Valley of the Moon (32 page)

T
he small blue tablet looked unremarkable. I held it in the palm of my hand. Could this really be the fix?

Lux's eyes bored into mine. She'd just handed me a medication that could potentially end our captivity. I should feel just one overriding emotion.
Joy
. Instead, fear and longing dueled it out inside me, making it quite difficult to summon up the appropriate response.

“Thank you, I'll think about it.” I handed the pill back to her.

“You'll think about it? What is there to think about, Joseph?”

“I have responsibilities here. I can't just leave.”

“There are plenty of responsible people here. Everybody, in fact.” She crossed her arms. “I understand. You're worried about how long it will take for the fog to return. Not knowing when you'll be back. That's the big question. But I've given that a lot of thought and I think this is a good time to risk it. The fog's been coming more regularly now. In the past four years, it's never stayed away longer than four months. There were even a few times it came every month. If you average it all out, the fog has been coming roughly every two months.”

When I'd first met Lux, she was twenty-five. Now she was thirty-four. She had a single crease on her forehead. Faint lines around her mouth. She'd learned to inhabit her beauty; she lived now in all its rooms.

“Two months! I can't be gone for that long,” I protested.

“Why not? Eight weeks is nothing. It will take that long to get acclimated, anyway, assuming you do make it through. We're probably getting way ahead of ourselves.”

I could tell by the high color in her cheeks how much she hoped the pill would work.

“What am I going to do in San Francisco for two months?”

How would I pass—a man of 1909 in 1984? And did I even want to pass? What if I hated the late twentieth century? What if the fog never returned? What if I got stuck there forever?

“You'll be with me. I'll walk you through everything. Yes, it will be shocking, you'll be disoriented just like I was disoriented when I first came to Greengage. But you were a patient guide. I'll be the same for you.”

“I don't know.”

She frowned. “Yes. That's right. You don't know. None of us knows anything. There are no guarantees, ever. Are you going to let that stop you?”

“What if 1984 isn't right for me?”

“Then you'll come back.”

“What if others want to leave?”

“Then they'll go. Jesus, Joseph, it's time. If you don't try the beta blockers, somebody else will. And I don't want it to be somebody else. I want it to be you. You're the one who needs to do this.”

She walked up and stood beside me, so close our arms touched. I knew etiquette required that I take a step to the left, reestablishing a proper distance between us; instead I increased the pressure the slightest little bit and waited for her to move her arm. She did not. We both stared straight ahead and pretended our limbs weren't touching. I thought of that hot summer night down by the creek, Lux in her transparent nightgown, water streaming down her body. How difficult it was to look away from her. The jolt of that realization.

She was the main reason, perhaps the only reason, I would consider this madness. I was haunted by her. She was the first thing I thought of when I woke in the mornings, and the last before I closed my eyes at night.

What would it be like to live with her? To wake and see her pad across the room in her pajamas. To wait for her to come home from work every evening. To see her gloriously alive and competent in her own time.

“I know it's scary,” she said. “But aren't you also curious to see everything I've been telling you about all these years?”

I'd given up the idea that we'd ever get out of Greengage long ago. Hope was a torn sail lying on the deck. Lux was the breeze that poked at it.

“What if it doesn't work?”

“Then you go back to this lovely, lovely life. Don't you see, Joseph? There's no way to lose.”

Oh, but she was wrong—there was everything to lose. Once you let yourself want something, you could never take back the wanting.

I swallowed the blue tablet anyway.

“Y
ou took off,” panted Lux.

She was bent over, hands on her knees.

Once I realized it wasn't going to kill me, I'd ridden the fog like a wave right out of 1909, seventy-five years into the future. I'd run as fast as I could away from Greengage.

“The trees. The vegetation. It looks exactly the same,” I gasped.

“How do you feel? Is your heart racing?”

I took a few deep breaths. The medication was holding my heart rate back. A slightly uncomfortable pressure, but other than that, I felt normal. “I'm fine.”

Lux looked over my shoulder. “The fog's still here. Usually as soon as I come through, it vaporizes. It makes this funny sound, a kind of backward whooshing.”

The fog was far less menacing on this side. It was a puffy, lacy sort of mist.

“Let's wait a few minutes, see if it goes,” she said.

We stood in the clearing for five minutes. When five minutes was up, she checked her watch and mumbled, “Ten minutes more.”

When those ten minutes had passed, she shook her head bewilderedly. “It's like it's watching. It knows one of you is out here. I don't think it's going to evaporate, Joseph. Maybe it won't—not while you're on this side. It's keeping the door open for you, so to speak.”

She turned to me, her eyes bright. “You know what this means? You don't have to wait—you can go back anytime.”

I felt strangely cheated hearing this news. Once I'd finally decided to go and had committed myself, I wanted the door to be completely shut behind me. I wanted to be forced to stay in 1984 for a few months so I could experience the heightened reality of being exiled with her.

“I guess I should go back,” I said. I had a responsibility to tell everybody that it had worked, that they could take a beta blocker and leave Greengage, too.

“Do you want to go back?” asked Lux.

Her braid had loosened. Two long tendrils crept down her neck.

“No.”

“Then don't. You're not expected for at least a month. After everything you've been through, nobody would begrudge you that.”

She nodded at me, seeking my approval. We were making some private decision that could only be made because we were standing together on the other side of the fog.

I heard a rushing sound far in the distance. And closer by, music. A radio?

“The highway,” she said. “And—” She listened for a moment. “Steely Dan. An oldie.” She laughed. “Perfect! ‘Reeling in the Years.' It's a sign.”

I
hadn't realized how much I wanted him to stay until he was confronted with the opportunity to go straight back to Greengage. These past weeks I'd lived in a sort of in-between place. The bottle of pills ever present in my purse, a reminder of my longing and intention to set him free.

I opened the trunk of my car and pulled out a canvas bag.

“You can get dressed in there,” I said, pointing to the bathroom.

He peered in the bag and frowned.

“You can't go around looking like that,” I said.

Joseph wore his typical daily uniform—wool trousers, suspenders, boots. And today, it being a special occasion and all, a bowler hat.

I'd bought clothes for him: a pair of Levi's, a white T-shirt, and a blue cotton sweater. When he emerged from the bathroom, the change was stunning; he'd been transformed into a modern man. My stomach fluttered. I tried not to stare as he sat down in the passenger seat of my Camry.

I pulled out slowly and he gaped at the dashboard. I'd seen the Model T Ford rusting away in Greengage. All it had was a gearshift and odometer.

I wanted to impress him. “Hot?” I asked, and turned on the air conditioning.

A minute later he put on his hat. Something from home to ground him.

I'd been new to his world once. I remembered well how this went. The disorientation. The embarrassment that you didn't know what something was or how it was used. I could easily put myself in his place, imagine all his questions. So I just started talking.

“That's a Pontiac Grand Am. That's a Chevrolet Caprice. This is Highway 101. The price of gas is one dollar and thirty-two cents a gallon. The speed limit is fifty-five, but you can safely go sixty-five without getting stopped by a cop. This is the Golden Gate Bridge. Don't ask me why it's painted red and not gold—I have no idea. That pointy skyscraper? The Transamerica Building. Those skates are called Rollerblades. That woman is wearing a cowl-necked sweater. That's what's called a yuppie. Macy's. Amazing windows at Christmas. McDonald's—Benno practically lives there.”

Finally we pulled up to 428 Elizabeth Street. My apartment would be empty; Benno was sleeping over at a friend's house this weekend.

Joseph hadn't said a word since we left the Valley of the Moon. We climbed up the stairs and I blabbered on.

“Rhonda and Ginger used to live in the basement apartment, but they moved because it was too small once they had Sophie. The Patels live there.” I pointed down at the first floor. “Top floor is Doro and Rose, and this is me.”

I unlocked the door and we walked through the living room into the kitchen. He stared at me as if to say
What now?

“Let's take that off,” I said, putting his bowler hat on top of the fridge. “How about some tea?”

I put the kettle on. Then, because I couldn't think of what else to do, I went around naming and explaining more things.

“Microwave, garbage disposal, VCR, answering machine. Häagen-Dazs, Hamburger Helper, eggs—about ninety cents a dozen. Nylons—I have to wear them for work; a Rubik's Cube—try it, Benno can do it in six moves. FM radio—KFOG is the best station; phone; Lip Smacker; junk drawer—if you need anything, just take it (
what's a tampon doing in there, Jesus!
); futon couch—folds out into a bed; afghan my mother made me. Benno's room. Let's just leave the door open and air it out a bit, shall we? My room. Guest room—you'll be sleeping in there. Albums. Cassettes. Stereo. Tape player. Help yourself to anything. I want you to feel at home.”

The teakettle whistled. I sounded like I was on speed. Maybe
I
should take a beta blocker.

Joseph sat down and rubbed his temples.

“What's wrong?”

“I have a headache.”

I gave him two Tylenol and tried not to panic.
It's just a headache. He's fine. Don't make a big deal of this.
I plunked teabags into mugs and poured boiling water over them. I brought the mugs to the table. Having him here, sitting in my kitchen, felt unreal. I had to fight to stay in my body, to not reject this reality. I could see he was doing the same.

He took a small sip of the tea.

“This is not a mistake,” I said. “You being here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Are you sorry you came?”

His eyes drifted to the window as an ambulance went by, filling the room with the wailing of its alarm.

“An ambulance. You want me to shut the window?”

He closed his eyes.

“It's overwhelming, isn't it? All that you saw on the ride?”

“Yes.”

“Was it terrible? Was it ugly?”

“It was just—different.”

Joseph was usually so precise in his language. That he defaulted to an adjective like
different
told me how overstimulated he was.

“Look. We can take it slow. We can stay right here until you feel safe. We don't even have to leave the apartment for the rest of the day. Benno won't be home until Sunday. We can order in Chinese.”

He nodded wearily. “Does Benno know about the beta blockers?”

“I didn't tell him. I didn't want to get his hopes up. But he'll be happy. My God, the kid will be beside himself.”

This man adored my son. He knew him intimately. His weaknesses, his foibles, his quirks, and he loved him anyway.

“I'm so happy you're here,” I said to him. “I'm beside myself, too, in case you were wondering.”

Something happened to Joseph's face then. The worry slid away and was replaced with something involuntary and true.

Hope.

“The clothes suit you. You look good,” I added with a grin.

He glanced down at his sweater, his jeans.

“Handsome,” I said.

He blushed. I blushed.

I looked at the clock. It was 3:00
P.M.
What the hell. Screw the tea—I grabbed two beers out of the fridge.