Now Is Not the Time to Panic(62)

Seventeen


WHEN I GOT HOME, JUNIE RAN OUTSIDE TO MEET ME. SHE hugged me and I smelled her, the unmistakable scent of my daughter, and I held on to her. Aaron was in the doorway. He smiled, but it was that kind of smile where you’re showing just enough teeth that you’re like, I might grind my teeth to dust if you’ve ruined our lives, and I gave him the kind of smile that says, I have everything under control, you dope. I absolutely did not. But it’s such a nice smile, and he accepted it so easily.

I knew that I’d now have to talk to Mazzy Brower, and I’d have to let her really examine the poster. And I’d have to drive back to Coalfield and I would take her to all those places on the map, which I still had, and we would see how many of them were still around. And I’d tell her a version of the story that would become the truth, and I would still get to keep the real thing, what I’d made that summer, a secret. I was keeping it for me and Zeke, but really it was for me. It was just for me.

But here was Junie in my arms, so lovely, wriggling and weird and already wanting to tell me about that doll, the demon doll that spit fire that she had to have because she had seen a picture of it in some old children’s book that she had discovered at the library. And I let her tell me. I would buy her that doll. I hoped it was as hideous as I had imagined in my mind. I hoped that Junie kept it for her entire life. Aaron hugged me as we walked up to the porch. “It’s okay?” he asked, and he trusted me. I know that he trusted me.

And even though the story I told Mazzy wouldn’t include it, I would tell him about Zeke, about that whole summer. I’d tell him what it felt like to be alone in that little place, things I wouldn’t be able to say in the article, things no one would really care about. How I never knew how I’d get to the place where I was okay. I’d tell him about that weird boy, and how I was going to hide him away, and I hoped Aaron would understand.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “Really. It is. I’m okay.”

We went into the house, the three of us, and we left the front door wide open, completely unprotected, because nothing would hurt us. Forever and forever and forever.

THAT NIGHT, PUTTING JUNIE TO SLEEP, I LAY BESIDE HER AND WE read from a chapter book about a pack of wolves chasing these two girls on a train. And after, when I’d turned off the light, Junie said, “Where have you been?”

“To see Nana,” I told her. “Remember?”

“But why?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“When I was a girl—”

“My age? My age right now?” Junie interrupted.

“Older. When I was a teenager, I made this thing. And it was a secret. And people really were wild about it, and they got crazy over it.”

“Why was it a secret?” she asked. “Was it bad?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“But you kept it a secret?” she asked.

“I did. For a long time. Until just now, really. And now I’m going to reveal the secret. And I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“What will happen?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. But nothing bad. Probably something good. Something amazing.”

“I hope so,” she said. I could hear her breathing. “Can you tell me the secret right now?”

“I could. It’s just this line. It goes: The edge is a shantytown filled with gold seekers. We are fugitives, and the law—”

“—is skinny with hunger for us,” Junie said, finishing it.

“Why do you know that?” I asked, though I kind of knew. But it was still a surprise.

“You say it all the time, Mom,” she told me. “You said it when I was a baby.”

“I don’t think you remember being a baby, sweetie,” I said.

“Well, I do,” she said, defiant. “And you would say it to me at night, like . . . like a lullaby? I really do remember it.”

And I had, of course. I had told her every night, the only person I could tell, and I’d whisper it to her, the words piling up, but I said them so softly, underneath the sound machine, an ocean, which filled the room. But she had remembered.

“Well, that’s the secret,” I said. “That’s all it is.”

“I like it,” she said. “I like how it sounds. I like gold.”

“I know, sweetie,” I said. “I like gold, too.”

“We are fugitives,” she said.

“We are,” I told her.

“You and me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I told her.

“And Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“And Nana? And Pop-Pop and Gigi?”

“Yes.”

“And the Triplet Uncles? Uncle Marcus and Aunt Mina? And Dominic and Angie?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Yes.”

“And my teachers? All the kids at my school?”

“Yes.”

“And the whole world? Everyone in the world?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“And everyone that has ever lived?”

“Okay, sure.”

“And everyone that hasn’t been born yet but will be born? Them, too? They’re fugitives?”