Halcyon

by Rio Youers

  “I thought the same thing,” Martin said. “A mental Shangri-La.”

  “Right. But it’s given the people here something to believe in, even if it is only a state of mind.”

  Martin crossed his arms and looked at the waves chattering against the shore. Only the crests of them were visible in the gloom. “Each to their own, right? I have nothing against their beliefs other than a mild wariness that it might all go Jonestown. Or maybe I’m just determined to find a catch.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This place is too good to be true,” Martin said. “There has to be a catch.”

  “Well, hon, I’ve been living here for nearly two years, and if there’s a catch—other than Mother Moon being kind of odd from time to time, and the toilet seat being too damn cold in the winter—I haven’t found it.”

  The sunset had darkened to a wine spill on the horizon. Martin looked at it a moment longer, then turned and surveyed the trees behind him, crowded with shadow and moving stiffly in the breeze.

  “We should go back,” Alyssa said, getting to her feet, brushing dust from the backside of her jeans.

  “Right,” Martin said, also standing. “If we can find the way. Jesus, it’s dark.”

  “Stay close to me,” Alyssa said, and squeezed his arm gently. “I have a flashlight.”

  20

  “Stay there a moment. No … turn your face toward me … a little more … yes, just like that. Oh, my. If only I had a camera.”

  “Why?”

  “I swear, my darling, in this light—in the glow from the fire—you look at least twenty years old. Such a beautiful woman.”

  “Oh—”

  “Like a star.”

  Shirley blushed all over and felt a quiver in her chest that temporarily stole her breath. She blinked slowly, imagining her eyelashes long and curled—the lashes of a twenty-year-old Vogue or Elle model. Her lips felt plusher and pinker than usual.

  “Beautiful,” Mother Moon said again.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’ll be a queen in Glam Moon.”

  They had spent most of the day together. It was only supposed to be an hour or so, but time mounted its wild horse and galloped away from them. Shirley had taken care of her few duties—making Mother Moon’s bed, bringing the firewood in, reading from The Breathing Verse while Mother Moon reclined on her sofa—and then the two of them had gone for a stroll across the island. They talked about womanly fortitude, the dark mainland, and of course Glam Moon. When they reached the northwest edge of the island, where the rock face dropped seventy-five feet to the water below, Mother Moon threw her arms wide and cried out jubilantly. Her hair flew in the wind and her skin glowed. She looked primal. “You try,” she said to Shirley, and Shirley did. She cried until her throat cracked and she thought the wind might get beneath her arms and lift her like a gull. It was invigorating.

  “The island loves you,” Mother Moon said as they walked back. “I can feel it. And here…” She dropped to her haunches, scooped up a palmful of cold dirt, and smeared it across Shirley’s cheek. “Now its mark is on you.”

  “I feel stronger here,” Shirley said.

  Back at Mother Moon’s cabin, Shirley had started a fire and they sat on the rug in front of it, very close beneath one blanket. They spent a long moment watching the flames crawl and curl. The first log had burned through before either of them spoke, and as usual the topic was Glam Moon.

  “Can you really fly there?”

  “Some of us can. Those who hold a special place, which you earn over time or by other means.”

  “Other means?”

  “Glam Moon follows the basic principle of love: the more you sacrifice, the greater your reward.”

  “I’d want everything.”

  “The martyr earns her wings early.” Mother Moon played with the black tufts of Shirley’s hair, then trailed one finger to the dirt still streaked across her cheek. “You should know, sweetheart, that there’s always a price to pay.”

  They watched the fire, huddling closer beneath the blanket. Shirley yawned and rested her head against Mother Moon’s shoulder.

  “It sounds like Edith’s garden.”

  Mother Moon took a breath and held it. “What do you mean?”

  “Edith has … psychological issues. She shelters herself by going to this place in her mind. She calls it her garden. It has warm rivers and silver flowers. She says she can breathe underwater there.”

  “And how does she get to this garden?”

  “She just goes.”

  Mother Moon exhaled, but her body had stiffened and Shirley needed to adjust her head to get comfortable. Within minutes she was sleeping, and so the time galloped away. It was when she woke up and got to her feet that Mother Moon said she looked at least twenty years old.

  Shirley turned from the fire, with its flattering glow, to the window and said, “I should probably go.” The light had a softened quality. It was late afternoon. Her dad would be looking for her.

  “Not yet,” Mother Moon said. She took The Breathing Verse from the side table and handed it to Shirley. “Another poem. One more.”

  Shirley read to Mother Moon every day, usually two or three chapters. They’d just finished Alice Walker’s The Color Purple and now it was on to this book of selected poems—Mother Moon’s favorite. She asked that Shirley open the book at random and begin reading, and if she read the same poem twice that was fine.

  Shirley opened the book and read a free verse poem called “Little Bird,” and when she finished there were tears on Mother Moon’s cheeks.

  “You read like small bells chiming. I feel it all the way deep. You bring happiness to everything, Shirley. Has anybody ever told you that?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Mother Moon stepped toward her, removed the book from her hands, brushed black feathers of hair from her brow. “So pretty. Such a special young woman.”

  Shirley’s heart trembled like something trapped.

  “I should kiss you now,” Mother Moon said.

  “Yes,” Shirley said. “You should.”

  Mother Moon leaned into Shirley and pressed her mouth to the girl’s cheek where the dirt was smeared. She kissed her once there and again closer to the lips.

  “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “I am, too.”

  Shirley left, stepping into the soft light with the island’s mark faint on her face and the pressure of Mother Moon’s kiss clearer and warmer.

  * * *

  Shirley spent more time with Mother Moon over the next week or so, to the point where Martin could go most of the day without seeing her. He asked her about it, not in a challenging way, but out of curiosity.

  “She’s my friend,” Shirley said. “I enjoy spending time with her.”

  “What do you talk about?”

  “All kinds of things. The island, the mainland…”

  “You ever talk about Mom?”

  “Never.”

  “Glam Moon?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Martin suspected it was more often than sometimes. He frequently heard Shirley reference the Glam, not as passionately as some, but with enough conviction to make him think she was buying into Mother Moon’s imaginary world. It bothered him more than it should. He wondered if he’d feel differently if Shirley announced that she’d found God and that heaven was her eternal reward. How was Glam Moon any different?

  “It has more of a cult feel to it,” Alyssa said when he’d posed the question to her. “Now there’s a four-letter-word that’ll strike fear into the heart of any reasonable-thinking person.”

  “But it’s not a cult … right?”

  “No, hon. It’s a daydream.”

  Not unlike Edith, then, who still spent too much time in her own version of Glam Moon. Martin sometimes felt that the reality he was living in was so thin that he might fall right through.

  * * *

  Another week slipped behind them,
full of lazy mornings, wholesome food, and poetic sunsets. Martin’s list of the things he missed shrank to only four items, while his friendship with Alyssa deepened. Nothing romantic—he wasn’t ready for that yet—although it’d be foolish to deny there wasn’t a little romance in their meeting to watch the sun go down, and sometimes they did so holding hands.

  Edith took Spanish lessons with Brooke and—as with everything else—excelled. Shirley amazed Martin by identifying not only the constellations but their prominent stars. Martin, for his part, took piano lessons. He told himself it was because he’d always wanted to play “Imagine” by John Lennon, and not because he wanted to spend more time with Alyssa.

  Island life was good.

  Mostly.

  * * *

  “Do you know what’s inside the box?” Martin asked Alyssa one afternoon. They were playing Scrabble in his cabin. Edith had played for twenty minutes before getting bored and taking her guitar onto the front step. Shirley—no surprise—was with Mother Moon.

  “The box?” Alyssa asked.

  “The lockbox. In Mother Moon’s cabin. The one with the watch inside it.”

  “Okay, gotcha,” Alyssa said, rearranging the tiles on her holder. “I’ll take a wild guess and say … a watch?”

  “Genius,” Martin said, and smiled. “I mean in addition to the watch. The lockbox has a false bottom that she’s using to hide something else. I just wondered if you knew what it was.”

  “I don’t, but it’s probably jewelry or something of sentimental value. We all have our little mementos.” Alyssa gestured at Laura’s ring dangling from the chain around Martin’s neck, and at her own wedding ring, still on her finger.

  “You’re probably right,” Martin said. He played the word COVE, added up the points, then said, “You know, we’ve been here almost a month, which means our six-week probationary period is coming to an end. If it was just me, that’d be fine, but I have to look out for my girls. I’m looking for reasons to leave as much as reasons to stay.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And there are a few things that don’t sit right with me. The whole Glam Moon thing, obviously. Then there’s the weird little rules—the secrecy. I’m sure it’s all about maintaining peace and order, but I can’t help but think that something is being covered up.”

  Alyssa tacked a D onto SHAPE, logged a cool twenty-four points, and drew another tile. In the stillness they heard Edith playing her guitar on the front step—soft, melodic notes, the perfect accompaniment to the silver light streaming through the windows.

  “And finally there’s the lockbox,” Martin said. “I keep thinking about it—wondering what Mother Moon is hiding. And sure, it could be some kind of memento or keepsake, but why lock it up? No one here is going to steal it.”

  “You know what I think: that you’re still looking for the catch.” Alyssa looked at him earnestly. “It’s okay to chill, you know.”

  “I want to,” Martin said. “And hey, maybe my unease is fueled by the dream I had.”

  “What dream?”

  Martin sighed, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Laura was in it. She took me to Mother Moon’s cabin and opened the box for me to look inside. There was the watch and the false bottom … and underneath it was a bullet. So now I think—actually, I’m almost certain—there’s a gun inside. A small pistol. Which changes the complexion of everything this island stands for.”

  “You’re going down a wild and wayward path here,” Alyssa said. “I’m sure that dream felt real and painful, hon, but it was only a dream, not a premonition.”

  Martin’s eyes flicked to the window, where he could just see the back of Edith’s head as she played her guitar. He wondered what she would say about that.

  “I like it here,” he said. “The girls like it here. We’re not ready to go home, but I’d feel so much better about everything—especially Shirley’s closeness to Mother Moon—if I knew what was inside that box.”

  “She keeps it locked, though,” Alyssa said. “And if she’s hiding something, she isn’t likely to show you on request.”

  “True, but the key is in a drawer in her bedroom. I bet I could find it in twenty seconds.”

  “You’re going to break into her cabin?”

  “There’s a difference between breaking in,” Martin said, “and taking a look around when she’s not there.”

  “Jesus, that’s risky.” Alyssa looked at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s a violation of her privacy. If she finds out, you’re off the island. No coming back.”

  “I know that, but didn’t you say that Mother Moon leaves the island every now and then—that she can be gone for up to a month at a time?”

  “Yeah, but who knows when she’ll leave next? And she always locks her cabin when she goes on those pilgrimages.”

  Edith changed tunes—something upbeat, strumming the strings and occasionally dampening them to add a percussive beat. Alyssa cocked her ear, smiling and nodding.

  “Palm muting,” she said. “I taught her that technique yesterday. Your daughter’s a natural.”

  “She loses herself in whatever she turns her mind to,” Martin said. “It can be hard to draw her out again.”

  They listened a moment longer, each placing a word on the board and tallying their score. Alyssa shuffled her tiles, then reached across the table and clasped Martin’s hand.

  “Listen, hon, if you’re serious about this, you can always do it at dinnertime. Most everybody on the island is in the canteen, including Mother Moon. Also, it wouldn’t be unusual if we weren’t there because we occasionally watch the sunset together.”

  “We?”

  “I’d be your lookout.” Alyssa let go of his hand but held him with her gaze. “If for any reason Mother Moon leaves early, I’ll knock on the window so you can get the hell out of there.”

  Martin frowned and sat back in his seat. “You’d do that?”

  “Hey, if we both get thrown off the island, you’re giving me a place to live.” Alyssa smiled, then spread her hands. “If you really can’t relax until you find out what’s inside the box, this might be your best chance. But do me a favor: after you find it’s a trinket or an old love letter, give yourself permission to chill out and enjoy the island.”

  “I will.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  Martin drew an X on the left side of his chest. “So when do we do this?”

  “The next beautiful sunset, I guess.”

  “Okay.” Martin nodded. “It’s on.”

  Edith stopped playing and for a moment the only sound was the breeze rushing around the cabin and the clicking of Scrabble tiles. Martin looked from the half-complete board to Alyssa. She tipped a wink and whispered, “I guess I’m not the only rebel, huh?”

  Martin returned the wink, then added three letters to COVE and made UNCOVER.

  21

  They got their sunset three days later. An amazing purple and gold shock across the horizon. It would have been wonderful to watch the colors spread and melt into the lake, but Martin had no regrets.

  “There’ll be more sunsets,” he said, “once my curiosity is settled.”

  They sat on the front steps of Alyssa’s cabin and waited for Mother Moon to leave for dinner. She did so as the trees in the west flared with rich light. Shirley was with her.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said as they walked past. “Are you eating with us tonight?”

  “We were just discussing that,” Martin replied with a smile. “We’re both hungry, but that sunset is very tempting.”

  “It is special,” Mother Moon agreed, and her green eyes shone. “But it’s eggplant parmesan tonight. One of Joseph’s specialties.”

  Alyssa said, “Save some for us.”

  They waited until Shirley and Mother Moon were out of sight, then Alyssa went to her position: in the deep shade of an oak that offered a view of the canteen. The pathway leading to it was illuminated by solar-powered lamps. If Alyssa saw Mother Moon returning down th
e pathway, she would cut through the trees and rap on the cabin’s window, giving Martin two minutes—maybe—to get out.

  Martin, meanwhile, had approached Mother Moon’s cabin. There were a few islanders making their way toward the canteen, none of them paying him any attention. Nonetheless, he waited until the coast was clear before springing up Mother Moon’s front steps. The door wasn’t locked (Mother Moon only locked it when she went off-community). He opened it and slipped inside.

  “Okay,” he said, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. It was warm. Welcoming was the word that came to mind, although Martin didn’t think Mother Moon would be altogether welcoming if she discovered him there. Ashes glowed in the fireplace. There was a blanket on the floor in front of it. He had an uncomfortable vision of Shirley and Mother Moon huddled romantically beneath it but shut this quickly out of his mind. The whole point of this little adventure was to make him feel better about Mother Moon and the island, not to invent a scenario in which he felt worse.

  He took Alyssa’s flashlight from his jacket pocket (interior lights would alert other islanders; everybody flicked the switch when they walked out the door) but didn’t turn it on until he’d navigated into the bedroom. He stepped carefully to avoid bumping into anything, assuming that Mother Moon would notice even the slightest thing out of place. It was dimmer still in the bedroom—the one window being smaller and east-facing. Martin muted the flashlight’s glow by spreading his fingers over the lens, wanting to reduce the chance of it being seen from outside. He shone its meek light around the room, looking for anything with a drawer. The walls were mustard-yellow, hung with paintings of birds and trees. The dreamcatcher above the bed looked frayed and faded enough to have caught some of Victoria Platt-Mellor’s dreams. Martin adjusted his fingers, allowing a little more light, and stepped deeper into the room. He saw two nightstands with a small drawer in each. There was an armoire with a heavy drawer in the bottom, and a three-drawer dresser beneath the window. The middle drawer was partly open, jutting like a crooked tooth.