Belinda's Rings (28 page)

Even as Belinda tried to rationalize it away, part of her wondered if there was more significance to her decisions. For the briefest second, she wondered if on some level she had known all along she would use the money to return to England one day. She dismissed the idea almost as quickly as she'd conjured it.

But she faced the same scenario again with Prim in the crop circle. Up until that moment, she'd believed that a series of coincidental events had led her on this journey. She'd opened herself to them, let them sweep her along. But meeting Prim forced her to wonder if she'd had more control than she realized. When she told Prim she couldn't be there, what she'd meant was that she couldn't bring herself to believe that Prim could be standing in front of her, a real live body marked with lines of age and imperfections. She didn't want to see the ghastly white streaks in Prim's hair, the drooping, wrinkled skin under her chin. This was not the way Belinda wanted to imagine her. And this was not the way her crop circle experience was supposed to turn out. It felt like a violation. It was as if Prim's presence in the crop circle called into question Belinda's purpose for being there. Had Belinda willed this into being? Had she subconsciously directed her pilgrimage of self-discovery back to the place of her birth? Had she chosen Wiltshire, deep down envisioning the possibility of a reunion? She was not willing to consider these thoughts. She wanted them gone.

And Prim left. It wasn't the reaction Belinda was expecting. She turned around and walked away without saying a word, as though she had been anticipating Belinda's rejection. She retrieved her small handbag lying in the field and took it with her, back down the curving arm of the formation and out of sight. Belinda, fists clenched at her sides, had watched her trudge away, holding her white hat by the brim as the wind lifted it like the lid of a kettle. Belinda's body felt rigid, as if all her muscles had swelled and stiffened, leaving her a statue.

Dr. Longfellow was first to leave the group and approach her.

Did you know that woman? he asked.

No, Belinda blurted. I don't know anything about her.

He offered her a bottle of water and she took it, dazedly. As she drank, her hands, her mouth, the cold water running down her throat, felt separate from her. Dr. Longfellow peered in the direction in which Prim had gone. I'm sorry, he said. Everyone goes through something like this.

Excuse me? Belinda said. A bead of water trickled from the corner of her lips and ran down her chin.

Well, it was bound to happen, he said. Unfortunately, our line of work often attracts — unstable people. I hope she didn't upset you too much?

No, Belinda said, no. She looked at Dr. Longfellow for a moment, shaking her head mechanically. No, she repeated.

I was speaking with the owner of the farm, he said, pointing over to a man standing among the strangers. Apparently that woman showed up this morning asking if she could join the tour. He said there was something off about her from the start.

Off? Belinda said. She felt the bead of water hanging from her chin, poised to drop.

Well, Mr. Beaton told me it didn't seem like she was here for the crop circle.

I — I see, Belinda said.

She was with someone, too, he said. Her son, presumably. Very strange fellow, so says Mr. Beaton.

A man? Belinda said, wiping her chin. Where? Where is he? She scanned over the strangers in the distance, all of whom looked middle-aged.

Didn't come, Dr. Longfellow said. He was with her this morning, but she was alone when she returned for the tour.

Belinda gave the water bottle back to Dr. Longfellow. Her hand touched his and she held it there, her fingers pressing into his knuckles.

It was her son, my — she said, her breath swallowing her words. Dr. Longfellow looked at her queerly.

Don't be alarmed, he said. We'll find out how she got your name. I'm sure she's harmless.

I think — Belinda began, then nodded. I have to go, she said, and began to run.

When she reached the edge of the field, her pulse thumping in her ears, Prim was nowhere to be seen. Belinda followed the path out to the road. A line of vacant cars sat parked on the sloping shoulder. No one in either direction. She was about to turn around when she saw a shape moving through a grassy field beside a farmhouse, a few hundred yards down the road. Belinda ran as if the wind were chasing her, sandals slapping on asphalt. She had no idea what she was doing. She was following a blind hope, a sudden urge to understand what she was feeling, the hulking chasm in her gut — as if she'd been deceived. Cheated by her own fantasies.

Nothing had changed on the street leading up to her mother's house. She could picture it now, and herself running along it. Stick fences, slumping with age, standing at lazy angles to the square houses. The cobblestone streets collecting rivers of water in their cracks, covered with hairy patches of moss like a checkerboard. The pristine old bicycle propped against the front steps of the house on the corner, tangled in wild grasses. The patchy bit of stucco on the front of their house that her mother had tried in vain to repair, and rose stems climbing towards it on a rickety trellis. And her mother, alone, barely alive, sitting inside hunched over the embroidery on her knees. Up until now, her aloneness had seemed selfish. But there was something too familiar about that way Prim had turned her eyes, the way her mouth had begun to pucker at the edges. Prim was not married, not happy. Belinda knew without having to ask.

Prim saw her coming. She met Belinda on the drive leading up to the house, but her smile had faded. She held her hands in a tight heart against her chest.

Belinda, winded from the run, clutched her knees and let the sweat river down her face. She took a moment to catch her breath. Prim watched her, expectantly. Belinda wasn't sure what she wanted to say.

Where's Sebastian? she finally said.

At home, Prim said. He can't be around strangers for too long.

Belinda felt her eyebrows twitch.

He's autistic, Prim explained, a sudden sharpness to her voice. Belinda recognized it as bitterness.

Oh, Belinda said. She resisted her impulse to apologize. Sebastian was well over thirty years old by now, Belinda figured.

Prim looked down at her feet, nudged a small stone with her toe. Belinda stared at the gravel on which they stood, breathing heavily, searching for words. She examined the gravel's rocky texture, imagined zooming in on a patch of ground and seeing the same texture repeated. Zoom further, same texture. The same pattern, again and again, into infinity. A formula — fixed, unyielding.

I named my son Sebastian, Belinda said, more to herself than to Prim.

I know, Prim said.

Why? Why did I do that? Her mind was spinning, the words flinging out like splashes of mud.

Prim stared at her blankly. I'm not sure what you're asking, she said.

I haven't seen you in thirty-six years, Belinda said. I want to know why I'm so — afraid of you. I've always been afraid of knowing you, knowing anything about you.

Prim bit her lip. I don't know, she said, squeezing her eyes shut against her tears. I don't know. She wiped her palm over her eyes. Perhaps . . . perhaps you didn't want to turn out like me.

Belinda turned her gaze to the fields, stretching out in long waves behind the house. She focused on the thin lines of wheat stalks, trembling together in the wind. The crop circle was just visible in the distance, a shadowy inkblot, like a spill on the landscape.

And when she looked back at Prim, she saw nothing but a woman. She was just an ordinary woman, like anyone else. Nothing special, as her mother had always said. All these years Prim had remained stagnant — a woman, a mother, reduced.

But I did, Belinda said. I turned out just like you.

16
Camouflage

I USED TO BELIEVE
that people couldn't change. Now I realize that if other people are anything like me, they hold on to certain memories like pieces of themselves, and take them along wherever they go. We're made of the things that happen to us, so that no matter how much things change around us, we will always be who we are. I try to think about that when I get stressed about change. I try to remember that I'll always be me, no matter what is going on around me.

But even so, sometimes it really gets to me when I find out that a place I remember so clearly has changed. When Rose got back from Disney World last summer, the first question I asked her was if she liked the
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
ride.

Huh? she said.

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, I said, slowly. You know — the submarines?

She blinked. I don't know what that is, she said.

It's only the best ride in the whole park, I said. You've seriously never heard of
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?
Jules Verne? Captain Nemo?

How long ago was it that you went to Disney World again? she said. Weren't you like, twelve?

Yeah, I said. Four years isn't that long, ya know.

Well I didn't see anything like Under the Sea or whatever, Rose said. They must've taken it out.

How could they take it out? I said. There's this ginormous pool for all the submarines. It's huge.

How should I know? Rose said. Maybe it was busted. Or maybe no one knows what that is anymore so they shut it down. Who cares, anyway.

After that I just kept my mouth shut 'cause it was obvious that Rose was in one of her moods where everything I say is lame. And anyway, part of me really didn't want to know that the submarine ride was gone forever. I wanted to remember it in my own way, and I wanted that memory to stay true forever.

When I went to Disney World with Da, the submarine ride was the best part of the whole trip. We'd only had the one day to do all the rides 'cause Da's conference was in Miami and it was his only day off. Up until then I'd been hanging around the hotel swimming pool by myself during the day, bored as all hell. The pool had waterfalls and a floating bar in the middle. But when you're twelve there's only so much wading and suntanning and pineapple juice-drinking and magazine-reading you can do before you start wishing you had someone you could splash or play Marco Polo with. Jess hadn't wanted to come 'cause she'd already signed up for Horseback-riding camp with her best friend for that week. I'd told her she was nuts to turn down a trip to Florida, but she said it probably wouldn't be fun with Da anyway. Turns out she was kinda right.

I don't remember much about Miami. I remember going down to the beach outside the hotel and seeing a lady doing cornrows in girls' hair for money. Da had given me ten bucks and that got me two cornrows, one on either side of my head. Da was pissed when he found out how much I'd paid. How could you be so stupid? he'd said. I thought he was being super mean at the time, but looking back I have to admit it was pretty stupid. And the trip wasn't all bad. Once Da was done with working and we drove to Disney World in Orlando, he let me drag him around wherever I wanted. It was a pretty fun day, all things considered. Da really wanted to go on It's a Small World so we did, but when it was over I made sure he knew how dumb it was, how freaky all those little robot children looked, and he had to agree. When we came out of Space Mountain a bird landed on Da's head and I laughed hysterically watching him swat at his hair and run around in circles,
Get it off, Jesus
Christ!
But when we left the park that evening we both agreed, hands-down, that
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
was the best part of the day.

We knew it was going to be good 'cause the lineup was the longest of any ride. When we finally boarded we got seats next to one of the little round windows at the back of the sub, where it was darkest. It was a nice break from the hot sun of the day and all the screaming and flashing lights and stomach-wrenching drops. Everyone was quiet in the sub, little kids included. We watched the blue water bubble and rush past, listened to Captain Nemo's voice telling us scientific facts about the creatures peering at us with shiny glass eyes.

And when we came up on the giant squid near the end, even Da gasped. It was really the only sea creature along the whole ride that you could almost believe, so it made the fake-looking fibreglass fish and the mermaids with cartoon faces and stick-straight arms forgivable. In the dark, murky water, the squid was bloated and pink like a muscle. Its tentacles coiled tight around the belly of another submarine. A single glowing eye, big as a Frisbee, glared in our direction.

Full repellent charge! Captain Nemo ordered. Lightning flashes flickered in the water and our sub zoomed ahead. The eye, bright and unblinking, followed us like a waning moon.

A couple of weeks after we got back from Florida, Da surprised me with a book called SEA MONSTERS: GIANT SQUID. It had a black-and-white drawing of a squid attacking a submarine on the cover.

Just like the one we saw, remember? he said, grinning.

It was a nice thing for Da to do, but I remember thinking it was kinda dumb at first. It looked like a kid's book, and at that time I was trying to get into sophisticated adult books like
Animal Farm
and
Great Expectations
. The book sat uncracked on my bookshelf for months until one day, just out of curiosity, I decided to flip through. It turned out that the book actually had some cool facts inside. For instance, that all squid have camouflage capabilities. And not camouflage like the way some moths have wings textured like bark so they look like part of the tree. Squid have chromatophores in their skin that can actually shift and morph the pigment in the cells to change colour. If they want to, squid can blend right into their surroundings no matter what they are — coral, rock, or even sand — and they can do it so well that they practically turn invisible. One minute you see a squid and the next there's only a tangled bunch of seaweed. They have the power to change into whatever they want to be. That means that wherever a squid goes, it'll never be somewhere it can't fit in.