“Folks down on Murphy Street say the swamps are lit up already,” Mona said.

It was late and she was washing up after dinner while her Mama sat at the kitchen table. The heat and the humidity, like the foxfire, had come early this year, and they punished Mrs. Gardner awfully. Mona repeated some of the town gossip as a distraction. She heard her Mama sigh.

“Just like the year your father went away.”

Mona paused a moment, then set the last dish in the drainer. Her Mama rarely spoke of Mona’s father. She only knew that her father had not been local, that he’d been called away before Mona was born, and that her Mama didn’t seem entirely comfortable talking about him. She could have inferred much from this scant information, but she chose not to. She decided, this once, to try to draw her Mama out a little. She set a heavy pot to soak and said, “Oh?”

Mrs. Gardner’s voice sounded half-asleep, dreamy. “That was the happiest year of my life.”

Mona looked over her shoulder. Her Mama’s face seemed to glow under the yellow light of the cheap fluorescents in the kitchen. Mona tried to keep her tone as light as possible, as if she too were dreaming. “What was he like?”

Mrs. Gardner chuckled, an earthy sound. “He was a shaggy, grey, smiling-wolf of a man.” She chuckled again, almost purring as the sound died away.

Then something caught in her throat, and it all turned into a coughing fit. Mona hurried to her Mama’s side, handkerchief ready. Afterward, Mrs. Gardner said, “I think it’s time for bed,” and Mona thought she looked sadder than usual.

*

People from the Hill, educated and well-off, said Mrs. Gardner was a little crazy, not absolutely in touch with reality. Folks from South End, those who could only afford houses near the swamps, said she was ‘touched;’ some said by the other side. Nobody much paid Mrs. Gardner any mind, but Mona knew that her Mama was a good woman and not at all mean-spirited; she just sometimes said things which were a little uncomfortable, a little difficult. It just happened sometimes that Mrs. Gardner would get an odd, sort of slack look on her face, and she would say something that just didn’t quite fit. Most people looked away, made excuses, disappeared. But Mona knew; she accepted. Whatever her Mama said, it always happened just that way. Like the time she’d stopped in the middle of the Library and said that Mayor Daly, the county’s most respected politician, would “die a philanderer.” The knitting club had as one looked down at their knitting, and none of them remembered the prophecy when a week later the Mayor and his lover were gunned down in bed together.

Most of the time, Mona was the only one to hear her Mama’s declarations anyhow, and she knew her Mama didn’t mean any harm; she was just speaking truths, as yet hidden. And her Mama’s prophecies always involved other people, anyway.

Then one night at dinner, near Midsummer’s Eve, Mrs. Gardner dropped her fork halfway to her mouth. Her face went slack, and her eyes got that familiar, far-away look, and Mona leaned forward to better hear whatever her Mama said.

“Beware the night of the pearl moon, child.”

Mona started a little, and frowned. Her Mama had never before said anything that sounded so directed at her. She just sat staring as Mrs. Gardner shook herself out of the trance.

“Oh dear,” she said, and brushed risotto out of her lap. “It happened again, didn’t it?” She sounded breathless, tired and weak. She bent to pick up her fork with a little groan. “Well, who’s in for it this time?” She looked across the table and saw Mona’s still-frozen face.

Mona didn’t reply. Her mind was too full. It had sounded like a warning. But why then was she so filled with an almost pleasurable anticipation?

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Gardner said.

“Well.” Mona’s voice sounded strange in her own ears. “You just said, ‘Beware the night of the pearl moon.’”

“Really,” Mama said. She looked at her plate instead of her child. “I wonder what that means.”

Mona didn’t reply and looked away instead; at the stove, the refrigerator, the kitchen door which couldn’t be closed any longer. She somehow couldn’t say that she felt like the message had been directed to her.

“I suppose we’ll find out in due time,” Mrs. Gardner said, and if Mona hadn’t been so distracted, she might have heard just the softest note of sadness in her Mama’s voice. As it was, they both simply finished their dinner in silence, caught up in their own thoughts.

Later, washing the dishes, Mona asked, “Mama, when’s the next full moon?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mama said, although she did, exactly. “A couple weeks maybe?”

“Hmm,” Mona said, and went back to drying and staring out the kitchen window into the darkness.

*

The next day, Mona went about her errands as usual, the warning of the night before just a tickle in the back of her mind. Library, bank, groceries, Mama’s medications (arthritis, diabetes, blood-pressure, anti-seizure). Even though it was her day off from the cafeteria, she still worked, no time to relax. This was her life, lived in the most present moment. But somehow, thoughts of the future, unformed and undistinguished, kept creeping into her mind. She pushed them down and tried to focus, but the hot and hazy glare made it difficult for her not to let her mind wander.

Headed home a little after noon, her bicycle laden with parcels, Mona ran into Chip Mulligan. He saw her first, across the town square, and drove his pick-up around the park to catch up with her, slowing as he came alongside.

“Hey Mona,” he said.

“Chip,” Mona said.

Mona and Chip had gone steady all through high school, but she had broken it off after graduation, when her Mama got sick. Now, every once in a while, Chip would ask her again to marry him, but she always said no. She knew he was a good man, as good as anyone was likely to find even in a much bigger world than their little town, but somehow it never seemed quite right, like she had to wait for something, some sign. And it wasn’t like she was breaking his heart; at least, she didn’t think so.

“How’s Mrs. Gardner feeling?” Chip always called Mona’s Mama ‘Mrs. Gardner.’

“Not poorly,” Mona said, still looking straight ahead as she peddled. Actually, her Mama was doing quite well, as she thought about it. Whatever had been ailing her the last few years seemed to be slowly passing. Mona slowed and they stopped together in front of the barber shop.

“And how are you doing?” Chip’s voice softened further. He wanted to get out of his truck and take her in his arms, but he knew that would be the wrong thing to do. He just didn’t know what was the right thing to do. “Pa said you looked awful tired the other day.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Mona said lightly. “I just don’t sleep well in this heat.” She finally looked at Chip, and smiled. ‘Little white lies,’ she thought, ‘But why do I bother?’ A trickle of sweat worked its way down her back, between her shoulders.

Chip smiled back at her, wanting to believe her. “Yeah,” he said. He wondered why he still felt so awkward around her, after all this time. Then he looked away, coloring. He was remembering the hot summer night he had spent on the roof, years ago, trying to peek through her curtains. Mona’s neighbor had seen him and called the police, and while he’d gotten clean away, there had never been any doubt in Mona’s house just who had been on the roof. It had never been a problem either, except to Chip.

“Do you think it feels like a storm?” Mona said, her tone distracted.

“Hmm?” Chip came back to the present. “Oh, maybe.” He followed her gaze upwards. The sky was cloudless, but hazy, with a sort of curdled, gray cast. He looked back down to her upturned face and was struck again by the absolute perfection of her features. His face still felt hot.

“Mona,” he began. He was going to ask her if she was satisfied with her life, content. But he already knew that she would say she was. And he knew she wouldn’t be lying, not exactly. He just got the sense that she was waiting for something, but that she didn’t know what. Mona puzzled and fascinated Chip, more than any other woman he’d ever met. He thought that must be why he kept going back to her, even though she kept saying no.

“Yes Chip?” Mona said when the paused stretched out.

“You have a nice day,” he said, to cover his confusion, and pulled away.

Mona felt perplexed by his sudden alteration, and suddenly wished she’d thought to ask him about the next full moon.

*

Evenings passed as they always did: dinner, washing up, reading until bedtime. Mrs. Gardner spoke no further prophecies. Days passed as usual, too. Mona worked in the cafeteria at the factory on the East Side of town, where they made parts for diesel locomotives and railroad cars. But the whole time, it seemed to Mona that she was forgetting something important. Or rather, that she’d lost something, but couldn’t remember what, or where. And as the days passed, the feeling grew, as did her expression of puzzlement. She didn’t hear what people were saying about her, how she was proving to be her mother’s daughter. The heat and the mugginess continued, the worst in living memory. One evening, Mona walked out through the sleeping porch on the back of the house and scanned the sky. The moon hung low and huge in the night, largely obscured by the orchard that backed up her Mama’s property, but she thought that it might be full the next night. The idea seemed somehow important to her, but she couldn’t figure out why.

And her dreams that night were filled with luminous eyes.

All the next day, Mona walked through her job distracted, filled with an unfocused expectation. It was like any other day, only more so – the distillation of her life so far. She messed up orders, broke dishes, and dropped a whole pan of lasagna. Chip’s Pa, Arthur, a line foreman at the plant, asked her if she was feeling all right and volunteered to take her home. Her manager told her to go ahead and go. Mona almost declined, but she staggered under a black dizziness and acceded.

Once home, her Mama sent Mona straight to the hammock on the sleeping porch with a cold drink and a cool, damp cloth. The mid-afternoon heat was like a moist cotton rag over her mouth and skin, and she fell into a light and fitful sleep full of rustling leaves and milky pale orbs hanging against indistinct gray backgrounds. It was dark when she finally awoke, the moon riding glazed and high in the sky, and for a moment Mona was terribly worried that her Mama hadn’t wakened her. But then she heard dishes clattering in the kitchen and she knew everything was all right.

She sighed, her muscles relaxing in a kind of overheated defeat, and rolled out of the hammock. She almost felt as if she were buzzing, overflowing with unrealized potential energy. And instead of going inside to help with dinner, Mona found herself unlatching the screen door, drawn down the steps into the yard, and back through the gate to the orchard. Beneath the gnarled old apple trees, thick with ripening fruit, the air was somehow less heavy, almost pleasant. She looked up between the leaves and saw that the odd haze of the past weeks had outlasted the daylight; the stars were dim and restless, and the full moon had an oily pink film over its face.

Suddenly, Mona heard her Mama’s voice in her mind, “Beware the night of the pearl moon, child.” Something enormous rustled in the hedge between the orchard and Mona’s neighbor. She froze, eyes straining in the mazy, washed-out light beneath the trees, and watched in awe as a huge creature pushed through the bushes. It was a black wolf, big as a horse, with great silver eyes. The beast walked slowly forward, stretching its head tentatively toward her, sniffing. It whined quietly, and Mona held out her hand, utterly fascinated.

In her mind, she heard Chip’s voice say softly, barely more than a whisper, “Mona, are you content with your life?”

She knew he’d always stopped himself from asking her, knew it was always on his mind, knew too that she would never have told him the truth. But this time, under the pearl moon, she responded with a silently breathed, “No.”

The wolf opened its mouth, its tongue lolling out in a great toothy grin. It trotted silently forward until it was right in front of her, and she buried her face in the fur of its neck, inhaled its musk. The sensation of potential built further, almost unbearable. The wolf whined again, deeper in its throat, and she wrapped her arms around the hot trunk of its neck, sobbing, “No no no no.”

They stood that way for a long while under the light of the full moon, until the wolf twisted its head away from her and Mona felt its tongue on her hand. She let go, sniffling, and stepped back a little. The wolf gazed at her, its eyes luminous in the nacreous light. She felt a question form in her mind, and she said without hesitation, “Yes.”

*

Mrs. Gardner watched from the kitchen window as her child climbed onto the back of the enormous beast, and smiled a sad little smile as the two glided swiftly into the shadows. She turned away as they disappeared and looked at her guest.

Chip sat at the kitchen table, his head bowed and his hands wrapped around an uncomfortably hot cup of coffee. Strong effort kept his mind blank.

“I expect you have a lot of questions, young man,” Mrs. Gardner said as she lowered herself carefully onto a chair.

Chip looked up and nodded; but he had too many questions to be able to start. And he didn’t trust his voice.

“Ah,” Mrs. Gardner said, “It feels the same as when her father left, twenty-two years ago. Except that I’ve had twenty-one years to love her, and I only had him for one.”

Chip stared at Mona’s Mama, Mrs. Gardner only, now. This was not a question he’d wanted answering. But her smile was so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, and he wondered if he’d ever felt anything as fully as she obviously did right then. He struggled again to make his mind blank.

Mrs. Gardner leaned across the table and laid one of her hands atop one of his. “I owe you an apology, child,” she said, and chuckled at his confusion. “I’ve always known this night was coming. Mona was the price I paid for my one year with her father. I little realized that she would also be such a gift, or that I would therefore end up paying twice, and you with me this second time.”

Chip shook his head. Questions, half-formed, cascaded through his mind. “I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Gardner chuckled a little. “I dare say you don’t, yet. But because of me, and Mona, you’ve been touched too. And that means that someday you’ll have to make a choice like this again.”

“I had a choice?” Chip said, all confusion and anguish and wonder. He’d never wanted Mona so much as he did right then.

“Yes, child,” Mrs. Gardner said. “The hardest one. And you behaved a perfect gentleman: you let her go. You were much stronger than I ever was, and that gives me hope for you. Because when They come back again, sniffing out those who’ve been touched, like me, like you, They will ask you to make a small sacrifice – just a year, a year of shared life. They will beg you; and They are pitiable, and beautiful. But you will have seen the price They demand, and you will know the consequences for us left behind. And you will be more ready to make this choice again, more ready than I ever was. And this is good, Arthur Mulligan, Jr., because the choice I made out of pity and weakness and desire, you will make from a position of knowledge and strength.”

It seemed to Chip that he wasn’t hearing Mona’s Mama, wasn’t comprehending her words. Nothing made sense, except that Mona was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. Where, he didn’t and couldn’t know. The only thing he knew for certain, right then, was that he was going to have to get up in the morning and go to work and pretend that the world was real, and whole, and tolerable. And he just didn’t know how to do that.

Except, he realized, that he’d been doing just that every day for years, ever since Mona had said ‘No’ that night after graduation. He took a deep, steadying breath.

And then it seemed that he finally heard Mrs. Gardner’s words, and it occurred to him that whoever ‘They’ were, whatever Mona’s Mama said about pity, he hated ‘Them’ right now for not giving him an honest choice. He couldn’t have behaved any differently with Mona, even if ‘They’ had come up to him and given him permission. It was a cheat.

He stood abruptly and said, “Thanks for the coffee, ma’am.” He turned back at the kitchen door as another thought occurred to him. “Is it really true that the price we pay for any good thing is the losing of it?”

Mrs. Gardner smiled sadly and nodded. “You’ll be ready then.”

“And Mona? What price will she have to pay for going…home?” He dared for a moment to hope that she might be back, someday, and he wondered how long he would, how long he could care this deeply for the absent girl.

Mrs. Gardner’s face went slack, and her eyes gazed on something far away from the kitchen, and she said, “You’ll find that They pay in advance.”

That couldn’t be right, Chip thought. He shivered and his stomach dropped. They paid in advance, not knowing if the price was fair.

And he had been Mona’s price. Even if this was all true…. Even if it was possible…. What kind of life could he have bought for her?

“Oh, Mona,” he whispered, and left.

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