The Children's Crusade (42 page)

Her seagull story reminded me of the gold cross I stole on the
evening Ryan and I watched Sierra tripping on mushrooms. I’d told Celia about that night, but not about the morning that followed, when I saw my childhood toy stuck in my mom’s artwork. I described this to Celia now, and she was horrified.

“That’s so violent. What a thing to do. And why on earth would she put a stuffed animal in her artwork?”

I explained how my mom jumped from sand candles to ceramics to collages and then finally settled on these ridiculous collections of household junk.

“I can’t imagine,” Celia said, “how she could’ve thought that was okay. Her child’s security toy?”

“Well, she never would’ve used Ryan’s badger. His love for that thing was epic.”

“But she could take yours?”

“She hated me.”

“James.”

“I’m pretty sure she wished I’d never been born.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Some people just aren’t cut out for motherhood.”

“She’d have been fine with three kids. Or a different fourth kid. I was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

It was after midnight. I was at Robert’s, having spent the evening trick-or-treating with Sammy and Luke. Celia had been going all day: Halloween parades at both boys’ schools, two separate trips to get the right candles for the pumpkins, a hurried dinner, and an evening of trick-or-treating. We talked a little more, me alone in the dark in the family room, Celia in her car with a brand-new bottle of Pepto-Bismol in its Walgreens bag in case David came out of the house wondering where she’d gone.

“You must be so tired,” I said.

“Of being apart from you. This is going to happen.”

“You mean us?”

“Of course.”

Excitement buzzed through me, but at thirty-eight I finally had the self-control to be a little cautious. “You mean you’ve decided?”

“Yes.”

“So I should come back?”

“Can you give me a few more days? David’s parents are coming for the weekend. If you’re here I’ll need to see you.”

My heart was racing now. “Are you positive? Is this for real?”

“For absolutely real.”

I went to Luke’s room, where I was supposed to sleep, but there was no way. I was elated but also really nervous, because as far as selling the house went: it was time. Was I going to do this or not? Offer some financial stability to Celia or not? I had to call my mom, and maybe if the choice was between calling her or being eaten alive by rodents I’d choose the call—but it would be close.

I hadn’t told Celia what happened after I saw my dog in my mom’s artwork, but I thought about it as I lay in Luke’s little bed: how I took off running and kept going until I was on the hill above the Priory. By the time I stopped I was embarrassed about acting like a hurt little boy, and I couldn’t go back. The night before, with Ryan and Sierra, I’d felt twinges of misery, and now they took over. I was sixteen and alone and worthless. At sixteen you don’t think that, though—you just feel it. I felt it deeply.

I ended up staying at the Priory for three days, hiding in the woods from early morning until sundown, stealing food from the cafeteria, sleeping on the dorm room floor of a guy whose friendship I bought with some weed I happened to have in my pocket. Crazed with worry, my family called all my friends and ultimately the police; it still kills me to think about it, even after all these years. When I finally went home, my dad could hardly look at me. “Give
it time,” Rebecca said, and she was right as usual, but I sometimes thought he was never the same with me after that. And I wasn’t the same with my mom. On the surface I was the identical pain in the ass, I’m sure, but I had started to be done with her.

I tossed and turned all night, and by the time I heard the household getting up for the day, I was in the hands of full-on dread. Thank God I had Sammy and Luke to hang out with over breakfast: Robert alone and I’d have snapped. They dumped their Halloween loot on the dining table and I helped them sort out the stuff they didn’t like and then bought it from them for five cents apiece. “What are you doing?” Robert said. “They don’t need money.” I told him to mind his own beeswax, which got a big laugh. It was time for Jen to take the boys to school and she offered to drop me at Rebecca’s afterward. In the car, Sammy asked if I could come down for Halloween again next year, and Luke said that if I did, I should dress up, too. “We can go as the Three Stooges,” I said, and they begged me to promise I’d be there. “And for Christmas!” Sammy said. “And forever!” Luke cried.

Back at Rebecca’s, I thought that Theo and Cesar would really like Sammy and Luke and vice versa. I imagined a big family trip to Sea Ranch, all four of us Blairs with our spouses and families, and how I would organize races on the beach, with silly prizes for the winners. Celia would enjoy it; she loved the coast and I was sure she’d get along well with Jen and Marielle. In fact, with her fancy Los Angeles upbringing, she would fit right in to Silicon Valley.

Then I had my lightbulb moment. Why sell the house? Why not bring Celia and her kids to California to live in it? Rent it ourselves? We’d have so much space: the boys would each have a room, and we’d have a guest room on top of that. And the land! Theo and Cesar could tromp up and down the hills. They could play in the tree house!

Days went by and I got more and more excited about my new plan. Then on Sunday we were all at Robert and Jen’s, sitting around after pizza with the kids off playing, and I laid it out. Forget selling; I knew none of them wanted to sell. I had a better idea. Celia and the kids and I would rent the house.

There was a terrible silence for a second, and then all hell broke loose, my siblings interrupting and talking over each other.

“Wait, our house?”

“I don’t understand, how can you—”

“Let him explain.”

“Is
this
why we went back there the other night?”

“That is the most fucking ridiculous—”

“Rob, be quiet.”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet, it’s—”

“I think this is a reflection of how much you—”

“Don’t psychoanalyze him, you’re just humoring him.”

And on and on until I held up my hand and said, “You guys, Jesus. Wait. Why is it ridiculous?”

“Because first of all,” Robert said angrily, “you could never afford it. The Vincents pay us eight thousand dollars a month. And second—”

“I wouldn’t have to pay myself, so it would be less than that.”

“And second—assuming Celia would even get custody, which is not a sure thing at all—you can’t move children away from their father! It’s morally bankrupt!”

This pissed me off hugely, and I said, “Fine, I’m a force of evil.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I know what you’re all thinking. ‘Children deserve care.’ ”

“Well, they do,” Robert said. “And it’s not just Celia’s kids. What Ryan was saying earlier—there’s Daphne to consider, too. If she’s
stressed about having to live somewhere else while they build a new house, imagine how she’d feel if they had to move permanently!”

“Robert,” I said. “Oh, my God, you are so full of shit, you couldn’t care less about that kid.”

Robert looked affronted. “It could have an effect on her.”

“So either way I ruin her life.”

He turned to Rebecca. “Don’t I have a point?”

Rebecca shook her head slowly. “Trauma isn’t the content, trauma is the effect. Divorce isn’t traumatic, but some kids are traumatized. The same is true of moving, or having your house rebuilt, or whatever. Change. Daphne’s behavior is concerning, but—”

“Fine!” Robert cried. “Never mind about Daphne! Never mind about
children
.” He glared at me. “What happened? It’s not like I want to encourage you, but . . . Why haven’t you called Penny?”

What was I supposed to say? That I hadn’t called her because I was a wimp, because I was afraid? Afraid of what? Instead I said, “I did call her. She’s changed her mind—doesn’t want to sell.” And with that I walked away.

I slipped into Robert’s office. What mattered was me and Celia; the rest we’d figure out. I had to get back to Eugene. If there was an early-morning bus, I could be there by late tomorrow night.

I jiggled the mouse to wake Robert’s computer, and the first thing that appeared was his calendar: November 2006. I peered at the grid, and the entire month contained the same event every day: “More of the same.” I couldn’t believe it. I imagined him hiding from Jen and the boys, killing time by typing that phrase over and over again.

I felt it before I knew why, a sense of uneasiness. Something was wrong. Then I realized: it was the first Sunday of the month. I was missing the monthly Barn meeting. How had I lost track? When had I stopped checking the Barnboard? I remembered
being in Rebecca’s guest room the first few nights and logging on every hour or so, just to see what I was missing. When had I last looked?

I logged on.

Subject: James

Monday, October 30, 7:53 p.m., posted by Sarah Rankin:

“It’s been over a week, has anyone heard anything?”

Monday, October 30, 8:08 p.m., posted by Terri Batchelor:

“Was it a medical thing? One of his siblings?”

Monday, October 30, 9:13 p.m., posted by Marie Smith:

“Maybe a parent.”

Tuesday, October 31, 8:17 a.m., posted by Sarah Rankin:

“That would have to be his mom. His dad died almost three years ago.”

Tuesday, October 31, 10:43 a.m., posted by Terri Batchelor:

“He’s not close to his mom.”

Tuesday, October 31, 10:44 a.m., posted by Terri Batchelor:

“Still, I guess you’d go back if she got sick. James, are you reading this? We miss you!”

Tuesday, October 31, 11:10 p.m., posted by Adam Smith-Berkoff:

“You guys sound like a bunch of moms. Oh, right, that’s what you are.”

Tuesday, October 31, 11:12 p.m., posted by Marie Smith:

“Adam, go to bed.”

Wednesday, November 1, 7:03 a.m., posted by Dan Berkoff:

“Has anyone emailed him?”

Wednesday, November 1, 7:14 a.m., posted by Joe Rankin:

“Leave it alone. He’ll get in touch when he’s ready.”

Wednesday, November 1, 8:33 a.m., posted by Sarah Rankin:

“Dad, people are concerned.”

Friday, November 3, 8:44 p.m., posted by Mike Lee:

“HAS anyone emailed him?”

Saturday, November 4, 11:33 a.m., posted by Sarah Rankin:

“Celia, have you heard from him at all?”

After that the thread stopped. Because David’s parents were visiting, I hadn’t talked with Celia in days. I hoped Sarah’s question hadn’t caused any trouble. The Barn meeting was at Melissa and Kat’s, a place I’d never seen. This bothered me a lot, that I couldn’t picture it.

I still hadn’t told any of my siblings about the Barn. I didn’t want them asking about it, talking about it. I could just imagine Robert telling everyone I’d joined a commune. Or Rebecca saying:
James has found a substitute family
. And who would believe that a bunch of strangers liked having me around? That I contributed to something, added value? That had never been my reputation.

I read a thread about a planned workday at the Lees’: they wanted help installing new carpet. Deep in the thread someone said
they hoped I’d be back in time because I was always undaunted by a new task. I remembered how I’d led the charge when the Kinsellas wanted to insulate their garage. “How hard can it be?” I’d said, and I’d researched insulation methods and reported back on what I learned.

I started a Google search of DIY carpeting. It looked like a lot of work. I thought it would be best if the strongest among us formed teams and traded off shifts through a weekend. We’d need work gloves and utility knives, which I could buy discounted. We’d need to figure out how to get rid of the old carpeting, a fancy white kind; Celia had said once you could tell there were no kids at the Lees’ from the moment you walked in. I imagined asking her if she thought they wanted to replace their carpet so they could have a baby.

I reread some more old threads. One about how we might streamline the monthly meetings by using the Barnboard to express opinions in advance of getting together. Another about the process by which we decided on new members. I’d been active in both discussions. It was funny to me that I’d once assumed this kind of thing would bore me.

Finally, I went to the Greyhound site. It turned out there was a bus at one a.m.—even better.

In the family room Ryan was holding Katya, and Walt was helping Rebecca into her coat. “Oh, good, there you are,” she said. “Ready to go?”

“Back to Eugene. I’m going to catch a bus tonight.”

They all looked at each other, and Robert said, “We know you didn’t call her.”

“Rob!” Jen exclaimed.

I glanced from face to face. “What the fuck?”

“We called Penny,” Rebecca said. “We talked to her.”

“What?”

Ryan transferred Katya to Marielle and came over to me. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, it was my idea.”

“I made the call,” Robert said. “I take responsibility.”

“We all talked to her,” Rebecca said.

I started laughing. It was too perfect—I should’ve wanted to kill them, but I owed them. I said, “Jesus fucking Christ, you guys, you saved me a lot of trouble. This is unbelievable. You screwed yourselves over but did me a huge favor. She must be so happy, she’s finally getting her way. One of you will have to call Vince, though, ’cause I’m leaving tonight. I’ve got to get back or I’ll lose my job. And my mind.”

Even as I was saying this I knew it was textbook James—breeze in, breeze out—and somehow it occurred to me to be glad my dad wasn’t there to see how little I’d changed. It took all I had, but I said, “Shit, you guys, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want this. But isn’t selling really the best thing? You said it yourself, Ryan, it’s got to happen eventually.”

“Actually,” Rebecca said, “she won’t agree to selling until she sees you.”

• • •

The road to Taos climbed through a vast high desert with mountains constantly in sight. As the elevation changed it seemed that the sky changed, too, the color leeching away little by little. Rafts of cloud covered the sun and then floated away. I’d lived in Tucson one spring, drawn by rumors about the girls and the weed, but I’d hardly left the city and had never been anywhere else in the southwest. It looked exactly as I expected it to, but much bigger.