The Golden State

“That’s okay,” I say. “I think about bad things happening to her all the time.” Honey is looking over her shoulder at the big men. “I mean I spend a lot of time trying to be prepared for something awful to happen.” She shakes her head. “You can’t prepare.”

“I know,” I say. “But I still try. Hedging, I guess.”

“You can’t prepare for seeing your children wasting away. Or when they’re gone, but you’re still their mother, with all that love and nothing to use it on.” Her nose wrinkles and my mustard fog immediately gathers behind my eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I say, pointlessly. I want to do a laying-on-of-hands, but where. Her hand sitting forlornly on the table? Her ax-head of a shoulder blade? There’s no right place. I keep my hands on my silverware.

“How old were they when they died?”

“The twins were young,” she says. “Their sister was grown, a little younger than you. I was already old.” We just sit there together in silence. She looks ahead, out the window at the swing set at the edge of the lake, the series of black mole holes that dot the expanse of dried grass.

With whatever emotional intelligence she has Honey looks bemusedly at us but stays quiet.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, again.

“You’d think there’s an age when you get used to it, but you don’t.” What to say here? I understand, I don’t; I imagine, I can’t; so I just say “I believe you.” I blow my nose into the napkin.

“It’s nice, actually,” she says in a creaking voice. “To be around Honey. I remember things I forgot before, about taking care of little children.” She takes her fork and spears a single bean with shaking hand. “Today I thought about the twins being born. I remembered being pregnant again when they were just Honey’s age, right before we knew they were sick.” Honey drops her fork on the carpet and moans and I pick it up and wipe it off and hand it back without looking. “If I could freeze a moment I think it would be that one. We took them on hikes every weekend, a pack and a baby on each of our backs.” I stifle a sob and she looks almost affectionately at me.

“My husband always wanted a whole bunch of kids. I just wanted one who wasn’t sick, even though I felt bad to think about it that way. But he died before we could have another. And it probably would have been sick anyway.” She puts a single kidney bean into her mouth. “I was a teacher, you know.”

“How long did you do that?”

“Only got to do it for two years. Then I had my babies and that was just about it for me for a good long time.”

I shake my head to disperse the little cluster of thoughts her report has brought on. Alice placidly chews salad. Honey is occupied with her bread. The burly men clink their forks. A thought announces itself and as is usually the case whenever I have a charitable thought I decide to immediately say it and regret it rather than stop to consider and then talk myself out of it.

“What if we took you on to the camp?” I say. “You said it’s just a few hours. We can leave you there, or bring you there and come back here, or whatever you decide to do.” She frowns. I wonder whether I’ve offended her, and remember anew that any ship of that nature has sailed, since she saw me half naked this morning after having agreed to announce the news of my death should the occasion require. She has seen my boobs and held my baby. I forge on.

“I can talk to Mark and Yarrow if you think it would help them feel less anxious.” Her hair is so smooth, it’s like gray onyx or something, if onyx can be gray, my eyes keep going back to it. I want to touch it, a bridge too far.

“What about your job?” she asks.

“I think as long as I keep e-mailing them they can’t accuse me of job abandonment.” I swallow another piece of prime rib. “So what do you think?”

“I think it’s odd that you aren’t more worried about my plan. Mark and Yarrow were ready to have me committed. I have to admit the fact that you aren’t makes me wonder if I really am crazy.” I catch the implied rebuke and have to decide quickly whether to reveal some sign of how much it wounds me or whether to laugh it off.

“Well, given my behavior since you met me that’s a reasonable fear, Alice,” I say, deciding to take the high road. “I probably seem like a nutcase.”

“I don’t think you’re a nutcase,” she says. “Just highly strung.” I take Honey’s sippy cup full of milk out of my bag and give it to her. “Mut,” she says, and I am getting ready to launch into a spiel and almost don’t notice it’s the first time she’s said it.

“Oh my goodness!!!” I cheer. “Yes, your milk! You’re going to drink your milk!”

“Mut,” she says and I kiss her.