When he came back to me the third time, I thought we would finally heal the rift between us. Our connection was less sexual and more comforting. He crawled into my bed to hold me, and talk. He brought me presents, a scarf he thought matched my hair, a pen with peacock colors on the barrel, an embroidered tablecloth and matching napkins. He spent so much time with me over the months Maya was in rehab that I started to feel bad for Norah. He spent entire nights with me.
“Why did you have to go?” I whisper.
A wild force moves through my body, making it feel like my heart is exploding, my lungs turning inside out, all the blood inside me boiling and burning with something so huge I don’t know how to even begin to feel it. I lift my chin to the ceiling and scream.
The poor attendant finds me on the floor beside the drawer, and helps me up, gives me water, helps me outside.
What I hadn’t realized is that my grief would devour me. I can’t stop the flow of tears, the hiccups and sobs. I drive anyway. I drive and drive and drive, around the streets where our love played out its story, by the first little house where we lived, through the parkway where the fair was held, up to the bluff by Belle l’été, but I don’t stop because I see Maya’s car. She made clear her wish to be alone, even if I’d like to hug her and weep with her and share some of this pain.
I drive without realizing it to Peaches and Pork. It looks sad in the bright afternoon sunlight, the paint worn away by sea breezes and salt, the parking area cracked, the landscaping going seedy. It sums up the truth: his time has passed away. Augustus Beauvais is no more.
Kara’s car is parked by the kitchen door, which is propped open to the breeze, but I don’t go inside. I walk on the sidewalk around the restaurant to the beach in front of it, and over the burning sand to the cool stretch flattened by pounding surf. Around me, families play and kids build sandcastles and a pair of youths in wet suits swim out to the wilds.
I wade into the water, up to my knees, up to my hips. The tide sucks at my calves and I wade deeper, to my waist, letting the cold seep into my waistband. Wind lifts my hair and I close my eyes, tilting my face to the sun. Grief like a wild animal crawls through my body, slamming itself into my belly, my heart. I can barely breathe.
Augustus stands with me, not at all ghostly. “Glorious, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
He gestures with one big hand. “Everything. The world, the sea. Children.” He smiles at me. “You. Life.”
“I can’t,” I say. “Not without you. I just don’t know how to be in the world without you.”
“You do.” As if he’s unreeling a film, I see myself leaving the house in Thunder Bluff, locking the door behind me as if that would contain the secret there, and hitching my daughter on my hip, and walking to the highway. “You know how to do everything you need to do.”
“Not without you.”
He brushes hair from my face, his thumb lingering on my jaw. “You were always the better of us.”
I laugh slightly. “That’s true.”
“You can’t leave them, all those girls. Rory and Maya, Polly and Emma.” He pauses, his dark eyes kind. “Norah. She loves you, you know. It wasn’t me she came for.”
The sea knocks me, and I stumble sideways, and the vision or the ghost or whatever it was is gone. I’m alone in the ocean with water up to my waist. I could keep wading toward the horizon and disappear, all my sins forgotten, my grief a thing I can drown along with my joy.
Instead I have a sudden vision of the future, of another grandchild, a boy like Augustus, with his black curls and snapping eyes, laughing on my lap. For one long moment, I stand there, buffeted by waves; then I turn and walk back to shore, and back to Peaches and Pork, into the kitchen where Augustus died.
Kara is counting dishes, and turns when I come in.
“Let’s figure out how to save this place, shall we?”
She grins. “Now you’re talking.”
Another figure comes in the back door. It’s Norah, whose beauty never ceases to astonish me. Today her long hair is loose on her shoulders, and her big eyes are earnest. “Meadow, can I talk to you?” She glances at Kara, waves with one hand. “It’s kind of important.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
She looks bewildered. “Um. I don’t know. I just came here first.”
I slap my wet jeans. “Okay. Let’s step outside.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Maya
The cleaners are just leaving when I get back, and the entire house feels scoured and fresh. The cushions are plumped up, the floors clean, the counters spotless.