She snorted with the clarity of the irony here. He was going the opposite way of so many people. So many people traveled to find safety, and here she was, traveling to lead a less safe life.
“Or how to live a life under the radar?” she asked.
“Yeah, I don’t know much about that either. To answer your question, monkey-wrenching, I guess you’d say. Of the noble sort. A kind of earth justice, shall we say. No one hurt, physically. And let me say right here that I’m not trying to be political. Not left, not right, not nothing.” He stood, as if deciding to run, then sat. Stood again, then sat. Pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “Except I notice that we’re fucking ruining our one home! Do you understand how rare and irreplaceable this planet is? It’s a floating blue ball in space that has just the right conditions to support life and we are fucking it up! It is a horrendous crime, a form of torture and abuse. What we’re doing. Let’s just leave it at that.” This last bit was said with a thickness to his voice, and she knew he was still crying.
She chewed on her lip. “Well, good for you. Probably. Maybe. No doubt it’s complicated.”
He turned to her, his eyes showing surprise. “Thanks, lady,” he said, with real emotion. “We’re running out of time, lady. Planet is, I mean. What you said about your life goes for Mama Earth too, you know.”
When she breathed out softly, the sound coming out of her mouth was still shaky. “That’s the dog’s name. Lady. Lady Shackleton. I stole her from a bad guy. So I guess you could say we both have justice on the mind. Justice that goes beyond this country’s laws.”
“Right on, man.” When he reached out to scratch Lady’s ears, she could see his arm shaking as her voice had.
They both took a deep breath at the exact same time and for the exact same reason. As they did, they caught each other’s eyes and there was a recognition. “I call them the Shakes,” Ammalie said quietly, and he nodded, understanding.
“That was scary,” he said.
“A lot of adrenaline.”
He nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, then opened his eyes wide, as if that would help him gain some clarity. She could see by the bright lantern-light that his eyes were also green, like hers, but his were like some old rock around here, and they were very sad. She felt the world tilt a little, the result of two gin-and-tonics and the beer and the bath and the adrenaline. “I should go,” she said. “If the law is looking for you…Well, I’m not wanting to get caught myself. I’m on an adventure and was just looking for a place to call home.”
“This world is fucked,” he said, and she assumed he meant whatever environmental destruction he was trying to protest.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m trying to protest the fuckery myself. By going a little crazy.”
“Right on.” He smiled a smile so genuine and young that it made her heart crack.
“How do you stay warm? The propane wasn’t on.” She herself was quite cold, and she suddenly and desperately wanted a fire. Her eyes drifted to the firepit near the picnic table, but it seemed unwise to build a fire in a place so visible from afar.
He followed her gaze, read her thoughts, then jutted his chin toward an outcrop of rocks. “I make fires over there. It’s protected, I don’t think anyone can see it. I don’t want to use up the propane, except in case of a major emergency or something. I’ll make us a fire, if you want.”
“You saw me naked,” she blurted out of the blue. She was truly surprised by this fact and her voicing of it. She tried to explain. “You are the first man besides my husband to see me naked in about thirty years. Can you believe that? I go to female doctors and female massage therapists, so, truly, you are the first man…Wow. That’s insane.”
His eyes went from her to the tub. “Well, you had a towel. And, oh, now I understand! You were taking a bath under the stars!” He was staring like a hungry animal at the big plastic tub of water glistening in the moonlight, then he turned to smile at her with real warmth and respect in his eyes. “Right on. A hot bath would feel kick-ass. A hot bath and a fire. Nothing more fundamentally better than that, right?”
“I’ll heat you up some water,” she said, rising. And that’s exactly what she did as he went to build a fire in the small rock enclave. Then they switched places—he to the bath, she to the fire, and when she caught sight of his naked body from the corner of her eye as he stepped in, she let her gaze linger, both out of curiosity and concern for his slight frame. An old line of poetry floated up in her mind: I’ve been warmed by fires I did not build. The peace she felt looking at him, and then at the stars, and into that fire—it was solid, and it was real.
—
She slept in Dart’s bed with Lady curled alongside and stars blazing outside. It was the chill that woke her but it was the word blazing that was the first to enter her mind. I am freezing under burning, blazing stars, she thought, which is when she remembered Kit. Her nose was cold and her breath came in mist but she kicked off her sleeping bag and pulled her jacket on so she could stand and look out the window at the lump of him barely visible in the dark. There he was, sleeping on a camping pad on the picnic table, which is what he had proposed; surely he had to be far colder than her, given that he had no shelter. She wished he’d slept in her car, as she’d suggested. Or on the other couch-bed. Or, in her bed? Was that crazy? What was wrong about two bodies curled beside each other? People in other cultures shared beds, out of necessity and comfort, did they not? Why did Americans insist on being so alone? Or was it just her?
Lady raised her head and sighed happily as Ammalie snuggled back in. It was still very early, the sky gray and full of night, so Ammalie sat up and reached above her to pick up the lantern and a book on local history or stars, but her eyes landed on a spiral notebook that said Guest Book. She flipped it open to the first page. It dated back to 1990, which made her snort—there had not been many guests, or they had not been very verbose. There were a few faded signatures early on, one person left a Rumi poem about lions and tender stars, and there were some notes from people who’d come to see the dark sky. Then, near the end, she saw…Vincent’s handwriting…no…but yes, it was Vincent’s handwriting.
“Oh!” Her hand went to her heart, to buffer the Sea Creature’s sting. “Oh, jeez, oh, oh.”
A note from a ghost. Lady nosed her as if to comfort her, but tears rose without warning. A bad cramp echoed through her insides at the same time, as if in response. She swiped at the tears so she could see. The entry was short:
Here with the Chicago group of Dark Sky-ers. Missing wife and son—but not missing cold and snow. Thanks for Dart’s magic. I’ve connected with a part of my past here, shrugged off some deep sorrows. Trying to reset. Cygnus is my favorite. Albireo.
What part of his past? What sorrows? She scanned her brain. Were they going through a tough patch then? Had his self-induced isolation been depression? Besides the normal Chicago winter depression, which they joked about every year? Besides staring at stars, had he come to process some old injuries, done some introspection? What had he said about this place? Why had he never let her in, never really spoken, never had any zest for real connection? She could remember that he had connected with some friends—friends whom, despite living in Chicago, he rarely saw. Ammalie remembered feeling vaguely grateful at the time that he was a man who had friends, who made some attempt to cultivate and keep friendships, since it seemed so few men did. Sure, she’d felt abandoned at being left alone with Powell, but mainly because she was tired. Always, she was tired. Why did people live lives that made them so tired? Or was it just parenting? Or was it just her?
Cygnus. Albireo. She didn’t even know those words! She looked on the shelf and pulled down a book on stars. Its thickness was intimidating, and she nearly put it back, but she cajoled herself into action. One key to the universe at a time.
Cygnus, it turned out, was a constellation lying on the plane of the Milky Way, deriving its name from the Latin word for swan, and contained the Northern Cross—a celestial waterfowl swimming through the river of the Milky Way. The swan’s tail was composed of a variable star, meaning its brightness changed over time as its surface expanded and contracted, and the swan’s head was a star called Albireo, a favorite among astronomers because when seen through a telescope, it revealed itself to be two stars together.
She put the guest book on her chest and stared at the soft waking sky through the window. Vincent had perhaps done the same. Two stars, connected.
She felt nearly as naked as she had been last night. She hadn’t had sex with a man other than Vincent in decades. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to—she’d occasionally wanted to even while married; who didn’t?—and now, with the hardest waves of grief and confusion and guilt gone, she could clearly identify the desire. She could admit the deepest truth, if only to herself: Two stars were better than one, and she wanted a man. Her body flat-out burned with the ache of desire, though it’s true that had turned more into an echo of desire, as if that part of her remembered what orgasm and satisfaction felt like.
As she drifted back to sleep, she wondered vaguely, and without any seriousness, about Kit. Too young and too injured and too occupied with other priorities. And yet. Two humans. In need of comfort, of touch, of humanity. When had sentiment become a bad thing? When had basic human desires become so taboo? She wished she weren’t bleeding; she was so tired of that part of her body. But the other part flickered and burned, steady as a star—that was one thing she knew for sure.
CHAPTER 9
Mother. Lover. Crone. She felt the tug of all three simultaneously in different chambers of her heart, causing the Sea Creature to fling itself around in a pinball-game flurry of confusion. As Kit cooked eggs and warmed tortillas and offered small talk and deflected questions with flashes of a shy smile, she found herself worrying about his skinny body and bare feet, like a mother would. But also, zip-zapping lust—she was, after all, sitting on the bed beside the kitchen, and he could take three steps, lean her back, and be on top of her. Oh to feel that again. And yet, what a disaster that would be—her puffy-stomached, menstruating self did not feel like a good match for him. Perhaps she should be mentoring or assisting him, be wise counsel, be wise elder, but that did not feel like a good match, either.
What a stupid, contradictory time of life this was. And yet, no. Not stupid. Lucky.
Meanwhile, she did what all humans have done when confused—she chatted. They shared small talk as they shared breakfast. The raccoon monkeys could have been ringtails or coatimundis, different but both bizarre. The wild pigs were javelinas. Yes, the weather was mild, the sunsets beautiful. He’d been here for about a month, though he wouldn’t answer more on that subject. One of his favorite places was the Colorado sand dunes, near the town of Salida, which, did she know, meant exit? She shared that she was from Chicago, a husband dead of stroke, a son growing pot, a lifelong job waitressing gone. The restaurant had burned in a fire, and there were enormous delays in getting it reopened, which it had just done. But she was finished with all that. Without husband, son, or job, her life felt as empty as this big landscape, so she was looking to fill it up with Things That Were Real before her time on the planet was up.
She didn’t share her real name, or that this was her Second Squatting. She didn’t share that she knew Kit could track her down later by license plate, or that knowing that made her feel un-invisible and therefore fragile. But also, she hadn’t done anything that wrong. In fact, it was all laughable. A small series of small crimes. Compared to what he had done—and he only shrugged at all her suggestions—she was not even a potato in the bag of small potatoes.
As they cleared the dishes, she threw out some words, just to see if he’d flinch.
“Oil and gas? Construction? Billboards? Did you do it alone? Or with a group?”
But he only shook his head no, though he finally added in a kind voice, “For your own good, and for the safety of others, I shall remain quiet on the matter. But I will say this: The world is full of cowards. Because of that, the poor suffer, animals suffer, the planet suffers, and we need a revolution.”
To which she said, “I’m in agreement. But first I’m starting with a revolution of my soul. The personal is political, after all.”
After breakfast he bundled up, including shoes, and lifted his arm to raise a red tool kit, as if that explained something, and walked off into the desert, toward the first rise of a rocky outcrop back near the road. Well, that was weird, she thought, squinting after him. She stood hands-on-hips for a moment, unsure, and then wandered the property, making sure to stay away from the direction he’d gone, so as to give him privacy. She didn’t want to seem like a squatter and a stalker. Whatever he was doing—making a food cache? making a bomb to blow up a dam? carving toy animals out of sticks?—she wanted to leave him alone.
Lady galloped around her; clearly, her natural instinct was to get as much exploring done while still sticking by her human, which was perhaps surprising, given her history. But Lady evidently trusted her, and vice versa. Ammalie followed Lady’s cue and did some mindless wandering herself. She saw a lot of scrub, cactus, an elf owl that she could identify only because she’d flipped through the bird book over coffee.
She bent over to pick up bits of broken beer bottles, the green and clear glass glittering in the sun on the cold earth. Humans were slobs; what kind of idiot smashed beer bottles on purpose? Or shot at them? Her favorite items in the Colorado bead kit had been a few pieces of tumbled glass, and she’d tried doing some wire wrapping, which was the easiest way to incorporate glass into jewelry. She put these shards into an old lunch baggie in her backpack. She didn’t know what for—they were too jaggedy to use for jewelry—but she felt the need to get them off the soil.
When she got back to Dart, there was no sign of Kit. His backpack and cooler were still inside, and she resisted the urge to snoop. Instead, once she was sure she was alone, she swapped the plate on her car. She found the envelope with new tags on the floor of her car, buried under other mail and wrappers and banana peels—and then put the tags on the New Mexico plate. She didn’t want any more calls from sheriffs, or Lady’s owner, or even that mayor. She didn’t want to be associated with Illinois and her old boring life.
No more wasting! She left a GONE EXPLORING, WILL BE BACK, SECRETS ARE SAFE WITH ME note and drove toward Cave Valley Regional Park. Her plan was to go for a hike and see this famous landscape, and on the way home find some store with gas and ice and food to gift to Kit, as well as scope out potential places for future water and ice needs. When she got home, well, perhaps he’d even…move into Dart with her, sleep on the thin couch that could serve as a bed, or, yes, even better, lie down beside her. Oh, god, to rest her cheek on naked chest. She wondered if skin itself could be lonely.
As she turned onto the highway, an official-looking car appeared behind her. Border patrol? Sheriff? Go away, she thought, glancing in the rearview mirror. She glanced back, then at her speedometer. Nothing would actually happen. If she didn’t speed, there would be no reason an officer would run her plate. It reminded her of a game she and Apricot used to play, pretending bad guys were after them, hiding one place and then another, darting around their backyard, and it occurred to her that Apricot’s diagnosis and Vincent’s death had caused her to revert to childhood. Perhaps playfulness could solve her adult problems. Lady seemed to agree, putting her head out the window with what appeared to be a smile on her face.
She wondered with a pang about how Apricot’s cancer was really doing. Her sister, at some point, would die.
And Mari’s divorce—how that was really going, in the secret recesses of Mari’s heart?
And Powell, who seemed the most distant of all. That was her true sorrow. How was he, really? But she’d been overbearing; his yelled request that she please leave him the fuck alone for a while was clear.
The car behind her turned off, and soon the scrub of the Chihuahuan Desert gave way to the green life of Cave Valley. She chomped a pear, this one overripe and juicy, so she had to slurp it down fast. She thought about tossing the pear carcass toward the edge of the road, which banked down to an arroyo, but then worried that perhaps it would land on the road, and a bird would eat it, and the bird would get hit, and that kind of rule-breaking seemed off-limits. She did have a moral compass, after all. Instead she plonked it into her coffee cup holder.
