Early Warning

That evening, sitting in the much-bewindowed dining room at the Pinehurst Resort, watching her father and Jared’s conversation drop from idle to intense, she understood that the self-protective little pod she had built — staying in Iowa City, avoiding family gatherings as much as possible, never taking money from or talking about her father, pretending Michael and Richie did not really exist — would crack apart. It would soon begin, flights in and out of Cedar Rapids, Jared alight with possibility, her father calling them. And what would she say—“I’ll get him,” or “I’m fine. Emily is good. I’ll get him”? That was the most she could imagine. Of course, Jared could install his own line, just for these calls. All these thoughts came to her within three or four minutes — long enough for her mother to walk with Emily over to the buffet and back. Emily sat in her chair, and Janet saw her father look at the child with interest, maybe for the first time ever, and why was that? Because she was related to Jared, and Jared had a lucrative idea. Janet stood up, said that she had a headache, and went back to her room.

Once there, she thought of phoning Debbie. She had phoned Debbie repeatedly since Aunt Lillian’s death. It was not that Debbie was especially sympathetic or even wise — Debbie was not quite three years older than she was, and about that much wiser. But Debbie had Aunt Lillian’s voice. It was a warm, good-natured, alto voice, and it pronounced certain words just as Aunt Lillian had. Debbie had let her know that she could not give Janet advice, much less let her go on and on long-distance. She was busy. She had a job and a family and grief of her own. Have I always been like this, Janet thought, so unself-consciously needy and talkative?

The answer was yes.

So she didn’t call Debbie.

Back in Iowa City, Jared didn’t speak to her for almost a week, but then his friend Oz suggested they move to San Jose. Jared brought this idea home as if it were a revelation. Janet did not panic, but said, “I’ve never been to San Jose.” She thought, no rain, no Lucas, no Reverend Jones, no Cat. And her dad three thousand miles away. She said, “I hear San Jose is quite sunny.” Jared threw his arms around her. She said, “Horses year-round in San Jose.”

Jared kissed her.

—

JESSE HAD GONE to the feed store in North Usherton to do some errands and stopped to buy Pampers. He didn’t have much cash — what farmer these days carried much cash? When he went to write out a check for the supplies, thirty-two bucks, Pete at the market said, “I can’t take that check, Joe,” and that was the first they heard about the Denby and Randolph Bank going under. For Jesse it was a shock and an inconvenience — Pete let him drive away, knowing someone would come in and pay the money — but for Joe himself it was something more. When Jesse found him and told him, Joe gazed into the hot, sunlit dust floating in the barn and felt paralyzed. They had a loan with Denby and Randolph, and they also had accounts there — Lois’s shop account, their joint checking account, the farm account, and a savings account. Joe jumped in the truck and drove to Denby, but he didn’t have to tell Lois: she was standing in the doorway of the shop, her lips a thin line, staring across the square at the bank, where a couple of guys were already taking down the bank sign. When she saw him, she said, “Good thing I sold that love seat yesterday, and an even better thing that I haven’t deposited this week’s receipts.”

He told her about Jesse’s exchange at the market.

“The kids got any cash?”

“I doubt it,” said Joe.

“Min always said there was a reason she did her banking in Usherton, but she could never remember what it was. Now we know. I guess she’ll take care of them for a few weeks.”