Searching for Caleb

21

On moving day they got a late start, which was fine because there wasn’t that much to move. They were taking only their books and clothes, plus Duncan’s spare parts and inventions, packed in a little orange U-Haul van. They were leaving everything else behind. Furniture would be supplied in the trailer. Built in. Justine liked the idea of having everything built in. She enjoyed telling people they were traveling light, and would have thrown away even some things they needed if Duncan hadn’t stopped her.

It was a clear, frosty morning in December, with a sky as blue as opals and a pale sun. Some of the neighbors had come to see them off. Dorcas Britt and her husband Joe Pete, and Ann-Campbell with Justine’s cat struggling in her arms. Red Emma, Black Emma, old Mrs. Hewitt and her poodle. Maureen Worth from across the street, still in her bathrobe, and Mrs. Tucker Dawcett, who stood a little apart and looked sad and wistful, as if she expected even now to be handed news of her husband’s unfaithfulness like a parting gift. Justine went from one to another, setting her face against theirs and giving them little pats and making promises. “Of course we’ll be back. You know we will.” Duncan was rearranging boxes in the U-Haul, and from time to time he cursed and stopped to rub his hands together. Red Emma threw him a dark, sullen look that he failed to see. “You tell him to bring you on weekends, hear?” she said. “Don’t you let him just keep carting you off every which way.” She kissed Justine’s cheek. Mrs. Hewitt hugged her. “Oh, it just seems like people are always going, leaving, moving on . . . ”

“But it’s not far,” said Justine. “And you can all come visit.”

“In a trailer? In a cow pasture?” Dorcas said.

“You’re going to love it,” Justine told her. “We’re going to love it. Oh, I can feel good luck in my bones, I know when we’re doing something right. Besides, next month it will be nineteen seventy-four. Add all the digits and you get twenty-one, add those and you come up with three. Our lucky number. Did you ever see a clearer sign?”

Someone pushed a pot of ivy into her arms. Then a rubber plant. She was carrying so much they had to open the car door for her and help her settle things in. “Just put them anywhere,” she said. “The front seat is fine.” The front seat was already full of food for the trip — Fritos, Cheez Doodles, salt herring and coffee beans and a box of Luden’s. This year she was the only person in the car. Though next year, who could tell? She took the cat from Ann-Campbell, and then once the cat was in she had to get in herself and slam the door, fast, and roll down the window no more than a slit. “Ask Duncan if he’s ready to start,” she said. The clanging of the tailgate was her answer. “Well, I guess I’ll be saying goodbye then.” For the first time her voice was sad, and appeared to drift out too slowly on the mist of her breath. “We don’t want to hit the rush hour.” She stuck a cold silver key in the ignition and kneaded her fingers. Hanging from the gearshift knob was a National Safety Council ad torn out of a magazine: cupids with black straps slanted across their chests, I LOVE YOU, WEAR YOUR SEAT BELT. She turned and looked at the cat, who glared at her from behind a begonia plant. “Well, then,” she said, and roared the engine up and left, waving her hand out the slit in the window.

Behind her the U-Haul’s engine started too, and the crowd of neighbors moved over to Duncan. “Have a good trip!” “Drive safely, hear?” The truck rolled off. “Oh, aren’t you ashamed,” Red Emma called suddenly, “taking her away from us like this?” But Duncan only waved. He must not have heard. Or else he was too intent on catching up with Justine, who by now was only a puff of smoke in the distance.