9.

Dear Mom and Dad:

Thank you for the candy and the skirt suit and the very unique wall hanging. I hope your Christmas celebrations went as beautifully as ours. We had many new faces as well as old and spectacular performances from our children’s choir and talented Temple band. After there was a heavenly banquet of turkey with all the usual fixings, just like at home only we fed close to 500. ‘Father Jim’ personally handed out gifts to all the children, including a large group from the county orphanage. It is truly moving to see so many little ones with smiles on their faces and many from desperate poverty having the time of their little lives. Jim loves every child as if they were his own …

Evelyn places her pen down and drains her mug, casting a wary eye out at the morning frost. She shouldn’t be creeping around the cabin so early, first day back to work and a long day at that: double P.E., and staff meetings, and a personal appointment with the superintendent, who no doubt wishes to discuss the rumors regarding her marital status. She looks at her bare finger and wonders if it is too soon.

The hallway is still velvety with shadows, the door to the bedroom shut. She does her best to silence the swish of her black slacks as she tiptoes to the telephone. Six-fifteen in Evergreen Valley is also six-fifteen in Reno. Six-fifteen is not too early to make a necessary call.

Still, navigating the byzantine system of area codes, teaspoon-voiced operators, the righteous indignation of his landlady, Evelyn several times considers hanging up.

‘I know you think your boyfriend’s the moon and stars,’ the old lady gripes as a dog yaps in the background. ‘But would it kill you to wait for sunup?’

‘Excuse me, no, this is his—’

She realizes she can’t say ‘wife’ anymore.

‘Hey, Earthgirl. Whaaaa-uhhhh—What?’ Lenny comes on the line several minutes later, and she knows from his yawn that he must be shirtless, tousle-haired, wiping the crust of sleep from his eyes. A boy, just a boy.

‘This isn’t Terra.’ Evelyn waits for him to fill in the blank.

‘Oh … Sorry.’ He yawns again. ‘What … what time is it?’

‘It is very important you’re prepared for court today. They’re going to be asking lots of questions and, since I won’t be there, you need to be clear about what you’re committing to record. I’ve written out some crucial points. Tell me if anything else comes to mind—’

‘Evelyn … My hearing isn’t ’til eleven.’

‘Then you’ll have plenty of time to prepare. Honestly, Lenny. I don’t think it’s asking too much for you to pay attention for five minutes.’ The crystalline, teacherlike quality of her voice sounds harsh, even to her own ears. Hot-faced, she shifts her weight to one foot and eyeballs the bedroom door, lowers her voice. ‘Now, in every court, regardless of who’s present, there’s a “plaintiff” and a “defendant”. In this case, you’re the “plaintiff” and I’m the “defendant”. They may ask you to identify the “defendant” by full legal name, meaning “Evelyn Ruth Lynden”. When they ask you for the “plaintiff’s” legal residence, this is very important: do not tell them Evergreen Valley, tell them—’

‘Reno. Yeah, yeah, I know.’

‘They will also ask when you began residing there. “November 18 1968” is the date on your lease. As far as your intentions for residing in Reno—’

‘“I came with the intention of making it my home indefinitely.”’ The boredom behind his placating tone is evident. ‘Yeah.’

‘More importantly,’ Evelyn gathers her words. ‘They’ll ask you to explain your reasons for seeking a divorce. “Mental cruelty” is simply legalese for “incompatability”, so don’t be unnerved when they use it. However, you’ll need to present some case for “cruelty” on the defendant’s part. For instance: “the defendant was critical”, “the defendant withheld affection”, “the defendant — the defendant …”’

‘It’s okay,’ Lenny reassures her quietly. ‘It’s divorce court, not the draft board. It’ll be okay.’

The memories flare up like draft cards in a crowd: her parents’ house in Davis, huddling over The Handbook for Conscientious Objectors, the hope, the vexation, the touching.

‘Of course. I suppose. Of course,’ Evelyn says mechanically. ‘And, of course, you have your witness.’

‘Yeah.’ His voice comes boyish and breathy. ‘Terra’s cool.’

‘I suppose you’re going to marry her.’ She doesn’t wait for Lenny to elaborate on the squeak he gives in response. ‘It’s none of my concern, but I think you should consider waiting until summer. Jim will be officiating a number of weddings at that time.’

Lenny says nothing, which is somehow worse than if he had said something to contradict her. She purses her lips; unpurses them to strike again.

‘I’m missing a book of poems. Le Creve-Couer by Louis Aragon.’

Lenny stays silent, so she goes on.

‘You may have taken it accidentally. It’s quite important to me.’

‘I don’t have your poems, Evelyn,’ he says with undisguised, even exaggerated weariness.

‘Well. Please check. I may need it for my lessons.’ She allows herself a smug smile. ‘Also, I’m donating your records to the Temple’s White Elephant Sale. It’s wasteful to have such a large collection when you could be raising money for the Cause. Not to mention inconvenient for me.’

‘… Fine.’

‘In fact, it’s probably best if you tell me now if there’s anything you need kept, books or whatever. I can ask the Luces to store them along with Terra’s things.’

‘I have everything I need.’

‘Fine. Good.’

‘Fine.’ Lenny sighs or yawns. ‘Bye, Evelyn.’

Evelyn says nothing, just inhales sharply and waits for the line to go dead. It doesn’t. Self-consciously, she replaces the phone, wincing at the click of the receiver. From the next room, she hears a stirring, a grunt, a cough. Her name brusquely uttered. She lowers her eyes and goes to it.

‘Mornin’, sweetheart.’ He’s sitting up in bed, moistening his lips with his tongue, his hair just as tidy and well-glossed as when he arrived at her door the previous night. Cherokee hair, matinee idol hair, hair that never musses. ‘C’mere.’

She comes, but not before filling him a glass of water from the pitcher at the bedside.

‘Trouble sleeping?’ he murmurs, cocking an eyebrow at her, wide lips slurping.

She settles at the foot of the bed, crosses her legs. ‘After a couple of hours my mind starts running a million miles a minute. There’s just so much to do.’

‘I know that feeling.’ Jim sets his glass on the nightstand and she follows the curve of his gesture, sheet slipping down to show the folds of his belly, the breadth of his chest, olive-skinned and surprisingly hairless. She looks at the rifle leaning up against the wall, and maybe it’s wrong — in the same way this man in her bed is wrong — yet, by the new order of her life, it is also overwhelmingly right. ‘Nothing wrong with it. You’re young and strong.’ He rests his hand on her knee. ‘Just don’t think I don’t notice you tiptoeing ’round like a ballerina.’

His caress is circular, chilling, like the whoosh inside a seashell. She can’t hide.

‘I was just tying up some loose ends,’ she admits. ‘I began a letter to my parents.’

She waits for the gentle reproach: You don’t need to justify yourself to them, honey. They’re nice people, but they’re bourgeois. Don’t kid yourself they ain’t bourgeois. But Jim only smiles patiently. Every reproach has already been internalized, every vow in darkness made.

He reaches for her bare hand, spreads it, encircles her third finger with his.

‘You remind me of them schoolteachers who used to beat my ass. All leather strap, no ring. Spinsters at twenty-three.’

Then he leans in and clasps the bun at the back of her head, parts her lips with his tongue, parts her teeth. Opens up the sky in her belly and no sacrifice is too great, she thinks, not when he’s offering her hurtling space and fiery galaxies.