I had had several friends who had died just like that, and I told Anton. Felicity, the English girl, hit by the school bus. Mary Gains, who drowned trying to skate on her neighbor’s swimming pool. The skates became weights on her feet, anchoring her to the deep end. I hated thinking about that, but that’s how the teachers had explained it in school. Edie Miller died of bone cancer in second grade. One day she looked fine. The next month she was pale, yellow-looking like an enamel doll, and bald. The tiniest hairs sprouted from dry and flaky skin and her eyes widened, receding in the sockets. Wise dark eyes that didn’t flinch. On her lips she wore a little smile, a little almost mean smile. The next month she didn’t come to school. The next after that she was dead. In the courtyard behind our classroom the teacher planted a cherry tree for Edie, as she had for Felicity and Mary. There was a whole orchard back there for kids who had died. I wondered if I died out here would I get a tree in that orchard?
Anton listened to me, his playfulness temporarily suspended. I’d feel large and important. He looked at my hands and my feet, almost shy in his seriousness. “But why do you want to become a Catholic?” he asked.
Because you’re Catholic, I wanted to say, but didn’t because I wanted to think of something smarter to say, but couldn’t. He was always talking about people who weren’t smart and people who were smart and I wanted to be one of the smart ones. Then I just wanted him to understand.
Time passed. I pretended to be thinking. I thought of Caroline standing calmly at prayer, hands folded, and of how Anton loved her and of how I wanted him to love me the way he loved her.
“Because I’m afraid of dying and don’t want to be. I have bad thoughts that I don’t want to be having. I want to be good and spiritual,” I said. I spoke fast. That’s what Mom said all the time, spiritual. He asked me what my bad thoughts were and I told him. I wanted to confess to him and be forgiven and loved the way Mom was. The way Cynthia Banks was and Mark Bitar and all those other patients. I told him I thought about stealing. I didn’t tell him I had actually stolen. I told him I thought about Dad and Mom getting back together all the time. For a moment I was afraid he’d get mad and jealous, but he didn’t. He said some tender words about my parents and how this wasn’t the way families were supposed to be. He said he understood how hard it was on all of us kids.
“You aren’t the kids you used to be,” he said. “All of you, we’ve all changed. Pain does that to you. But you go forward, babe. You can’t look behind. In some ways that’s what Christ’s Resurrection is all about.” His eyes were warm and soft and I could feel that everything in him was focused on me, trying to make me feel better. I loved Anton. I didn’t really know what he meant about the Resurrection, but I loved him so absolutely. We were quiet, still walking.
“When my father was sick and dying, I thought a lot about death too, babe. Death makes you think more about God, Whom I’d forgotten about after leaving the priesthood. Thinking about death made me think about life, coming to life and the surprise of it. Death can be just the same, a surprise. We don’t expect to be born. We don’t expect to get sick. We don’t expect to die. It’s comforting to realize that existence is a miracle. But, Katy…” I loved that he called me Katy. Dad called me Katy. His mouth had that dry unsticking sound. He cleared his throat and spit. “Jesus preaches that salvation is in this world. Try focusing on being here, on this trip, in this desert. Each new experience unlocks a new part of your self, opens you up.” The way he spoke, it was as if there were all these mysteries inside of me that hadn’t yet been revealed. In a way it was exciting to think about that, and I did as he talked on about some other ideas that I didn’t understand or pay attention to. I wondered if he were loving me more than he loved Julia.
“Why did you become a Catholic?” I stubbed my sandal into the ground. Dust rose and sank again, blowing. I thought of Mom in love with Anton’s spirituality and how good that made her feel. I wanted to feel like that, all good and pure inside like the inside of a potato. I wanted Anton to save me. I wanted to stand there forever with Anton.
“I was born a Catholic, babe,” he said. “It wasn’t a choice.” His eyes squinted.
“You believed, though. At some point you had a choice to believe or not. And you wanted to become a priest,” I said. I pressed my pocket to check for the money. It was still there. I wanted to tell Anton that Jane was thinking of running away. I thought if he knew he could make her stop and love her and forgive her. Then I filled inside, thinking maybe I could get Jane to convert too and that would make them love each other in an obvious way. I’d speak to Jane. We could convert together.
“St. Augustine said, “I believe because it’s absurd.” I always loved that. And I think it was Sartre who said, “I believe because if I’m wrong I’m the loser.” I always loved that too.” Anton laughed so I laughed, though I had no idea who he was talking about. “When I became a Jesuit I wanted to help people see the love of God. I thought it could help make their lives better. More peaceful. But also it was an intellectual, a philosophical quest. I suppose that’s why I wasn’t suited for the priesthood.” He paused to light a joint. The smell was first sweet, then large. I hated when it got large. It took over every other smell. I felt confused. I no longer understood what I wanted. “It’s not a small choice to change religions.” That actually hadn’t occurred to me. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. Anton recited some prayers to me from his red book. We meditated for a while and then Anton guided me through one decade of the rosary. I liked the chanting and the meditating. It made me feel in touch with something. I didn’t know what, just something. The sun was so orange and big on the horizon, sinking. We’d walked a long way. I didn’t want to turn back and repeat the same steps. I hated repeating things. I didn’t listen to the prayers. I thought about the Resurrection and becoming someone new and of all the mysteries locked inside me. I wanted to be Catholic.
♦
Sometimes when Julia and Anton played ‘Uncle’ he’d take her shirt instead of bending her fingers. That made Julia yell louder. He’d chase her, sneaking up on her from behind, catch her and yank her shirt off, giving her that wink and smile.
“Julia’s flirting with Dad again,” Sofia would say, tossing back her hair.
Julia laughed and her knees sank into the dust and the dust rose and settled on her legs and her arms crossed over her chest, covering the pinkish knobs.
“I like protecting Anton,” she’d say.
♦
“I can’t protect Mom anymore” is what Jane said when she ran away. Jane ran away in Lake Havasu City – Home of the London Bridge. One moment she was with us. The next she was gone, as if she were dead. Anton and Mom tried to go after her. They drove off in the Eldorado all the way to Los Angeles, but they couldn’t find her. It was late October.
Julia and I knew Jane would be leaving. Julia packed Jane a bag of clothes and I made some sandwiches. We had stopped in Lake Havasu City at a park for a swim and had ended up staying a few days. The park smelled of motorboat exhaust and gum wrappers and cigarette butts; straws and bits of paper littered the shores. Motorboats cruised at fast speed, spitting up a wake that tumbled, foamy, to the shore. “They dammed the Colorado for this?” James said, his arm gesturing toward the water.
Jane took a bus from downtown Havasu at the Esso Station, back to Los Angeles. A five-hour trip. In Los Angeles she’d catch a cross-country bus, a Greyhound, to New York City, where her friend Anna would meet her. Julia and I walked with her to the bus. I felt as if we were all the same age. In fact, as if I were the oldest, because I bought the ticket. I bought it from the boy selling gas, feeling sorry for Jane that she was leaving. I thought she didn’t feel part of the family and that made me sad. A lump caught in the back of my throat. I coughed. I wasn’t going to cry. The boy didn’t seem that old either. His face was thick with pimples so sore they certainly must hurt. The gas station was on a hill above town. You could look down toward the river and see the London Bri
dge.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to come?” Jane asked. Her big eyes held us. I looked away from her. It was a new town and the black roads shone and smelled of tar. The air was hot.
“Why do you think they bothered bringing that bridge all the way over here?” I asked. It had only recently been erected. I wondered if we’d seen it when we were in London. We’d been there with Dad two years before, in 1968. That seemed like a million years ago. I tried to remember Dad and Mom together, but couldn’t.
Jane asked again if we’d come.
“We have a bloody mint with all Kate’s money,” Julia said.
“We could stay in hotels,” I said. I imagined the three of us in a hotel like the Desert Princess, sipping cocktails or sodas by the pool, charging up a storm. I almost wanted to go. It felt as if something tremendous were about to be ripped from me. From my in-sides. My throat choked again and my nose ached. Jane and Julia laughed again, a nervous kind of laughter. I handed Julia all my money, digging it out of my pockets and holster. It was crumpled up, but Julia straightened it out and then gave it to Jane, neat and ordered. Now the air smelled of exhaust. A car skidded to a halt in front of the gas station, giving us a start. For a moment we thought it was the Eldorado with Mom and Anton. We almost wished it had been. The car left rubber tracks on the new asphalt and vanished.
“I can’t protect Mom anymore,” Jane said again, looking at us as if to apologize. The bus pulled in. An old-looking bus. All soft angles. I thought it might fall apart.
“Some rich guy not knowing what to do with his money, that’s why the bridge was brought over,” Julia said.
“What if the bus breaks down in the middle of the desert?” I asked.
“I’ve got your money,” Jane said. The bus waited impatiently. I wondered if I’d ever see Jane again. I gave her some special twigs that she could burn for good luck.
“Good luck, babe,” I said, my voice shaking, my eyes filling with tears. Jane winced.
“She’s going to convert,” Julia said and wiped some tears from her eyes.
“God be with you,” I said and smiled. I felt bad for making fun of God, but I thought He’d forgive me.
“And also with you,” Jane said, and winked. Then Jane stopped smiling and her face became serious. “Don’t do that, Kate. Promise me.” I didn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal out of converting. She grabbed my arms suddenly and her nails bit into my skin. Her big eyes held me. “Don’t do that.” The bus door opened and the boy selling gas said it was time for the bus to leave.
The entrance to the bus was dark. You couldn’t see what was inside. Everything went silent, fast and sharp like a slap. I grabbed Jane, clinging to her. “Don’t cling to me,” Mom would say when we held on to her like that. I thought of small things, of Jane cooking creamed chipped beef, of Jane braiding my hair, of Jane making food-shopping lists, keeping us in order. I was suddenly afraid. Terrified. All my fascination with God hadn’t prepared me for this. I couldn’t hear a thing. It was as if we were submerged in water, with the world becoming all blurry and funny-seeming. Inside me shattered. Julia tried to pry me away from Jane and the boy gestured for her to get on the bus. There were a thousand things I needed to say to Jane. I thought of Siamese twins and what it would feel like to be severed. I wanted to scream. The sunlight blinded.
“You’ll be home before you know it, Kate,” Jane said softly in my ear. “I promise.”
Julia took me in her arms. The bus sucked Jane inside and the doors closed. I shut my eyes. My nose and throat ached. The engine started, bursting exhaust. I thought of standing at the foot of the driveway waiting for our school bus, of Anton’s Cadillac hidden down the overgrown lane. I thought of Dad picking us up and the Chocolate Shoppe and the sticker store, how that was all gone. I looked down at my dress. It was filthy. I had bare feet. Then Jane was gone.
♦
It took the others a while to realize that Jane had run away. James noticed first, but not until dinner. She was long gone by then. “Where’s Jane?” he asked. We were all at the table. Everyone looked around. Julia and I stared at each other and then away, pretending to be just as confused. But our faces kept twitching and our nervous tics gave us away. Julia twirled her hair and I fiddled with my knuckles.
“Where’s your money?” Mom asked, getting up from her chair to come toward me. She grabbed my arm. Suddenly everyone was talking. I thought of Jane on that rickety old bus, chugging through the desert. I wanted to cry.
“This is crazy,” I heard James say. His face was dark and shining, lit only by the light from the candles on the table.
“Answer me,” Mom said. I couldn’t.
“Brilliant. This is just fucking brilliant,” James said, shaking his head slowly. There was a look in his eye, like he could see what had happened, like he knew Jane had run away. As if he were understanding something large, and that scared me.
Mom dragged Julia and me into the camper. The overhead light was on, drowning the inside in yellow. Mom’s bruise bulged purple and black, making her left eye appear smaller. The cut from the ring sliced down the center of the swelling, healing now, a light pink. We were camped at a public spot and other campers and tents stood nearby, lit up, older people preparing for bed. A baby cried. A dog barked. I didn’t know what to say. Outside, the others milled about, waiting for the fight to be over. Anton and James were talking loud. I was afraid they’d fight. Julia sat next to me. Her skin was pasty and pale in the bright light and she was still very thin from her disease.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Mom cried. Her face messy with drool and tears as she screamed at us about all the horrible things that could happen to Jane. I was afraid the crying would cause her cut to sting. Anton came into the camper and for a moment I was afraid he’d get mad, but he didn’t. ‘Raped and killed’ kept repeating itself in my mind. “Anything could happen to her. You girls,” she looked at us and her face dropped. Her brow creased. “You girls don’t know. She seems old to you, but she’s just a little girl. She’s not even thirteen! She’s not even thirteen years old.” Mom was crying hard, heaving. I’d never seen her cry like this. Not even after Dad left. I imagined Jane with her hair neatly braided sitting on the bus, the perfectly straight part running down the back of her scalp.
Then Mom fell silent, dropping her head in her hands, catching her breath from the crying. It seemed like a long time passed before she spoke again. Anton held her, stroking her hair. She collapsed into him. He asked us where Jane had gone and what her plans were. Julia told him. Jane would be keeping in touch with Anna as she crossed the country. Anna would meet her in New York City. It was close inside the camper. Under the table Julia twirled her right leg around my left leg. She was warm.
“Anna!” Mom said and sat up. “What are Anna’s parents going to think?” Then she was at it again. Furious. Shouting. First at us. Then at Jane. “Jane doesn’t want to make me happy. I just want a family, a happy family, but she’ll do her best to destroy that. I’m a failure as a mother. I was too young when I had you kids. I was only twenty-one when I had Jane. Eight years older than Jane is now.” Her eyes pierced us. I shut my eyes so that I couldn’t see her and prayed to God. “Stop that, Kate,” Mom snapped and grabbed my hands. Julia pulled me into her arms to protect me. “Jane’s wretched. Daughters? Ha! I no longer have daughters. They’ve deserted me. You should have gone with her. I’ve spent all this time creating and raising them, been through hell for them and look what I get in return.” She said them as if we weren’t her daughters. Julia and I sat there stiffly. Anton said it would be all right. Then he took Mom and they left for Los Angeles. They were gone for two days. When they came back, we got a day of the silent treatment, but then we were forgiven.
♦
Finny slipped the rock back into my hand. At first I didn’t know what it was. The ugly gold rock, the rock that gold comes from. His blue eyes gave me a look that said it was mine, he was done with it. I
didn’t really know what to do with the rock. I didn’t really want it back. I didn’t want Finny to be done with it. The tiny flakes glittered in the sunlight as I held the rock in my palm. Finny studied me. I thought of my father 6,800 feet down in the ground getting that rock, of him traveling all that distance in an elevator. I tried to give it back to Finny, but he wouldn’t take it.
♦
Traveling again. Route 66. Black-eyed Susans. Indians selling jewelry by the side of the road. Anton bought us each a gift and Mom suggested I barter and I did. The Indians hated me and I felt bad. I felt deceptive, afraid I’d done wrong in the eyes of God.
Yellow fields with green bushes. Hot though lush. Towns with two gas stations colored white and a beautiful jade green with great old-fashioned cars in their lots. The sky filled with thousands of cottony clouds. Anton couldn’t decide if we should go to the Grand Canyon or Las Vegas, so we went to the El Mojave bar to think.
The El Mojave bar was on a wide street and inside it was dark and smoky, with a few rickety old tables. Anton and the big kids had beers and there were a few Mexicans drinking. One was with his girlfriend, sharing a beer, and another was drunk though it wasn’t yet noon. Finny and I shared a glass of milk. We were hungry, hoping Anton would decide we could stay there for lunch.
Anton stood at the head of the table, loud in his lime-green Bermudas and the long-sleeved shirt that was an explosion of colors. An outfit that, when we were all loving each other, we’d have teased him about. I could remember Jane teasing him about that outfit. “I’ll have to teach you a little something about style, I suppose,” Anton had said, flirting with her, and she had smiled, that soft, almost shy smile of hers.
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