’ charts. Cass leaned against the desk, waiting for someone to look up.

  “May I help you?” Josie’s nurse asked.

  “Who’s Zach?” Cass asked.

  The nurse pointed at a young man dressed like T.J., and not much older. He sat among the doctors, writing furiously. Cass approached him. He looked up, a friendly, inquisitive expression in his eyes. He had springy red hair and professor-style horn-rimmed glasses that did not succeed in making him look any older than twenty; he arched an eyebrow flirtatiously.

  “I’m Josie’s mother,” Cass said.

  “Great to meet you! I’m Zach Butler,” he said, pumping her hand. “Boy, do you have a terrific kid! Learns just like that.” Letting go of her hand to snap his fingers seemed to require a degree of concentration.

  “Thank you. Could we talk, um, privately?” Cass asked. Zach’s powerful enthusiasm had all the doctors and nurses gazing in their direction. Cass felt like she’d just entered a crowded elevator with someone wearing too much aftershave.

  “Sure! Let’s step in here,” Zach said, ushering her into a conference room. “First off, you’re wondering who I am, what business I have interviewing Josie. I’m a speech pathologist, certified”—he handed Cass his card—“and the hospital called me in to consult.”

  “No one told me,” Cass said.

  “That’s called bureaucracy,” Zach said.

  Cass didn’t like this cavalier attitude. Did Zach know how it felt to have a four-year-old daughter in the hospital for five days, with people Cass didn’t even know going in and out of her room? “I’ll speak to the nurse,” Cass said.

  “Good idea,” Zach said jovially.

  “Let me get to the point,” Cass said. “Josie told me you taught her some signs.”

  “She picks up right off the bat. Smart kid.”

  “Josie’s not deaf,” Cass said.

  “That’s absolutely true.”

  “Signing will set her apart.”

  “I only taught her one phrase: ‘Hi, Mommy.’”

  “Still,” Cass said stubbornly, determined to explain her position to Zach. “I don’t like it. Josie’s been tested since she was two. Every step of the way, Dr. Parsons has told me she’ll need extra help, but she doesn’t need a different education than my other kids.”

  “What if a different education would help her?”

  “I’ll do anything to help Josie, but I don’t want her set apart. I don’t want her in the deaf community.” To Cass, that wasn’t Josie, a person who had to communicate in silence, with her hands.

  “Everyone’s scared of the idea.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Look, Mrs. Medieros, I’m not trying to talk you into anything. I only taught her a couple of words.”

  “And I’m not trying to put down your life’s work,” Cass said. “But I know how I want to raise my daughter.”

  “She seemed excited to learn the signs,” Zach said, still smiling.

  “Yes,” Cass said, seeing Josie’s face lit up, wreathed in pleasure.

  “The hearing tests are necessary,” Zach said. “And they may seem to point you in the direction of a standard public-school education. But there’s a more important indicator.”

  Cass hated how speech therapists, social workers, doctors, and school personnel spoke, using jargon like “indicator” instead of “hearing test.” But, politely, she went along with it. “Which indicator?” she asked.

  “Josie,” Zach said.

  Cass left the hospital early and stopped by the wharf on her way home. Bonnie had been filling in as part-time bookkeeper, and Cass hoped she hadn’t left yet. But when she climbed the rickety old stairs, she found the office nearly dark. Her father sat by the window with a single light burning.

  “Dad, do you need help closing up?” Cass asked, alarmed by how lonely he seemed.

  “No, Cass. I think I’ll just sit here a while. What are you doing here? How’s our baby?”

  For a second, Cass didn’t know whether he meant Josie or Cass herself, and she felt a rush of affection for her father. She loved this wharf; coming here always made her feel steady and secure, part of something that went on forever, even in bad times.

  “Josie’s coming home tomorrow,” Cass said. “All the swelling’s down.”

  “She’s sure had us scared. You hate seeing a little kid all alone in the hospital. Your grandmother couldn’t stand it the night we visited. She gave Josie the doll, and then we had to leave.”

  “Josie loves the doll.” In two days it had become her new favorite toy. Josie, never fickle about her dolls, had abandoned her old faithful Barbie in favor of this new one, a pucker-faced baby that looked to Cass like it belonged in an incubator. Maybe Josie had somehow sensed it needed more care than she did, and giving it made Josie feel stronger.

  “I wanted to keep this place going strong for my grandchildren,” her father said. “It’s going, but not strong.”

  “My taking so much time off hasn’t helped.”

  “Bonnie’s been handling it. Hard to get used to having her here afternoons, I was so used to having you here all morning. But I hear Bonnie on the phone just like you, discounting scallops, discounting lobsters just to move them out of our tanks. That’s not even breaking even.”

  “We have to discount just to keep our customers,” Cass said, reminding her father of what he had taught her. “Joe at the Edge-mont Inn said he’d just as soon buy shark, make cookie-cutter scallops. Cheapskate.”

  “Hell, what are business problems compared with having a kid in the hospital? Don’t think about this place till you have Josie squared away.”

  Growing up, Cass had turned more to her older sisters than to her parents. But suddenly she wanted to talk to her father.

  “Some guy at the hospital taught Josie sign language,” Cass said. “Just a couple of words.”

  Her father shook his head. “She doesn’t need that.”

  “That’s what I say!” Cass said, patting his shoulder.

  “She does just fine with what sh
e has.”

  “Sometimes kids make fun of the way she talks. Even I can’t always understand her.”

  “That’s the hell of it. She does sound funny.”

  “You think so?” Cass asked defensively.

  “It’s a fact, Cass.”

  “She misses certain sounds, but we work on it all the time. I’d rather have her in the mainstream than using signs,” Cass said, slipping into the jargon.

  “Is that what they call that sign language—signs? Well, I don’t see our Josie doing that. You see people in the restaurant once in a while, gabbing away with their hands so they can barely eat their meal. It’s bizarre, their hands moving a mile a minute.”

  “What do you mean?” Cass asked, shocked.

  “There’s something freakish about them, handicapped people,” he said. “It’s right there, for everyone to see. The white canes, leg braces, whatever. You can see they’re different.”

  “They’re not freaks, Dad,” Cass said, becoming furious. Her father had an underground streak of bigotry that surfaced occasionally, proving to Cass that she didn’t really know her father.

  “Maybe not,” James Keating said. “But their handicaps set them apart. So does talking with their hands.”

  “It’s how some people communicate,” Cass said stonily, feeling sick. She had used those same words to Zach: “Signing will set her apart.”

  Her father looked around the room, as if searching for a new topic. His expression flickered from neutral to cloudy as something apparently occurred to him.

  “So, we’re losing Billy,” her father said.

  “The company is,” Cass said coldly. “We’re not.”

  “The other captains look to Billy. Doesn’t speak well for the Keating fleet when my own son-in-law leaves.”

  “You know that all the guys want their own boat.”

  “I can’t afford to run this place the way I used to. Got a new tax bill today. The state’s trying to drive me out of business. I’m charged the same rate as all those real estate holdings around the harbor, and I’m not making anywhere near the income they are. And I can’t stand disloyalty.”

  “Disloyalty?” Cass exploded. “Are you talking about Billy? Isn’t it disloyal to call your own granddaughter a freak?”