I pour myself some prosecco in one of Mother’s cappuccino cups. I light one of her cigarettes, the second-to-last one. I’ll keep the very last one. I watch the sunset with my sisters and Anjelica, her furry white body at my side, her pale eyes closing.
I think of Mother watching the sunset here. Alone, with a cigarette and a drink, just like this. She’d call me up some nights. I’d hear the waves crashing around behind her voice. I’d hear the wind and the gulls. I’d know she was looking at something other than herself by her voice. I’d hear all the sharp edges of it softened by what she saw happening through the glass, what I’m seeing now. Wind moving through blackening trees. White waves. That’s when she’d ask me, Are you happy? That’s when she’d say, I do love you. That’s when she’d say, Do you think you’ll be coming to visit soon?
Yes. I love you too. Soon, I’d answer, not even knowing if I meant it. But Mother pretended I did.
I’m glad.
The light changes and the moon and sun are in the sky together now. One falling light, one rising. They can be together like that in the sky? I asked Mother once. The moon and the sun? Of course, she said.
Of course they can be together like that. It doesn’t happen often. Most of the time they’re far apart. Sometimes at opposite ends of the earth. But sometimes—
Like tonight?
Like tonight. And she put her arm around my shoulders. They’re close.
From where I sit now by the window, I can see where I lay with her on the rocky shore. The morning after our night of water. Where we saved each other from the nightmare of our Most Magnificent Selves. Where I watched her turn from a tangle of red tentacles into the face I knew all my life, into sea-foam. Just sand and water and rocks now.
In my mind, I answer her questions again.
Yes. I love you too. Soon.
My face begins to appear in the window glass. No Glow. No Moonbright. Just my old self. My familiar skin with its shade and texture and age. Only my forehead scar seems to have gone for good. Not even a shadow of a shadow remains. My eyes seem open in a new way. Like a fist, long closed, finally opens. Or like a flower opens for the sun. I smile at what I see.
And then just beyond my reflection, there’s suddenly something else.
Someone else.
A man. Out there on the beach. Dark suit and hat. Walking barefoot along the lapping shore, his pant legs rolled. I stand up from my chair, looking closer. He seems to be dragging something behind him. Some sort of female figurine. Like a doll, but much bigger. Stiffer-looking.
I look at my sisters, who are watching him with interest. Who is that?
And then I’m running to the darkening beach.
* * *
When I get to the shore, he’s shin-deep in the water. No disguise tonight. He’s dancing with the third mannequin, my missing sister. Turning her around and around like they’re doing a waltz in the water. Her silver dress is drenched. His dark suit is also drenched. But he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Or even notice. He’s too busy dancing, just like he and I danced in the grand hall. Like the waves are the music. Like the setting sun and the rising moon are a chandelier of fire above their heads. He’s holding her like he held me. Close. Whispering tenderly into her ear. Words I can’t hear in the waves. She just stares into space with her painted eyes.
“Hi,” I call to him over the waves.
He looks at me. He knows me and doesn’t know me, I can tell by his eyes. Searching mine. There’s a Glow to his skin I recognize. A Brightening. But the scar is still there like a slash over one brow and down his cheek. Whatever they took from him, they didn’t take everything.
“Can I cut in?” I ask him. “Do you mind?”
He looks from me to the mannequin. He’s reluctant, I can tell. Doesn’t want to leave her. He’s gripping her hand so tightly in his fist. The fist is bloody, I see, speckled with small cuts, like he might have punched it through glass. He was the one who broke into Mother’s apartment. Took her with him. I’m saving you, he probably told her.
“She’ll be all right,” I tell him. “We’ll just put her right here on this chair,” I say, pointing to a rock behind me. I remember him trying to soothe me like this not so very long ago. “She’s been dancing for a while. I’m sure she’d love to rest.”
I take her from him and sit her down on the rock. When I turn to him, he’s still dancing with the shape of her, still dancing with air. He’s moved farther away from the shore, deeper into the water.