The Slow Moon (2 page)

His father’s reaction astonished him; his words had not been angry, and his expression had been more of fear than anger, or else just cold resignation.

Lying in bed, Crow pulled the sheet to his hip bones, leaving his chest bare, his heart exposed. He let the sheet hit lightly on his legs and feet, lifting it high and letting it fall softly on him like a leaf—something gentle and final, signaling the end of a season.

If someone came into the house tonight to kill him, stab him in the chest or neck or head, he might feel relief, because now he didn’t care what happened to him. If he got through this, he pledged to never be a coward again, because the payment for cowardice was this: a person no longer wants the life that he has saved for himself.

A few hours ago he had hid in the black river behind some bushes, breathing hard after running. Waiting, he had seen stars in the water, and the shadow of the person he was now. The water’s lapping had covered the sound of his breathing. The light of the moon, as well as police flashlights, had washed around him, and he had waited. He was alone, the fluttery rags of bats above him. He stepped onto the bank, dripping, and saw the stars again as he waded out. He had believed he was safe. And then he saw, or thought he saw—so quick it was at the edge of his eye, so thrifty of turn—a bright ribbon of snake going past him, near his foot, a movement that entered his head like a wire.

Two

F
ORTY-FIVE MINUTES EARLIER
Carl had just leaned back into his favorite chair, drinking a scotch and water, when the phone rang. He jumped to answer it. Helen was in bed.

“Yes?” He recognized the voice of Sheriff Mike Evans, who told him that Sophie Chabot had been hurt. “And they found your son’s wallet at the scene,” he said.

“His wallet?”

“We wondered if Crow was home.” The sheriff hesitated. “And if you could ask if he’s seen Sophie tonight.”

“I’m sure he’s in bed by now,” said Carl. “I know he’s taken her out a few times, given her a ride home, you know, stuff like that.”

“Yeah.” The sheriff sounded nervous. “I’d like to speak with him, if I could.”

Carl knew that Crow’s bed was empty. He’d checked both boys’ rooms when he got home from work a little while ago. The two empty beds, all made up, had given him a moment of panic. But then he remembered that Crow was off at a party, and young Johnny was away at survival camp for four days. Now that flash of panic came back. “Listen, Mike,” Carl began. “Why don’t you let me bring Crow in tomorrow morning early. He can tell you anything he knows. No sense in getting Helen upset.”

“Yeah, well.” The sheriff’s indebtedness to Carl Davenport’s campaign contribution was not forgotten in this conversation. That money got Sheriff Evans elected. Carl didn’t mention it; he didn’t have to.

After the sheriff hung up, Carl set his drink down. What kind of teenage scrape had Crow gotten into?

He went into the bedroom, where his wife lay sleeping. “Helen.” He shook her awake. “Helen, wake up.”

“What? What’s the matter?” She opened her eyes partway. “Carl, is something wrong? What time is it?”

“Almost three.”

“My God, Carl. Is Crow home?”

Carl paused for a moment. It seemed wrong to get Helen all riled up before he knew what was going on. “Yes. He’s in his room.”

“Are you just getting in?”

“Yeah, the accounts at the mill are a mess since I let that CPA go. I had to get things straight.”

Helen moved her legs in one sweep to the floor.

“Crow went somewhere with Bobby, then he was picking up Sophie Chabot. Some kind of party, I think.”

Carl took Helen’s arm as she put her feet into slippers. “Sophie’s in the hospital,” he said.

“What happened?” She put both hands on Carl’s shoulders. “Is Crow hurt?”

“They found Sophie in the woods. Sheriff Evans said she was hurt pretty bad.”

Helen pulled back as if she had been scorched. She looked lovely in the middle of the night. She looked best without makeup, open and fresh. “But Crow’s all right? Let’s wake him up.”

“Wait, Helen.”

“He’s not back yet, is he?” Helen turned her head toward the window, trying to think. The night air smelled like rain. She grew panicky, then saw something outside. “There he is. I see him.” She moved to go downstairs.

“Wait! Don’t. I’ll talk to him. Helen, please.” Carl took hold of her arm. “He’ll say more to me, I think—about this. Just let me talk to him and see how much he knows. Look, you can see that he’s fine. We’ll sort this out in the morning.” Helen agreed, but she looked ruined.

Until the day Carl first saw Helen, he would not have described himself as a religious man. In fact, he thought he was too smart for religion. He would soon take over his father’s mill, his life’s work already decided. Prayer just wasn’t necessary. Then he had seen Helen in the park, leaning to check the tightness of her dog’s collar and leash, and the moment he saw her he prayed.

Please let her look over here. Let her see me.
The words came into his mind just that quickly, and he felt embarrassed at himself. But then she looked up, even called for him to come over.

Carl pointed to himself, not understanding. “Me?” he mouthed.

She motioned again for him to come quickly, and Carl saw how the dog’s collar pinched its neck—a large brown dog, mixed breed, strong. She couldn’t make him stand still long enough to take it off. The dog was beginning to panic and choke. He even snapped at Helen’s arms as Carl held him.

She managed to loosen the collar, and the dog ran around the park, barking. “He was choking. It scared me.” Helen stuck her hand forward in a businesslike way. “I’m Helen Parker,” she said.

Carl stood dumbly looking at the woman who would first break his heart, then marry him, continuing in small ways to break his heart, before he broke hers. Her hair was shiny blond, midlength, her face thin. She looked ethereal but strong-willed. And in this one moment Carl thought that some God, some Where, had brought this woman into his life and had made him walk to the park—which he had not planned to do—and then, at this moment, to see her. That God had made her dog choke on a collar, so she would call for Carl to help her. He was as sure that this sequence of events had been brought about by God as he was of his own ability to make money.

During the long autumn of that year, they went to the park often. Helen failed to notice how she bloomed along with the season of leaves, and when Carl finally kissed her, she surprised herself when she said, “I thought you’d never get around to kissing me, Carl.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to,” he said. “I mean, I wasn’t sure.”

And Carl woke the next morning thinking that this woman beside him was not the real thing, but just something he had imagined. He had had girls before, but Helen was not the kind of girl he usually attracted. She was religious. She was smart and had a strong sense of who she was. The confidence he had, or thought he had, paled beside her sense of herself.

They continued to see each other through the winter months, but in the early spring Helen’s father suggested that she travel to Europe. Helen didn’t want to go. Her sister, Ava, had spent a year in England and had loved it so much that she stayed for another year. The family wanted Helen to have the same experience. They had put aside the money. Helen bargained with her father by promising to spend the money on graduate school in the fall. She wanted to study literature. They agreed on Emory in Atlanta.

The separation Carl anticipated left him sad and wishing to marry Helen quickly. They had not talked about marriage until a few days before Helen left for school.

“We’ll see each other most weekends,” Helen said.

“I don’t want most weekends,” Carl told her.

“What do you want?”

“I want most days, as well as weekends.”

“Like we’ve had?”

“No,” he said, with some frustration. “Like we’re going to have when we get married.”

“That’s some proposal,” she teased.

“I don’t want you to go to Atlanta,” he said.

“You think I’m going to find someone else?”

“No.”

But by Christmas Helen was behaving differently toward Carl, and when she came back on December 20, he asked what was wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong, not really.” Her nonchalance made Carl uncomfortable. She couldn’t even bear to look at him. They exchanged expensive Christmas presents before Helen went back to Atlanta.

Carl threw all his attention into the business of running Davenport Mills. In January he purchased more land and began construction of a new mill. Helen came home less often, and whenever Carl questioned her she told him not to worry so much. But her phone calls came only a few times a week instead of every night, and when Helen returned in May, she mentioned that she would not be going back in the fall.

“Why not?” Carl asked. He felt pleased, though puzzled, by her new determination.

“Don’t ask,” she said. “Just don’t ask. Maybe you shouldn’t come around anymore.”

“What’s going on, Helen?” He felt sick and dizzy, as if he’d been told that somebody was dying.

“I want you to go now.”

Carl left, but he continued to call her. Helen refused to answer or return his calls. If he came to the house, she sent her mother to the door.

He finally gave up.

By the end of summer, rumors began: Helen was pregnant and had been pregnant for almost four months. Carl heard the news first from a friend of Helen’s. She told Carl that Helen had encouraged her parents to think that he was the father.

The late-September sun was hot, though leaves were beginning to turn. This was the month he had first seen Helen a year ago. Carl walked to the house. Helen’s mother opened the door, made a little sound in her throat as she told Carl to come in. He could see by her expression that she believed he was the father of the child.

“Helen’s in the kitchen,” she told him, and as she said it, Helen stepped into the hallway. She had on blue jeans and a man’s plaid shirt. Her face glowed when she saw Carl, but she didn’t smile. She waited for her mother to go upstairs, then led Carl to the den in the back of the house.

Before she turned around to face him she said, “You heard?”

Carl nodded. “Can you do anything about it?” he asked.

“I’m too far along,” she said sadly. Then, “I don’t know if I could do that anyway.”

“Whose is it?” Carl’s voice had an edge, a steeliness that Helen would come to know well.

“Oh, Carl,” she cried. “It’s somebody I don’t even care about. I was such a fool. He doesn’t even know, and besides, he’s married.”

Carl didn’t look at her. He could hardly believe her words. “Why?” he said. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. It was so stupid. He was my professor. He does this a lot, I think.”

“I’m sorry, Helen.” He tried to have sympathy for her. She looked beaten down, not like herself.

“Don’t be. I deserve what I’m getting. You’re the only one who…” She stopped and took his hand.

Carl pulled his hand away. “I’d about given up.” He walked to the window and turned his back to her. He didn’t want her to touch him. He could see the swelling beneath her shirt.

“I shouldn’t have told you this,” said Helen.

“I already knew.”

“I wish it were yours. I wish you were the father.”

He could hear the beginning of tears in her voice and turned to face her squarely. Still, he did not stand close. “Let’s make it true then.”

“What?”

“Let’s say it
is
my child. Everybody will believe us. Your mother and father already think it’s mine.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s say it is.”

“What do you mean, Carl? What are you saying?”

“I mean we could get married. Look, you don’t want to raise a child by yourself, and I still love you. We’ll get married and have the baby. All this will be forgotten soon enough.”

“You make it sound so easy, Carl.”

“It is. Believe me.” His face softened, even looked relieved. “Helen, I’ve loved you from the minute I saw you. You know that.”

Helen had a look on her face that Carl had wanted to see for months now.

Crowell Elias Davenport, named after Carl’s uncle, was born five months after the wedding. Helen’s labor lasted twenty-six hours, and she became so weak that the doctor began to worry.

Reverend Moss led the town in prayers for her, and for the child. When the baby finally emerged, bruised and misshapen, many brought flowers and baby presents.

They walked by the window where Crowell Elias Davenport’s name tag and tiny cubicle held a red, ugly child, splotched—tired from being born. Already they liked him. Already they thought of him as a fine young man.

Three

H
ELEN LAY IN
bed for almost an hour before rising and going down the hall toward Crow’s room. She would not ask Crow any questions; she just wanted to see him. As she came in, she saw that his eyes were closed; she went to open a window; but as she raised it, a thought as strong as a voice came into her head, telling her to find proof of where Crow had been that night. Carl had told her that Crow had been drinking at the river. She would go there.

When she turned, she saw that Crow was awake. She leaned to kiss him and noticed a musty odor on his body. The small cowlick at the crown of his head lay flat, as if he had been touched by a palm pressed down.

Helen went downstairs, closing her robe around her nightgown and putting on one of Carl’s raincoats. She picked up a flashlight beside the door, stepped out, going directly into the woods. She stumbled through low brush in her bedroom slippers. A wide section of river lay only a short distance from her house, and as she approached, hearing its sound, she searched the ground for evidence that Crow was telling the truth. For the first time, she sincerely hoped that he’d been drinking at the river.

She imagined she knew what had happened to Sophie. She imagined that Sophie had taken a mix of drugs and alcohol and had to be rushed to the hospital. She hoped her son was not to blame. She circled the flashlight on the path in front of her, and could hear thunder in the distance. She could smell the approach of rain.

Helen knew where the boys had built a fort when they were younger, and she looked there for beer cans. When she found a pile of empties, she lifted a few, cradling them like a baby.

She shone the flashlight at the cans and bottles, and could plainly see what had not been clear in the dim light of the forest: these cans had been there for many weeks, maybe years, some of them already busted and broken. Her evidence was no evidence at all. She dropped the cans and went back home.

Helen tried to think of what else to do. Rain began to fall, and her thoughts split themselves into smaller and smaller pieces. She felt reduced to a bundle of distinct vibrations. The thought that her son might have to go to jail was not reasonable. She began to run. The rain stung her face and arms; her arms flailed like strings unhinged from their instrument.

Her heart struggled against the idea that Crow might be guilty of something terrible. She prayed hard. As she entered the house, she prayed—demanding that God let this go, demanding that Crow not have to go to jail, that Sophie would be good as new in the morning, and that the whole matter be dropped. She spoke to God as if He were a houseboy.

And she prayed all night. In bed she prayed aloud, until Carl’s patience broke.

“Stop it, Helen! Just stop! You’re making me crazy!”

So she held her prayers in, releasing them only through a long sigh or a frenzy of short breaths. She dreaded morning, though before this day she had always loved morning. Even as a girl she had come alive at sunrise, feeling in it a realm of indistinct possibilities. Her arms and legs felt airy, and she wondered about all the things she thought were possible. But now, in bed, she felt the burden of day.

By six o’clock she was asleep, but she woke up at seven, hearing Carl in the kitchen with Crow. She pictured both of her sons downstairs with their father, then remembered that Johnny wasn’t due home until Tuesday night. That survival course offered to seventh-and eighth-graders would keep Johnny away for a few more days, and maybe things would be sorted out before his return. Helen didn’t want to upset Johnny. She brushed her teeth, pulled her hair on top of her head, and went downstairs.

Carl had made coffee and caught the toast as it popped up. He handed it to Crow to be buttered. Helen observed from the hallway their easiness together, their way of pretending not to think about police cars and lawyers soon to arrive. She felt as though she observed them through a glass, a grainy glass, until Crow saw her.

“Mom?” he said, his face a puzzle, his eyes deep sockets. As she came in, he touched her shoulder absentmindedly, innocent of her panic. She pushed her lips against his hair.

“I’ve made coffee,” Carl said, wanting praise, wanting anything but what was to come. Everything about him seemed transparent.

“Who called?” Helen asked. She had heard the phone ring.

“Raymond Butler. He’s coming at nine.”

“Crow?”

“Don’t make him talk, Helen. Let’s just have breakfast. Don’t make him talk.”

They did not turn on the TV, not wanting to hear the news.

“We’ll get through this all right,” Carl said, putting cereal on the table.

Helen brought orange juice and a pitcher of milk. She needed to select her words carefully. “We will?” she asked. She looked for a hole in his words. “Will we?” Were things worse than she had suspected?

“I promise you.” He spoke above Crow’s head, not averting his gaze.

When Crow went upstairs to shower and dress, Helen asked Carl, “What is it? What are you not telling me?”

“Sophie was hurt real bad. Raped, Helen. She was raped.”

Helen gasped. “Well, you know Crow didn’t do
that.
Carl, can you get him out of this? Can you do something?”

“I can,” said Carl. He knew he could apply political pressure. He knew how to manipulate the system with money. He waited a moment before saying, “You think I should?”

“Yes,” said Helen, her prayer released. She didn’t believe Crow had done anything wrong, and she hoped to protect him from punishment. She wanted Carl to make it right. If that could happen, if Carl could make this right, then Helen’s vow to God would be this:
I will bring You my heart. And I will overlook Carl’s indiscretions, as well as my sister’s. I will forgive my sister.

The last time her sister had visited them, Carl’s affection for Ava was less hidden and Helen found herself hating him.
I will overlook that, as Carl once overlooked the way I hurt him.
Then she added,
If this can be made right, I will do anything.

Helen refused to let herself imagine what might come from this moment. She shuddered, not knowing if she could forgive anything. But she felt relief as she heard Carl’s promise, and she let her mind forget his confused plea:
You think I should?
And then her own, unqualified
Yes.

From the kitchen window she could see the different pitch of the roof next door. The odd angle and the drip of rain made the air uncertain. Now she had come crashing into the middle of a life that did not resemble her own.

“I love you,” she told Carl. The words, not having been said in a long time, solidified and hung in the air. Carl had not said those words to her either, and he did not say them now, but he heard her voice and felt the force of what he had to do.

A year ago Helen had caught Crow sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, running toward the woods, but stopping short when he heard his mother’s sharp call. As he came back toward the house, she saw tall figures retreat, long shadows moving into the woods. Had they been waiting for Crow to join them?

“Where were you going this time of night?” she asked, as he walked back into the kitchen.

“Nowhere.”

“
No
where? Tell me what’s going on.” She could see Crow’s head lift toward the stairs, listening for his father’s footsteps.

“He’s not awake,” Helen said. “I just happened to be downstairs because I couldn’t sleep. He’ll have some questions of his own, though, I’m sure of that.”

“Mom, don’t tell him. Please.”

“Where were you going, Crow?”

“I was meeting Bobby and Tom.” He looked at her with a lusterless gaze. “And Antony, probably Casey.” Helen did not like Casey. “We were going to ride around for a while, then come back.” His words sounded cagey but true. “Bobby had his car.”

“At two in the morning?” She searched for an answer in the web of his words. “Ride around and do what?” She hoped she sounded formidable enough to provoke honesty. “Johnny wasn’t with you, was he? You didn’t take Johnny.” Johnny was four years younger than Crow.

“No. No. He’s still asleep.”

“What were you going to do out there?”

“They were drinking beer.” He shuddered involuntarily. “Don’t tell Dad. Please don’t.”

“I think he’ll have to know,” Helen told him, though they’d kept things from Carl before.

“He’ll ground me for weeks,” Crow said.

“And what do you think
I’m
going to do?”

Then Helen watched as Crow pushed the heel of each shoe off with his thumb and threw the shoes into the corner of the room. He sat in a kitchen chair as Helen mulled over whether to wake Carl or assign punishment herself. “I have some work you can do around here,” she said. Her words sounded like a promise.

“Okay.” Crow nodded.

Helen told him with both concern and remonstrance that to be in the woods at night with boys who had no business being out at that hour could land him in trouble that would be too big for anything but the police.

“Your dad and I can punish you,” she told him, “but if you have to be punished by the law, their way of listening to your explanations will be very different. And they won’t show the leniency that I’m showing you now.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice arched with hope.

“You can start Saturday. Use the ladder and clean out the gutters. Mow the lawn. Clean out the garage. There’s plenty to do. Maybe some physical labor will make you tired enough to stay in bed at night.”

Crow stood, and she leaned into him close enough to feel his body’s warmth. His face wore a mask of resignation. He poured himself a glass of milk before going upstairs. Helen sat for a while, despondent, though the event did not seem to require despondency. When she returned to bed, Carl was snoring and she climbed in beside him. She needed to find new ways to inhabit the world. She knew that the singular memory of waking into a day, any day, its particular joy, was lost—though it might be learned again. Her restlessness disturbed Carl’s sleep.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sleepily.

“Can’t sleep.” And Carl put both arms around her.

Helen dreamed that night as Carl held her, as she held him. She dreamed of a flurry of birds headed for a mountainside. The night was dark, and the moon dropped a milky smoke over the mountain and the birds.

In the dream she wanted to warn the birds, thinking they didn’t see the mountain’s craggy edges, thinking they might fly straight into its side. But she knew the sensing mechanisms for birds were good, reliable. The moon’s milkiness grew brighter, and though it was still nighttime, she thought it was day. She thought she was awake, but she had only awakened in her dream. As the birds flew toward the mountainside, she began to shout, and her shouting woke Carl. She awoke just as she rescued the birds.

“Helen, you’re shouting.” Carl shook her. “You’re having a nightmare. Helen!”

That was the night Helen began to believe that the cell of Crow’s life was taking shape, and that he was becoming someone she didn’t know anymore.

As she settled back into sleep, she envied the birds their easy rescue.