I started waking at dawn to walk along the coastline, immersing myself in the textures, colors, and sounds of this place, trying to summon the stories I’d need for the mural, something to add story and color to Patrick’s diagram. I noticed chartreuse lichen scabbing the rocks, the lick and suck of tide against sea-smoothed stones, how every single one of the shells in the bay was different; white limpet shells and ear-shaped mussel shells; kelp fronds, the ones like bronze ribbons, and cream ones like bandages, their stems like bone joints; and, of course, the ocean, that perpetual shape-shifter: one day a disk of hammered gold, the next wild and rearing, like a thousand white horses. I noticed how the ocean had moods, just like a person.
Every morning Clover made a point of running to the edge of the rock and calling out to Basil. More often than not his dorsal fin would be visible above the water, and I began to join her in calling “good morning” to him.
I began to wonder if we might stay longer than the autumn. If we might make a life here, start over. If I could somehow will the cancer away, or at least find a solution to this impossible situation.
How could I leave my daughters without anyone to care for them?
LUNA, 2021
I
“Luna?”
Ethan is kneeling in front of her, his face full of concern.
“I’m all right,” she says, trying to blink away the white lights in her vision.
“Do you want to lie down?” the nurse asks. “There’s a free bed on the ward. An hour’s rest won’t do any harm at all.”
“Honestly, I’m fine,” she’s saying, but it’s a prayer instead of the truth, an effort to will the white lights away from her vision and restore her strength. Ethan takes her hand and watches anxiously as a nurse checks her blood pressure, then uses a stethoscope to check the baby.
“Heartbeat’s nice and regular,” she says, smiling. “Still, we don’t want to take any chances. You’ve had quite a journey traveling up here, and a shock finding your sister, too.” Luna nods. Yes, shock. That’s what it is. She isn’t miscarrying. Behind the nurse she can see Shannon, her arms folded impatiently and Clover’s file in one hand.
Maybe this distraction isn’t such a bad thing after all.
* * *
—
It’s dark outside now, rain pattering against the window. Ethan is snoring in the chair next to her. She must have been asleep for most of the day. On the table there’s a white envelope and what looks like a test tube with her name printed on one side.
Ethan rouses, his eyes bloodshot. “How’re you feeling?”
She blinks hard. The white lights are gone from her vision, as has the weird smashed-mirror effect that suddenly descended upon her before. The headache has lifted, too.
“Where’s Clover?” she asks.
“She’s fine. A psychiatrist came to speak to her. I think she’s just left.”
“And the social workers?”
“Eilidh said they’ll be back in the morning. They said it might be a while before Clover is discharged. And they still have more questions.”
She lays a hand on her stomach, rubbing where she feels the baby’s foot must be. The insistent pulse of that little heel.
“Why don’t you get a train back home?” she says. “Ryan’ll be wanting you to get back to work.”
“I can’t leave you here,” he says. “You and the baby.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “I’ll drive back as soon as they discharge Clover. I promise.”
He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. “No.”