Moonrise

by Sarah Crossan

  But I can’t stop.

  GRILLED CHEESE

  We’ve paused the TV,

  are grilling cheese sandwiches,

  when a voice calls out from the front hall:

  ‘Smells like dinner!’

  There’s a laugh – the sound of love in it.

  Nell startles

  like a cat facing an oncoming car,

  a cat who knows her nine lives are up.

  She tries to grab the sandwiches from the pan

  with her bare hand,

  burns her fingers.

  She yelps.

  I run the faucet,

  drag her over by the wrist,

  hold her hand under cold water.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I whisper,

  wondering how quickly I could unlock

  the patio doors and be in the backyard,

  gone so she doesn’t get into trouble.

  But why would she?

  Isn’t she allowed a boyfriend?

  It’s not like we’re rolling naked on the rug.

  Nell bites her trembling bottom lip.

  ‘I should have said something.

  I was going to, but I couldn’t.’

  And then he walks in,

  one arm swinging,

  face fixed into a smile.

  A smile that fades

  when he sees me with his daughter.

  ‘Joseph Moon,’ he says evenly.

  ‘Warden,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ Nell stammers.

  DUEL

  The warden eyeballs me

  like we’re about to duel.

  He waits for me to make the first move.

  I don’t.

  And neither does he.

  Nell is shaking.

  And why wouldn’t she?

  ‘You lied,’ I say,

  turning to her,

  turning on her,

  my tone toxic.

  Roughly I let go of her wrist,

  move closer to the patio doors.

  The warden pulls up his pants by the waistband,

  takes two

  long strides towards Nell,

  stands in front of her making

  himself into a wall between us.

  ‘What are you doing here, Joseph?’ he asks.

  ‘Me? Oh, I was deciding whether to steal

  your blender, desk lamp

  or daughter.’

  Nell flinches.

  ‘Joe’s a friend. I can explain.’

  And maybe she tries,

  but I don’t wait around to hear it.

  ‘Don’t go, Joe!’ Nell shouts. ‘Joe!’

  I step into the darkness,

  her voice behind me calling.

  ANOTHER PICTURE MESSAGE

  From Reed.

  A photo of a girl in a bikini this time,

  thin with tan skin

  and a grin that says,

  My worries are elsewhere.

  She is holding an ice cream cone;

  her flip-flops are red.

  Usually I’d confirm she’s hot,

  say Reed’s one lucky bastard

  and ask for more pictures.

  But I don’t feel like it tonight.

  A REMINDER

  ‘Aunt Karen’s been at the house

  spouting about how psychologically damaging

  seeing Ed will be,’ Angela says.

  ‘She’s, like, genuinely concerned

  for both of us.’

  I haven’t the patience for Angela’s excuses,

  her I’m coming soon promises.

  ‘Are you flying down or not?

  Cos in case you didn’t know,

  time’s running out.

  The execution is in fourteen days.’

  ‘Yeah, Joe, I know that,

  but thanks for reminding me what an

  asshole I am.’

  FIREWORKS

  My first Fourth of July without Ed,

  and the whole island was at Fort Wadsworth

  watching the fireworks.

  Angela chewed on a liquorice lace,

  one arm around me.

  Aunt Karen pointed into the sky

  at every burst of colour,

  every whizz and bang.

  Mom wasn’t with us.

  ‘She’s not well,’ Aunt Karen told me.

  I knew it wasn’t true.

  I’d seen Mom getting ready to go out

  through the keyhole of her bedroom.

  Aunt Karen

  did that:

  protected us from Mom’s lies,

  from knowing about her dates with losers

  or when she got drunk.

  But I knew the truth.

  Looking back now I know

  I only ever pretended to be persuaded.

  A MISTAKE

  I push past Nell to get into the diner,

  but more roughly than I mean to

  and she stumbles,

  grabs the handrail.

  ‘Shout at me then,’ she says,

  following me inside.

  Sue is stirring a hot pot of oatmeal.

  Seeing us, she slides into the kitchen.

  Nell puts her hand over the bags ready for delivery.

  ‘Tell me what I was meant to do once I knew.’

  ‘You could have talked to me,’

  I say through clenched teeth.

  ‘I talk to you more than to anyone, Joe.

  My whole life I’ve just been Miller’s kid.

  A spoilt, surly bitch,

  the kid whose dad kills for a living.

  With you, I wasn’t,

  and when that happened

  I didn’t want to be his daughter any more,

  especially not around you

  cos of everything it meant.

  You’d have hated me.’

  She is screeching.

  ‘We can’t be friends now.

  I’ve too much to think about,’ I tell her.

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do. Please leave me alone, Nell.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she says,

  and rushes out of the diner by the back door.

  I’m breathing heavily. My heart is thumping.

  Sue reappears looking flustered.

  She must have heard everything.

  ‘You’re making a mistake letting her leave,’ she says.

  I DON’T KNOW WHY

  I don’t know why I didn’t

  put my arms around her,

  tell her it’s OK,

  that I know she never meant to hurt me,

  that sometimes we like people we shouldn’t

  and by the time we feel

  what we feel

  it’s already too late.

  NO REHEARSAL

  I arrive at the prison early, sit sweating in the car,

  waiting.

  Father Matthew taps on the windshield.

  ‘Time for a beverage today?’ he asks.

  He sits opposite me in the visitors’ room,

  sips at a peppermint tea.

  He’s wearing a lemon-coloured shirt

  buttoned up to the neck,

  baggy brown pants with more pockets

  than any ordinary person needs.

  And he’s younger than I remember –

  grey hair adding years to his life that aren’t there.

  He’s definitely no older than forty.

  ‘Ed tells me you got a job,’ he says.

  ‘Wakeling ain’t heaving with opportunity.

  I reckon you done good.’

  The priest studies me like you might

  a painting in a museum,

  checking my face for revealing cracks and bumps.

  ‘I do believe you got something on your mind.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  I’m not sure why I agreed to sit

  with the priest in the first place.

  Was I planning a confession?r />
  Did I want to tell him how I’ve treated Nell?

  Maybe I should explain I can’t do what Ed’s asked:

  I can’t be happy.

  I don’t know how,

  especially not now.

  He rolls a paper napkin into a ball.

  ‘I been watching you coming and going, Joe.

  All that’s in mind, when I see you, is respect.’

  He grins.

  Is he mocking me?

  ‘I mean to say, I admire you.

  You coulda stayed in New York,

  come down just before August eighteenth.

  Or you coulda come down and skipped visits.

  You haven’t.

  You’ve walked miles in mugginess,

  and though I reckon you been

  quietly

  grumbling and grousing,

  your brother don’t know how tough it is.

  Ed talks to me, see.’

  He scratches the bridge of his nose.

  ‘You, Joe, leave the complaining at home.’

  We sit in silence for a minute.

  Then I ask, ‘Will he die, Father?’

  ‘We’re all dying.

  And in some ways they killed part of him already.’

  ‘I’m living in a parallel universe.’

  Father Matthew reaches across the table and

  tries to take my hand.

  Instinctively

  I pull it away.

  He doesn’t react.

  ‘You stay in today, Joe,

  cos tomorrow’s a story that ain’t been written yet.

  No use in rehearsing it.

  No use at all.’

  A couple at another table laugh,

  forgetting where they are, I guess.

  ‘It’s two o’clock,’ I tell him.

  ‘I gotta go.’

  POKER

  ‘Don’t you ever miss Mom?’ I ask Ed.

  He concentrates on my face.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Not usually. But I wonder why not.

  Does that make me cold?’

  Ed holds up a hand to stop me speaking.

  ‘Hey. Think about it this way.

  If you’re playing poker

  and you never get any good cards,

  you might think,

  Damn, I put so much money into this game,

  I gotta keep going cos

  eventually I’ll get thrown an ace of hearts,

  you know?

  But I don’t think about poker like that.

  Makes no sense to keep betting on a losing game.

  Cut your losses.

  Run out of that casino and

  spend your cash on a martini.’

  I must look confused.

  ‘It’s the same with people,’ he explains.

  ‘You keep placing bets on someone

  who never comes through,

  you’re just a total nutcracker.

  Put your money on a sure bet.

  Or a better bet, at least.’

  ‘Mom might visit.

  She might be the ace of hearts that comes through.’

  Ed throws his hands in the air.

  ‘Then let her come. But I sure as hell

  won’t be putting any money on it.’

  SID SIPS

  ‘Sid sips from it,’ I read aloud real slowly,

  sounding out each letter,

  each word,

  before I could understand the

  sentence.

  Angela patted my hand, jiggled me

  up and down

  on her lap.

  ‘Nice job,’ she said.

  Ed wasn’t a book person.

  He watched from the couch

  making faces,

  making us laugh,

  making my homework take

  forever.

  Angela said, ‘Keep going, Joe.

  Don’t you wanna know what Sid did next?’

  Ed smirked. ‘Did he stick his finger up his ass?’

  Angela threw an eraser across the room,

  hit Ed on the side of the head with it.

  ‘You are not helping!’ she shouted.

  Mom burst in from the kitchen.

  ‘Keep the noise down,

  I’m trying to take a call for God’s sake.’

  ‘Joe can read,’ Angela said.

  She held up the book,

  waved it so Mom wouldn’t miss it.

  ‘That’s great, Angela.

  Once you’re done teaching Joe,

  have a go with Ed, huh?

  Maybe if he learns to read he’ll get a job

  and stop sponging off his mother.’

  Ed opened his mouth to say something

  but for the first time

  didn’t answer back.

  It was like

  he was trying to understand something new.

  ‘She didn’t mean it,’ Angela said.

  Ed blinked. ‘Oh, I think she did.’

  SPECIAL PROVISIONS

  The farm sends a letter:

  they’ve made special provisions for prison visits

  in the run up to August 18.

  The week before,

  a meeting room will be available

  to allow

  full contact

  visits with Ed,

  and on the day

  prior to execution,

  visiting hours will be

  extended

  for family members,

  a spiritual adviser

  and one legal representative.

  The letter suggests that if

  I have questions I should contact

  Philip Miller directly.

  I have questions,

  but none he could answer.

  LIGHTENING

  I drop off a hundred dollars’ worth of pies

  and my phone rings.

  It isn’t Nell.

  It’s Angela.

  I haven’t the energy to talk.

  I answer anyway.

  ‘I’m flying to Houston tomorrow,’ she cheeps.

  ‘Bus into Wakeling three hours later!’

  ‘Really? That’s awesome.’

  She isn’t coming so we can see the rodeo but still …

  She can visit the prison too.

  I won’t be alone in the apartment.

  Someone can share this load,

  which is already lifting

  a bit

  with the news.

  ‘Thank God you’re coming,’ I tell her.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  DRAFT

  I draft a message to Nell on my phone.

  But I don’t send it;

  I change my mind and

  delete the whole thing.

  I miss her, but I can’t send any message.

  Why not?

  I mean,

  why the hell not?

  LUGGAGE

  Angela is thin,

  hair flat and dirty,

  a weakened smile.

  She waves lightly,

  letting go of the handrail and

  slipping down the bus steps.

  I catch her at the bottom.

  She’s shaking like she’ll

  collapse if I let go.

  The bus driver cracks open the undercarriage,

  wrestles with suitcases,

  grunting and shunting

  bags on to the sidewalk like garbage.

  ‘Did you bring luggage?’ I ask Angela.

  She laughs so hard the sound

  fills the station.

  People look.

  ‘I did. I brought luggage,’ she tells me

  and presses her face into my neck.

  CLOSER TO HOME

  Angela puts her purse on the floor,

  then quickly picks it up again.

  Our house in Staten Island is small,

  the neighbourhood grotty,

  but our place was always clean.
/>   Aunt Karen saw to that.

  ‘I’m sorry it isn’t nicer,’ I say.

  ‘I expected worse,’ she says.

  We lean against the countertop.

  ‘Thanks for the money,’ she says.

  ‘What money?’ I ask.

  ‘The money you sent.’

  ‘I didn’t send you money, Ange.’

  She frowns. ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  She gazes at a brown stain on the lino,

  looks like she’s working through every problem

  that ever existed in her mind

  all at the same time.

  ‘Mom called Ed,’ I say.

  ‘What for?’ she asks.

  I shrug.

  Angela shakes her head and

  goes to the bathroom,

  slamming the door closed.

  The extractor fan whirrs and crackles,

  water splashes from the taps.

  This is noise

  in my apartment that isn’t me.

  And it makes me feel a little closer to home.

  NOW

  Now I’ve got Angela

  I shouldn’t miss Nell so much.

  I shouldn’t think about her.

  But I do.

  In the mornings I still

  check my phone for messages

  before my eyes have opened.

  At night I sleep early

  to stop myself waiting for her call.

  I should focus on my job,

  my brother,

  on why I’m here in the first place.