by James, Ella
I bring the hem of a bright green shirt to my face and inhale the slight, soft scent of washing soap.
Here is a man who is within my grasp. I could have his babies, serve the people here, and help make Tristan stronger. Yes, he’s puritanical and patriarchal, but I can’t live with that? Mummy endured worse without losing her brains or running off, as I’ve dreamed of so often recently. (Not that I could, given my fear of boats). Mummy endured everything and always did her best for me.
I wander out of the closet and curl up in bed, and I don’t leave until it’s time to make two house calls. After that, I scurry back to Doctor’s and soak in the bath. I’d like to cry, but I feel nothing.
I remember the morning and try to sear his touch, his lips, his voice into my memory.
I doubt he’ll come back ’round this time. Why would he? I know what my assets are; I realize I’m not utterly without them, but I’m not exceptional. I’m just a girl locked on an island, and he’s him.
Yes, he holds my hand and gives kisses that reach down to my soul. But he’s a natural-born romantic. He knows Neruda; how could he not be? He loves tugging at my hair and giving me his dimpled smiles. He’s got a big heart; I suppose it just spills over onto who’s nearest. Here, he’s had no one but me. No one else who knows his demons. No one whom he trusts with his deft, shaking hands. That doesn’t mean he needs me, I tell myself.
Still, I dream of getting on a boat with him, sailing away. I think of what it might be like, but then my chest feels like it might collapse on my heart. I’m locked inside a cage, and I feel it. I’ve got to get out, even merely for an hour.
I crave the wind on my face and the moonlight in my eyes. I know where I want to go, but I clean house instead, arranging all the knitted pillows neatly on the couch and picking lint off the rugs as if the queen herself might drop in for tea. Finally, when even Baby is tired out, and I feel numb enough for comfort, I put on my coat and boots and slip into the darkness.
Night has always been my favorite time. When I was young, I’d sneak into the grass beside the house and lie there looking at the constellations. When Mummy would catch me, she’d chastise me for going out so late, but then she’d pinch my cheeks and say, “I see you in a space helmet one day, my wee dearie.”
Before I spoke again, before I learned to throw clay, I spent my time painting nighttime landscapes with the watercolors Gammy ordered from our old suppliers’ magazine.
For years, it’s been my habit to walk up to Vloeiende Trane at night and sit there on the moonlit plateau talking to Mum. The nights are often cold and windy, but that matters little to me. I button my jacket to the neck and wear the hood if needed.
As I walk up the ribbon of a road that leads to Gammy’s cottage, I think of my mother. What would she think of me now? I’m not an astronaut, nor am I brave or strong or happy. I’ve failed her.
I hear Gammy’s voice, though, and I think about her favorite quote, which says that if you want a happy ending, it depends on where you stop the story. My story’s not over—that’s true. But I know down in my soul that it will never be a fairy tale. I’ve made choices that have locked me in, and that’s my burden to bear.
As I near the cottage, my heart sits like a lump of steel in my chest. The house is dark except a light that shines on the back porch, where there’s an awning that wraps partway around the house, covering my potter’s wheel.
I assume he’s sleeping. I’m a horrid person for the way I left him there, for using pleasure as a weapon. Perhaps I’m twisted from my perverse past. The idea makes me ache.
I take the trail that winds toward the volcano, following it up the hill that leads to the top of the plateau. It’s mostly barren here, but there’s a single cluster of these massive shrubs that grew up in a circle. I think I might lie there at the center, watch the stars move till I don’t feel so horrid.
I do just that, lying on my back with my knees drawn up, watching my breaths drift in puffs of fog to be tossed by the sea breeze. I hear a whale’s song, which my mother used to tell me was the merpeople. That’s all it takes to fill my eyes with tears, smearing the stars.
The ground is cool. It chills me through my jacket. Even though I thought it would be good up here…it isn’t. It’s just the barren earth and the projector image of the starlight. A bit of wind to chill my nose and numb my hands. The reality of things is quite different than daydreams.
“I’ve nothing to say,” I whisper to her.
More and more it seems a cruel trick—all of this. I see no meaning in my own existence. Nothing sweet or special, nothing even offering a bit of comfort. There are only obligations and the feeling that I’m no different than the cows. I’m just a thing to step about the grass and color up the matrix of our island. I am nearly nothing, really.
I wonder how the others do it. But I know the answer. It’s as meaningless for them as me, but they’re not alone as I am. Anna lives for Kayti and for Freddy. I suppose Kayti’s wee, round belly and Freddy’s arms around her in their bed at night must ease the pain, lessen the numbness. That’s what makes her warm, what gives her universe its starlight.
I wipe a tear from my cheek.
Holly has her dreams. Nothing’s happened to her yet to make her doubt their power. Holly’s got both parents, and they worship her. I’ve been in her house at night when her mum makes that lovely bisque and her father does his crossword by the wood stove. Holly lives next door to Dorothy, and they’ll look at magazines and file each other’s nails for hours. I adore them both, but all of that is foreign to me. It seems…silly.
I look at my own plain nails, curl my freezing hand into a fist. I use my fist to blot the moon. My hand looks like it’s glowing. I’ve still got it stretched up when I hear footfall—heavy steps, and moving quickly. I sit partway up, then lie back down and tilt my head in the direction of the path that runs up toward the volcano.
When I hear movement on my other side, my stomach drops. Someone’s on the plateau with me. I roll over slowly, careful not to make a sound. When I see him silhouetted in the moonlight, all the breath leaves my lungs.
He looks taller, wider, from my vantage point here on the ground: a shadow figure stopped perhaps a meter from the cliffs’ edge. I watch as he folds his arms in front of his chest. He stands with his feet a bit apart, as if he’s bracing for the wind…which I suppose he is.
Watching him, I feel a clawing sense of want, a sort of breathless desperation for him. It doesn’t do for me to be so near him. I shut my eyes and pray he’ll pass by quickly. Will this be the last time we’re in such proximity? I count down the weeks till his departure as I sit frozen with my eyes closed. Nine weeks—plus or minus. Do I hope for the former or the latter?
I breathe deeply, losing a bit of my balance so I have to open my eyes. When they latch onto him again, I’m alarmed to find he’s nearer to the edge. His head is down, as if perhaps he’s looking over.
Don’t be foolish, Declan.
What’s he thinking? Is he tired? Cold? Sad? I want to know it all, and yet it isn’t mine to know. I grit my teeth as tears fill my eyes. I wish I could steal away without him hearing, but I don’t believe I can.
My throat tightens so fiercely, I can scarcely draw a breath. It’s the latter, I decide. I’d like him to leave sooner. I can’t even look at him without aching.
As if he hears my thoughts, he steps much closer to the cliffs’ unstable edge.
Careful, Sailor.
As if in defiance, he takes a small step. Terror swells in my chest. I feel like I’m in a dream where I should run, but my body is frozen.
When he moves again—to sink down to the ground—I nearly expire from fear. I tell myself he’s only sitting, and he’s perhaps half a meter from the edge, not there at it. I watch as he brings his knees up to his chest and drapes an arm over them. His hand strokes back through his hair. Then his head bows and one arm comes over it. His hand rifles through his hair, tugs at the tresses. I watch as his shoulde
rs rise and fall.
Lord, give him strength. Give him peace. You alone can ease his pain.
Despite my prayer and my deep belief that God can ease him, I’m swamped with a desperate feeling. One of panic, same as in my drowning dreams. I feel ill with the need to go to him, to hold him as he held me. It’s the only thing I want, and yet…I can’t.
I wipe my eyes. I lower my hand in time to see him scoot still closer to the drop-off. He drapes his legs over.
My heart stops—and then I’m moving, gliding toward him with the iron will of an angel. There’s no question. I will reach him.
The frigid breeze slaps my cheeks as he shifts there the ledge. Overhead, the stars pulse. Then I’m dropping to my knees beside him. I can’t even breathe his name, can only latch onto his shoulder with a low moan.
As he turns toward me, I see his face has got that lost look I remember from the burrow.
“Declan?” I can’t tell who’s trembling—he or I? Panting fills my ears as I cling to his arm.
“Shimmy back…” I gasp, “before you frighten me.” A cracked laugh squeezes from my throat. “Please.”
I look up and find his face looks frozen, his eyes fixed on the sea.
“I loathe this ledge. So dangerous.” I press my face against his shoulder as I breathe in deep pulls. “I hate heights.” My voice quakes as I imagine the rock below us breaking away.
Declan’s hand squeezes my shoulder, and I open my eyes. Then he reaches back with both arms, palms against the ground as if he might push off the ledge. I throw my arms around his neck and lock on.
The next second is a riot of sensation. I dig my nails into his nape as the fall flickers through me like the old films they projected at school. The sharp air and the dizzy plummet twist my senses as my mind plays out a reel of our demise. I’m so certain I’ll fall with him that when instead he shifts away from the ledge, my mind can’t quite comprehend.
“Finley?”
I’m gasping as he stands.
He frowns down at me. “Why are you here?” he rasps.
I look up at him between strands of my wind-blown hair. I swallow hard. “I saw you.” My still-racing heart stammers. I can barely rise up on my quaking legs. I’m pulsing with adrenaline. But stand I do.
Bright moonlight hides his features from me as I step closer. My hands curl into fists. “You must be mad! Or have a death wish!”
I pace around him. From a different angle, I find his shadowed face a mask of apathy. “What was going through your mind? I’d bloody like to know!”
When he doesn’t move, I shove him. “You could have fallen, easily! That rock sloughs off daily!” I can see the muscle at his jaw tic. Good. “What were you thinking? Fancying a midnight swim? It takes eight minutes to drown in the ocean. Have you ever put an egg timer for eight minutes and thought of that? Because I have!” A sob catches in my throat, and he strides to me.
“Fuck.” It’s so soft, I’m not sure he actually said it. His strong arms encircle me. They’re damp and shaking, as is his chest.
I breathe deeply through my nose, too furious to cry.
“Why are you here, Finley?” His big hand rubs circles on my back. “Are you okay?”
I feel him inhale deeply, and I want to strike him—so I step away.
“You nearly died! A stiff wind would have blown us over.” Thoughts race through my mind, but I can’t seem to fold them into language. Even these few minutes after, panic grips my heart. I realize my eyes have sprung a leak and wipe my face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened!”
His face is a mask. “I’m sorry.” Such a flat voice.
“Were you going to jump?” I laugh, the sound a bit unhinged. “You think you have wings, Declan Carnegie?”
His mouth tightens.
“Is that a yes or no?”
“No.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yeah, Finley.” He shuts his eyes. “I’m fucking sure.”
“Then you’re the biggest fool that’s ever traveled here! Dangling your legs off that way…”
He rubs his eyes with one hand. I can see his taut jaw. “I’m sorry I scared you.” One sharp breath, and then release, and his eyes open, peering at me. “Should you be at home?” He tilts his head behind him, toward Gammy’s. “You need a ride?”
His voice is low and soft. It makes me want him. When he breathes, it makes me want him. Wanting him sends fury beating through my veins.
“Have you got a car up here then?” I wave around the moon-drenched plateau, and his lips quirk. Unbelievable.
“I could drive you from my place.” As he says it, he looks down. It takes a moment for his gaze to rise to mine again. When it does, his mouth is soft; his eyes are cautious.
“I’m quite fine. Are you, though?” Tears well in my eyes as I replay what happened.
“Yeah. I…uh…went running.” He glances down at himself, and I realize he’s in dark sweats and a pale tee, wearing runners. “Figured I’d stop here and…you know. Watch the water.”
I nod. My throat stings as I try to keep my tears in.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” I watch him shift his weight. In the darkness, I think he bites the inside of his cheek—one of his tells. “And I’m sorry—” He blows his breath out. “I’m sorry for what you said. Before.” He breathes deeply again, his big shoulders sinking. “You were right.”
He’s looking down again, the fingers of his right hand touching his left elbow. For the barest instant, his eyes touch mine.
He’s quick to turn away. “Just knock if you want a ride, okay?”
And he’s off.
Three
Declan
I’m just rounding that big field behind the house when I hear her behind me.
“Declan?”
I turn to Finley with my eyes throbbing, finding her maybe fifteen feet behind me, one hand drawn up to her throat as if she thinks she needs a shield. “Right about what?”
It’s windy. She pushes her hair out of her face.
I jam my hands into my pockets. Rub my lips together till I’m sure that I can keep my voice steady. Then I say, “I was selfish. Just thinking about me—what I want.” My heart pounds as she steps closer. I shift so my left arm stays behind me.
“What do you want?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Don’t do this, Finley. I’m fine, and you’ll be okay, too.” In the moonlight, she looks like she’s shivering. I think maybe I see tears on her face. She steps closer, and I’m sure.
“Hey…” I take a half-step toward her before remembering I can’t touch her. “You should let me drive you back.”
Her mouth trembles as she shakes her head.
“Want to come inside…just for a second?”
She shakes her head.
“What’s the matter, Siren?”
Tears spill down her cheeks. I step closer to her, but I don’t know what to do. Can I hug her? Would that make things worse?
“C’mon, S…I wasn’t gonna jump off. That’s just crazy.”
She shakes her head. “I’m haunted.” It’s a ragged whisper.
Shit. “I’m really sorry. Keep in mind that I’m a lot heavier than you are. I couldn’t get blown off. And the rock was steady. I’m a climber. I could tell. Maybe it was a bad idea, but I wasn’t going to fall.”
“Weren’t you, though?” She steps closer, peering at me with her leaking eyes, and I feel like she can see right through me. “I miss you.” Her face crumples, and her shoulders jerk a little as she covers her face, speaking from behind her hand. “Since this morning…I miss you.”
She puts both hands over her face, and I start shaking like the freak I am. More than anything, I want to put my arms around her, but what she said today still stands. I know her well enough to know it’s her statement of record.
Please don’t break my heart.
I swore to myself that I wouldn’t.
I put a hand over her shoulde
r, because that’s all that seems appropriate between friends. And I can do that. I can’t not be her friend. “You’ll feel better after some sleep. Everything looks better in the morning.”
Her head lifts, her brown eyes flashing. “What bollocks is that? I won’t feel better in the morning! If anything, I’ll feel worse as time elapses…without you.” The word cracks.
She holds her forehead, and I give in. I put an arm around her back and draw her carefully against my side. “C’mon, Finny. Let me take you home. I didn’t mean to fuck your night up. I’m sorry.”
I glance at my left arm, but I think the bleeding’s stopped. I got most of what was dripping blotted off at the plateau. She won’t see it if I’m careful when I steer.
I shut my eyes for just a second as we walk toward the car, trying to memorize the feeling of her body against mine. After this, I’ve gotta stay the fuck away from her.
She stops when we get to the car and stares up at me. “You can’t take me home,” she whispers. “All the chatter.”
After a second, I realize she means people would talk.
“Oh—what happened?” She reaches across me, pointing toward my left arm, and my stomach nosedives. “Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” I run my right hand back through my damp hair so she can’t see my left side as well. “Going hard. Ran into something.” I square my shoulders, keeping my face impassive. “You want some company on your walk?”
She looks at the ground, then up at me again. “Why don’t I walk you in and peek at your arm? That way I won’t worry for you.”
She looks weird, like she might cry, and I feel like the biggest dick alive. What was I thinking when I touched her in the closet at the burger place that night? If I’d kept my damn hands to myself, we wouldn’t be here right now.
I suck a breath back, knowing damn well I can’t refuse her. I say, “Sure. If you want.”
As she walks into the house in front of me and I step in behind her, I imagine kissing Finley. I could take her by surprise, make her forget why she came in, and keep my arm behind her. Hide. It’s every addict’s first instinct.