For all the land that was suddenly ours, there was a surprising shortage of living space to go around. Three of the previous owners had lived out of camper trailers or Winnebagos rather than pay the county’s price to have a proper house constructed. Another had watched a perfectly good home consumed in a brush fire with no insurance or money on hand to replace it. That left two one-story, US-era ranch houses for five families to fit into. Separated by a hundred yards of upturned and sandy topsoil, the houses were too close for privacy and too far away for convenience. Sun-baked hornets’ nests hung plastered under the eaves and behind the rain gutters, and inside the carpets were so matted with dust that in a certain light they appeared to be steaming. After some dispute, it was decided that Claudia’s family would come to live with us and Dawn in the bigger, uglier model while Jennifer and Katie would squeeze their broods into the smaller, slightly nicer one. As soon as the funds were available, we’d file the papers to build a third. From the beginning, all of the major decisions were decided by a vote among the five Temple widows. Us older kids could sit in on the debates and chime in if we wanted, but suffrage was granted only to those who had suffered through marriage to Daddy.
One of the tougher decisions that had to be reached early on was what to do about finding schools for the eight of us that still needed educating. Jennifer was adamant about sending Lewis and Jewel to the private K–12 academy in Visalia, and after all the fuss it had taken just to get her this far, the other wives chose not to begrudge her that privilege. My sisters and Anthony’s brothers were sent to public elementary schools on opposite sides of the county—our mothers had decided on separating them to avoid drawing extra attention to the co-op, and to spare them the embarrassment of having to explain their half-siblings to the other kids. At fifteen, Will was legally old enough to make up his own mind about school, and in the end he opted to stay on the farm and learn machine repair from his brother. That left me, Beth, and Anthony to attend the local high school, to ride the sweltering yellow bus eighty minutes each way in the early morning and late afternoon. Hardly anyone asked about our shared last name, and when they did we said that we were cousins. As popular as she was from the start, Beth had a way of making people take her at her word, and as for me and Anthony, we didn’t talk much.
The high school was situated on a concrete and asphalt slab northwest of Tulare, surrounded on all sides by short, untended grasses that were yellow-brown twelve months out of the year. You could ride the bus for miles in that part of the county and see nothing at all until finally a cluster of green, pagoda-shaped buildings rose up out of the ground and the silver mirage peeled back across the basketball courts. Even though Anthony was two class grades ahead of me, we had the same homeroom every morning and History twice a week after lunch. Beyond that, we each had some version of Math, English, Ag Science, and PE. Some of the classrooms were over twenty years old and still equipped with internet outlets, and gas ranges for science experiments we would never learn. The oldest rooms were sealed-off and used for storage space. Even then, there was no danger of overcrowding. Most of the kids in the area would follow Will’s lead the minute they turned fifteen. Our freshman class was already larger than the rest of the student body combined.
Our History course included students from all four grades. Only one semester of History was required to graduate, but some of the older kids retook it two or three times for the easy elective credits. The teacher was seventy-four years old and kept an American flag pinned to the wall above the whiteboard. He’d talk for thirty minutes on the lesson of the day and spend the rest of the time cursing dead Democrats and explaining how the US had perished through sin, decadence, and decay.
As the welfare state grew more unwieldy, he said, traditional values were torn down and replaced by whatever ideas were popular at the moment. Through the atheist media, millions of people were taught to worship the extravagance of the big cities. Pimps and prostitutes were built up as idols. One in three children was murdered in the womb. Men fornicated with their fathers’ corpses. That’s right. Corpses.
At least once a month we were marched into the cafeteria for special assemblies that were the closest we got to actual health classes. Itinerant speakers—balding, energetic, and middle-aged men—came in to lecture us about the changes that were going in our bodies, about the perils in store for those who didn’t abstain, and about a host of other scandalous topics that left us snickering between slideshows of cankerous private parts. In the same cafeteria, three or four times a semester, the school held Friday night dances to give us the opportunity to socialize properly, to give farm boys and farm girls the chance to slow dance to old country songs while chaperones stood guard to uphold the dress code and check our breath for alcohol and weed. These extracurricular events, more than any of our actual classes, affirmed for us the real lesson we were supposed to take away from our time in school—that the true purpose of youth was coupling, that sexuality was only safe within certain parameters, and that severe consequences awaited those who veered too far outside.
I went to one dance, toward the end of my first term, and never went to another one afterward. Anthony borrowed his mother’s car and drove us down in the early evening dark with shreds of tattered fog obscuring the road for miles at a time. Though neither of us cared about the dance itself—we were both going stag—we were still dressed to fit in with the rest of the preening and awkward teens, him with a stiffly ironed flannel shirt tucked into the waist of his best jeans, me wearing a skirt for the first time since Katie’s barbecue nearly six months earlier. I’d borrowed some of Dawn’s eye shadow and a lacy brassiere from Beth. The cups were two sizes too big for me, and after tugging at the straps the whole ride down, I wound up ditching it in the backseat before we went in.
Being the winter dance, and the last big activity before the long break, the cafeteria was decorated to the point of gaudiness, with construction paper Santas dangling on strings alongside gold and silver garlands, and every table and flat surface dusted with a layer of twinkling glitter. Me and Anthony made our rounds separately, saying hi to the various boys and girls from our grades, pretending it was a pleasant surprise to find them there of all places. Eventually, though, we settled into an empty table at the back, watching from a distance as Beth swayed from side to side with her arms around the broad shoulders of her new beau, Eric, a beefy-looking junior who’d driven her to the dance in his own secondhand car.
You let me know when you’re ready to go, Anthony said. I can leave any time.
You’re not going to ask one of the girls to dance?
Anthony sneered. There’s only two girls here who I’m sure know my name, he said, and I’m related to both of em.
You got to try and put yourself out there, I said. If that’s what you really want.
Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But what does it matter? Even if I found a girl who liked me, she’d run off scared as soon as she learned about our family. And then the whole school would know. You want that?
No. But how are you going to find someone if you never trust anybody?
Fuck that. Trust is for our mothers. And look what it did for them.
Anthony snatched the plastic cup off the table and drank the rest of his punch in one long chug. Times like this, it was no wonder he still hadn’t made any friends at school. But neither had I for that matter. Not really, anyway. There were two boys in my grade who I was on friendly terms with, one in my English class and one in Ag Science. We shared sarcastic comments when the teacher’s back was turned, but that was it. Where they went at lunchtime, or what deeper thoughts lay behind their snarky expressions, I had no idea. All I cared from day to day was that they were cool enough not to drag me down, but so goofy that they never stirred up any strange feelings. The more determined I became about my future spinsterhood, the less willing I was to risk spending time alone with boys. And since boys were all the girls in my grade ever talked about, I spent most of my time out of class reading
library books and hanging out behind the bleachers with Anthony, around whom I had built a wall of sexlessness appropriate for male relatives.
We haven’t really talked about it, I said. But do you think you’ll stay in school long enough to graduate?
I don’t know, he said. If it wasn’t for my mom, I might’ve dropped out already.
What would you do instead?
Get the hell out of the valley for starters.
All right. Then what?
Not sure. Join the Army, maybe. I already know how to shoot.
I pushed aside the plate of sugar cookies and leaned forward with my arm on the table. You’re a smart guy, I said. You’d be wasting your time in the Army.
He glared at me. I suppose your grampa was wasting his time in the service too, he said.
That was different. The California Army’s nothing but a bunch of thugs. All they do is camp out along the borders and chase down illegals. You might as well join the skinheads.
It’s not all like that, he said. I might get stationed somewhere in Sierra. They have snow up in the mountains. You ever seen snow?
No.
Me neither. But I want to. He reached for one of the cotton balls glued to the paper tablecloth. He pulled some of the fibers loose and tossed them above his head. We watched them float down to the floor and settle between our feet. Real snow’s not like that, he said. Real snow melts in your hand if you try to catch it. Our old foreman told me all about it.
The same one who taught you how to shoot?
That’s right.
Sounds like a cool dude. What happened to him?
What do you mean?
Why didn’t he come over to the new place? Like Jennifer’s guy.
Anthony spun the empty cup on the table with his index finger. Even as he was looking at me, he seemed to be staring straight through my eyes and into some far off and mysterious void. He quit before dad died, he said. Moved on to another job up north.
Bummer, I said, and Anthony nodded his agreement. You ever think about staying on at the farm? After you’re done with school?
He glared again. You saying I couldn’t do any better than this?
You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just, you’ve got a big family here now, and we’d miss you if you were gone. I’d miss you. Who am I going to hang out with if not you?
I see, he said, and he flashed me a cocky smile. Over the past few months, he had gotten really good at showing me the amused yet condescending affection of a sister’s older brother. Sounds like you’re the one who needs to put yourself out there.
Oh, right, I said. That’s just what I need. Some pimple-faced dude begging me for handjobs all the time. Thanks but no thanks.
Anthony laughed. I guess that’s what I should want to hear from my kid sister, he said. Just maybe not put that way exactly.
Tough shit. You want subtlety, try Jessie or Gracie.
He stood and pulled the wrinkled ends of his shirt out from underneath his waistband. Fuck this, he said. Let’s get some Chinese. There’s a place on the way home that’s open late.
I looked over my shoulder and surveyed the dance floor, but it appeared that Beth and Eric had already left. Okay, I said. You buying?
I waited for one of Anthony’s standard foul-mouthed quips, but for once he didn’t seem in the mood to play along. He looked down at me with solemn eyes, already holding the car keys. Why not, he said. This might be the closest either one of us ever gets to going out on a date.
We reached the front entrance right as the music was changing from a slow rock ballad to some kind of pop country track that would’ve been harder to ignore. The school, the music, and the other sounds of the dance all receded behind the taillights as Anthony drove us back into that dark and seemingly limitless countryside that separated our lives’ points of interest like the sea separated the ports in this old sailing novel I’d checked out of the library a while back. This time of year, even the orchards were dormant, the leafless trees sticking out from the ground like skeletal hands grasping for the sky. Sometimes it was oppressive, having to pass through so much dead space each day on the way to school, but just then it brought me an odd feeling of relief, sitting quiet in the car with the radio turned off, and only the lights of the dashboard to disturb the comforting darkness.
You still think about Elliot much?
Anthony kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. I try not to, he said. But it’s hard with his wives and kids around me all the time.
Is that why you want to leave the valley so bad?
It’s part of it.
I gave him time to say something else, and when he didn’t I turned to face the window, to watch the circle of moisture on the glass expand and shrink with each warm breath I took.
We arrived home a little after nine and set up shop in the living room with our cartons of sweet and sour chicken and a crime show on TV. Those days the networks in L.A. were all about cop dramas, mid-budget serials about grizzled country lawmen busting meth cooks and smugglers in shanty towns along the Mexican border. The only one that was any good, that didn’t have the same stale formula each time, was called Peacemaker: San Bernardino County. It was about a county sheriff in the days following disbandment, when the roads were teeming with the homeless and unemployed and most small towns could only afford to offer the most basic police services. In each episode, the hero sheriff, Dick Moseby, had to reckon with some new tragedy that had befallen the townspeople, usually a kidnapped child or drug deal gone wrong, and hunt down the villains responsible. What set it apart from other shows was that Moseby changed a little bit after each episode, so that if you followed the series close you could see him transform from a clean-cut, by-the-book lawman into a guy struggling to keep his family together without turning into a villain himself. Me and Anthony watched the show regularly, and were afraid it wouldn’t get picked up for another season.
You ever go out to eat with dad?
I dropped my plastic fork in the carton and whipped my head around. Hell no, I said. Why? Did he go out to eat with you guys?
Sure. All the time.
You got to be kidding. I don’t think I ever saw him in a restaurant in my life.
What did you guys eat, then, when he would visit?
Whatever he told Mama to make special, I said. His homecoming was always a big to do. She must’ve slaughtered fifty chickens in his honor over the years.
He always wanted Chinese when he was with us. That’s how I first got the taste for it.
Maybe he didn’t like Mexican food.
My mom never cooked Mexican food.
Then what did she cook?
Same stuff she cooks now. Steaks, burgers, and hotdogs. And sometimes chili beans without any spice to them.
I meant to find out more about Elliot’s tastes, but the show was just starting to get good. Sheriff Moseby had tracked the Mexican drug cartel to an underground bunker in the Mojave Desert, and was faced with the choice of waiting for reinforcements to show or going down to confront the gangsters on his own. There was a tight close-up on his face as he descended the ladder rungs down into the bunker. All the space below was hidden in darkness, and before the commercial break you could really hear his breathing getting louder as each step brought him closer to the danger inside. Then the show cut out and we were back in the real world, fishing pineapple chunks from pools of red sauce as a local car salesman hollered about financing options for the latest Korean sedans on his lot.
When the phone rang, I jumped up and hurried to the kitchen before it could wake up the whole house.
Evening, Ellie, Katie said when I answered. Sorry to disturb you all so late.
It’s no trouble, I said. What’s up?
I was just wondering if Beth was over there with you guys.
No, it’s just us.
Okay. Did she say when she expected to get back?
Sorry. We left before we could talk to her.
That’s fine. The dance
ends at ten, right?
Yeah, but I think she might have left early. Probably getting a bite to eat with Eric.
Right. That makes sense. I won’t wait up for her, then. Thanks, babe.
No problem. Have a good night.
You too.
As I hung up the receiver, I could tell from the sounds of gunplay that something pretty spectacular happening inside the living room. I sprinted to the sofa and plopped down on the cushion next to Anthony, who was bent forward with his eyes on the screen.
What I miss?
He gestured to the TV with his fork. Moseby snuck up on em while they were cleaning out the lab, he said. Now he’s pinned down in the corner.
Shit. There’s not enough time. They’re going to carry it over to next week.
Anthony nodded and stuck his empty carton behind the end table. Sure enough, the To be continued caption appeared on screen right as Moseby was laying down his sidearm. After that there was nothing but news on all four channels, so we switched off the set and broke out the card deck. We played gin rummy and blackjack until after midnight, when we both started to doze off. We may not have been cool enough to break curfew, but, damn it, it was Friday night, and we weren’t going to bed any earlier than we had to.
Hope you didn’t get Beth into trouble with her mom, Anthony said.
I switched off the kitchen light. Oh, that girl, I said. Causing scandals left and right.
Settling down for the night was always tricky. I shared a bedroom with Jessie and Gracie, and unless I wanted to have to coax one or both of them back to sleep, I had to be quiet as possible unrolling my sleeping bag. There was one queen-size mattress for the three of us, and from the start I let the girls have it and settled for sleeping on the floor like a kid in a Japanese cartoon. It was rough at first, learning to sleep with the floor under my back, and in a new house no less. After a while, though, I got used to it. Later that night, in fact, when Dawn came to knock at our door, I was sleeping like a baby.
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