Spinning the Moon

by Karen White

  The never-ending search for Annie kept me moving in the halls of the living. And I had my house. It sustained me through that time, its walls seeming to enclose me in an embrace.

  I vaguely remembered something my grandmother had told me long ago about a connection between heartache and the moon, and I knew the answer lay high above me. So I remained looking and searching, but no answer came.

  I found great solace in my music. I returned to work full-time as an elementary-school music teacher and continued to teach private voice and piano lessons from my home. Instead of finding the constant presence of children depressing, it was what kept me living.

  My mother was concerned about me, but she lacked the ability to truly comfort me. I knew she grieved terribly over Annie and, perhaps, blamed me a little for her disappearance. I never forgave her for that. I longed for my grandmother’s wisdom, but she had died years before.

  I was surprised, therefore, when my mother made an impromptu visit on an early summer evening in June. Reclining on the watered-silk sofa in the parlor with Henryk Gorecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs flooding over me, I heard a hesitant knock on the front door. My mother’s habit was to simply breeze in unannounced, so I was amazed to see her tall, elegant form standing on the porch when I opened the door. Impeccably dressed, as always, with her glossy black hair pulled back in a neat chignon at the back of her head. A warm smile sat on her lips.

  “Hello, Laura. I hope this isn’t a bad time.” Her gaze scanned the house and interior—to either check on their condition or to make sure we were alone, I didn’t know.

  “Not at all, Mom. Come in. I’ll order out for some Chinese if you’re hungry,” I said, noting how my stomach was rumbling.

  My mother gave me a wry grin as she stepped through the doorway. “I see you still don’t cook.”

  “There’s no one to cook for, and I can’t see going to all that trouble just for me.”

  She looked a little chagrined, and I regretted being harsh, but I had detected a hint of criticism in her voice and it had reduced me to a chastised adolescent once again.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t criticizing you. Sure, why don’t we order takeout? There’s a new place that just opened on Canton Street that everybody is just raving about.”

  As I Googled the restaurant on my phone, my mother took a tissue-wrapped object out of her purse. I did a little start as I recognized it. Putting my phone down, I reached for the picture.

  “Mom, I’d almost given up ever getting this back from you,” I said as I pulled the picture from its wrappings.

  “I’m sorry for keeping it this long. It got misplaced after we moved to the new house, and then I guess I forgot about it with . . . well, with everything that’s happened.” She smoothed her already perfect hair behind her ears. “I still can’t figure out who she is. And it’s obviously somebody we’re related to.” She looked directly at me and failed to suppress a shudder.

  I stared at that all-too-familiar face and felt a cold, unseen finger on the back of my neck. Who was she? I moved to put the picture on the hall table, but slipped it into a drawer instead.

  Later, sitting at the dining room table amid little white cardboard boxes, my mother and I shared a bottle of wine. She had raised her eyebrows at my extensive collection on the wine rack in the kitchen. I wanted to explain that a glass or two of wine every night was the only way I could shut my eyes and enter oblivion. Otherwise, I would lie awake in my bed and feel the darkness encircle me. I would imagine Annie calling out for me or feel Michael’s gentle caress. My solitary torment would be my only companion if I did not have the wine to chase away the ghosts. I didn’t want to worry my mother or suffer through a lecture, so I offered no explanation.

  Dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she said, “Laura, I met the nicest man yesterday at my doctor’s office. He’s new in the practice, very nice-looking, and . . .”

  I held up my hand. “Stop it, Mom. I’m not interested.”

  “But you haven’t even met him!” She started digging in her purse until she came up with a business card and slid it across the polished surface of the table. “Here’s his card. I gave him your number, too.”

  I left the card untouched in the middle of the table. “Then you’d better call him and tell him I’m not interested.” I pushed my plate away from me and took a long sip of wine.

  “Laura, isn’t it time to restart your life? I know you miss them. But life goes on.”

  I closed my eyes in an effort to control my temper. “You don’t understand. Unless you’ve been here, you couldn’t possibly understand. Michael and Annie weren’t just a man and a child, easily replaced by the next available candidates. They were mine. I can never get them back. And I could never love another man like Michael. So just forget about your matchmaking. Love only brings me grief, and I’m through with it. Forever.”

  Her mouth became two thin strips of disapproval, but she said nothing. But when she stood to clear the table, she left the business card.

  As my mother was helping me rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, she finally broached the subject she had come over to discuss.

  She made a big production of scrambling around in the cabinet to find storage containers for the leftover food. As she was leaning down with her head in the cabinet she said, “Laura, have you been reading the papers lately?” She stood to compare sizes of Tupperware, then leaned down to put one back.

  “Not really. I haven’t had an interest, I suppose.”

  I turned on the hot water and let it run until I saw steam rise and condense on the window above the sink. I looked through the steamy haze and saw my mother’s reflection. She was looking at me with a perplexed frown, as if pondering whether to tell me something. I began to meticulously poke bits of food down the disposal. When my mother still didn’t speak, I glanced up to find her still looking at me. I shut the faucet off and turned around to face her.

  “Why? What is it?” I asked.

  She began to empty the contents of a white carton into the plastic container. She slammed it down a little too hard on the counter and said, “There’s going to be another total lunar eclipse in two weeks. The first one in five years.”

  Something akin to panic began to creep on little bird’s feet into the pit of my stomach. “Oh, really?” I tried to keep my voice calm.

  “Yes,” she continued. “And there will be another comet visible at the same time.”

  “Genetti’s Comet?”

  “No, a different one.”

  I started to tremble and could feel my knees go weak. I hastily sat down at the kitchen table. My mother snapped the container’s lid closed and then burped it before putting it in the refrigerator and closing the door with her back. She leaned against it and drew in a deep breath as if to gather her strength.

  “It’s almost the same conditions as when baby Annie disappeared. I was thinking that maybe whoever took her might come back to the same spot again.”

  An icy hand began to claw at my insides. I knew what she was going to ask me, and I didn’t know if I could do it.

  “Laura, I’ll go with you if you want. But don’t you think that if there’s even the slightest chance of getting Annie back, we should try it?” My mother’s voice pleaded and her eyes were moist from emotion. I sensed the love she held for my daughter and I softened toward her.

  “I want her back more than anything. But I just can’t imagine that whoever took her five years ago would return her to the same spot just because there’s another eclipse.” I averted my eyes so she could not see the fear in them and stood and walked over to the sink.

  My mother came to stand behind me and caught my gaze in the reflection of the window. “I know you’re afraid. Remember that I was the one who spent the first few days with you after Annie’s disappearance. I knew there was something else.”


  I drew a deep breath to steady my voice. “Mom, that place is evil. I felt as if my soul was being pulled from my body. I don’t know if I’d have the will to survive it again.” I looked down at my hands, where the knuckles had gone white from gripping the edge of the counter.

  “Please think about it.” Her words held desperation in them. But I couldn’t offer any assurances. She silently picked up her purse and let herself out the front door.

  When I heard the latch click into place, I sank down on the floor and stared ahead numbly. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to think more clearly. Images of my daughter flashed before my eyes and I felt the pull of longing as fresh as ever. I knew I would give my life for hers or to even just see her again. Whatever it took, I wanted her back.

  When I stood again, I felt stronger. And I knew what I had to do.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to enquire. In the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

  —LORD BYRON

  I brought no sunscreen or blankets on this trip—only a grim determination to see a task through. I considered bringing a weapon but had pushed that thought aside. I was completely ignorant of guns and knives and how to use them for defensive purposes, and the results could have been disastrous if I had attempted any sort of forced rescue. I figured my flashlight could be used as a pummeling device if needed. I had no idea what to expect. Only my mother’s words and an unexplainable force propelled me to the hill.

  Throughout the day and evening, fat gray clouds hung heavy in the sky, leaking out a constant drizzle. Not enough to get soaked, but just enough to be annoying. The tires of my car squished over the wet asphalt as I looked for a place to park. I was startled to find a beat-up Volkswagen Beetle illuminated by my headlights.

  As I parked my car next to it and glanced in the windows, my heart skipped a beat. No dolls or coloring books or other signs that a child had ever ridden in the car. I laughed nervously at my imaginings and turned toward the path. Droplets of rain spotted my jeans as I climbed. I looked up at the dimness of the evening sky and pulled the hood of my rain jacket over my head.

  As I approached the top, my heart hammered, but not from exertion. A blanket and a few tall branches had been converted into a makeshift shelter for a teenage couple. A small campfire illuminated their faces, while the pungent aroma of burning wood and leaves wafted over to me. The boy quickly adjusted his shorts, stood, and offered his hand to his girlfriend. I smiled awkwardly at them and averted my gaze.

  The thick cloud cover blocked any possible view of the eclipse or comet, but the telescope would give me something to do. I fished through my pocket for a quarter and put it in.

  A wave of dizziness engulfed me before I could hear the clank of the coin hitting its target. I gripped the telescope to regain my balance and was hit by the sudden smell of gardenias, which brought a fresh recollection of the night Annie disappeared. A man’s voice and the whinnying of a horse broke the silence. I whirled around to see who it was. The young couple was absorbed with each other as if they hadn’t heard a thing. I saw no one else.

  I was about to dismiss it all as the product of my overactive imagination when I distinctly heard the crying of a child. It wasn’t the fretful cries of a baby, but the screams of a child who fancies himself injured.

  I ran over to the couple. “Did you hear that?”

  They looked at me with irritation. “Hear what?”

  Turning around, I clearly heard the voice of a man. “Don’t run away from me when I’m talking to you. It’s dangerous in those woods.”

  A young child answered back, “You’re not my father and I don’t have to listen to you!”

  “Annie!” I shouted, thinking that maybe those voices would know where she was.

  The couple quickly rolled up their blanket, scooped up mud to throw on their campfire, and scurried for the path leading down to the parking lot.

  The pinpricks of a severe headache began to work themselves up from the base of my neck. Looking upward, I saw a partial moon through an opening in the cloud cover, a shadow taking a bite out of the edge. The murky sky obscured any view of the comet but I knew it was up there, trailing its mark through the sky, just as another comet had done five years previously.

  The earth seemed to tilt at an odd angle, and I lost my balance. This had to be an earthquake. They aren’t totally unheard-of in Georgia, I reassured myself. My limbs trembled uncontrollably so I lay down, curling up in a fetal position. I heard more voices, closer this time, and I nearly choked on the overwhelming smell of gardenias as I lost consciousness.

  The feel of a rough, wet tongue lapping my cheek woke me. Opening my eyes, I found a strange-looking dog of questionable parentage. It was undoubtedly the ugliest mutt I had ever seen, but certainly the friendliest if his pleasure at waking me was any indication.

  I sat up quickly and was rewarded with dizziness and spots before my eyes. I put my hands on either side of my head to keep it steady. The dog climbed into my lap and lay down, his tail thumping against the ground.

  Absently patting the dog, I looked around. The scenery was new but offered an uncanny familiarity. I realized I must have staggered down the hill in my confusion. The gloomy cloud cover of night had blossomed into a sky of glaring blue, and the ground around me appeared bone-dry. Wanting to see how much time had passed, I lifted my arm, but was dismayed to find my watch gone. It had been a gift from Michael, and I felt another stab of loss.

  Seeing no sign of the asphalt parking lot, I determined that I had managed to roam to the other side of the hill in some kind of delirious state, because I couldn’t remember anything. I stood, pushing the dog gently off of my lap. The ground appeared to pitch violently, so I sat down again. I searched unsuccessfully in the overgrown vegetation for my purse, with my phone inside it, and then shrugged out of my rain jacket as the sweltering sun bore down on me. When the earth stopped spinning, I stood again slowly to make my way back to the parking lot. With no key or phone, I wasn’t sure what I would do when I got to my car, but at least I had a direction to head in. Maybe there’d be more cars in the parking lot and I would just wait until somebody came.

  There were no marked paths, so I was forced to walk very slowly. I had to continually brush aside green stalks and blades with my hands, which cut the skin on my palms. I paused to rest and wipe the sweat from my face. It then occurred to me that except for the insistent humming of insects, it was totally silent. No planes flying overhead; no traffic on the highway.

  Something pounding through the underbrush on my right shattered the silence. My mouth went dry as I recalled that panthers could still be found in the wild in this part of the state.

  I turned as a small boy, age seven or eight years, emerged hurtling through the underbrush and running smack into my middle. I staggered backward. He looked up at me with wild brown eyes and pointed behind him.

  “It’s a catamount! Help—he’s gonna get me!”

  I had no need to ask what a catamount was, as the object of the boy’s terror slowly sauntered its way out of the thicket, its body low to the ground as it moved toward its prey. Instinctively, I shoved the boy behind me. As if to make his intentions clear, the large cat darted its tongue out and flattened its ears. The feral eyes glinted in the sunlight, and I wondered if it could smell my fear. Something moved outside my peripheral vision, but I dared not look. A deep growling began in the depths of the cat’s throat, and I turned and threw my arms over the boy. He trembled, his sweat sticking to my own on my bare arms. I bent my head, prepared for the gouging of sharp claws through the thin cotton of my blouse. The beast hissed and sprang from the ground. I squeezed the boy tightly, his small bones sharp under my hands, anticipating pointed teeth in my flesh. The crack of a rifle shot at close range split the air
.

  The feline dropped down like a leaden weight, hitting my shoulder and knocking us to the ground. Tasting dirt, I turned my head and spat. I scrambled on my hands and knees away from the cat, dragging the boy with me.

  Coming to a spot about ten feet away, I stopped. Clutching me wildly, the boy sobbed incoherently. I gathered him in my arms and made soothing sounds while keeping a wary eye on the panther for any signs of movement. The acrid odor of gunpowder stung my nostrils.

  A shadow fell on us, making us both look up. The boy scrambled to his feet and tried to unobtrusively wipe the tears off his cheeks with the backs of his sleeves. His clothing gave me a start. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen a boy his age in anything but jeans and a T-shirt, but this child wore a white cotton shirt with loose knee breeches and suspenders. His dirty feet were bare.

  The dog bolted out of the bushes and leapt on the boy with a joyful yapping. I made a move to stand to greet our rescuer, but instead felt two firm hands grab me by the arms and hoist me up. I found myself looking up into eyes that suddenly reminded me of the Caribbean. I had a flash of recognition for a moment, and then it was gone. He was about my age or perhaps a little older, but I was sure I would have remembered this man had I met him before. He was looking at me just as closely, his gaze almost intimate. I lowered my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I managed. “You . . . you saved my life.” His hands trembled on my arms and I realized I was shaking.

  “Are you all right?” His look of concern warmed me, and I was ready to say yes, until I felt the pain in my shoulder from where the cat had landed on me. I winced.

  He released me gently. “I think you need to see a doctor. Do you live around here? I will take you home.”

  I blushed when I realized that he was staring at my jeans.