A Single Breath

by Lucy Clarke

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “Jackson asked me not to. He didn’t want people to know Kyle wasn’t his son. He loved him.” Dirk sighs. “But I don’t suppose what Jackson wants matters much now.”

  SAUL CROSSES THE DECK, his bare feet padding lightly over the wood. He feels Dirk and Eva’s gazes moving with him as he climbs down the steps into the moonlit garden.

  He feels the dewy grass beneath his soles, then the hard coolness of the stone steps descending toward the bay, and finally the welcome give of sand as he reaches the beach.

  Saul yanks off his T-shirt and unbuckles his jeans. He throws his clothes onto the sand and runs straight into the bay, water slapping at his shins. He makes a shallow dive and the cold grips him tight, squeezing at his muscles. He swims hard, pushing air from his mouth.

  He stops in the middle of the bay, where the water drops away so steeply that the seabed must be a hundred feet below him. He takes a long breath, his ribs rising beneath his skin as his body fills with oxygen, and dives down.

  Black water surrounds him like night. He feels as if he’s diving deep into the soul of the ocean. He equalizes as he goes, thought fading as the sea swallows him.

  Deeper and deeper, kicking through ancient places where fish hover, gills pumping, fins flicking; past ledges where abalone lie still and silent, their flesh pulsating with the current; beyond the squid that drift like specters, transparent tentacles brushing his skin.

  He stops kicking and opens his eyes. Above there is a faint silver light—the moon beckoning—and he kicks toward it.

  At the surface he lies on his back with his arms spread wide, staring at the sky brimming with stars. He knows he shouldn’t have left his father and Eva like that, but he couldn’t listen to any more. Whenever he’s near Eva—whenever he so much as thinks of her—his heart fills with a strength of emotion that is new to him.

  It’s torn him up these past few weeks seeing how badly Jackson’s hurt Eva. Part of him hates his brother for it. But tonight he sees that despite it all, Eva still loves Jackson. Perhaps will always love Jackson.

  And as selfish as this thought is, Saul can’t help wondering what this means for them.

  EVA LEAVES DIRK AT the house and walks along the bay’s edge, damp sand clinging to the soles of her feet. She tastes salinity in the air and something earthy from the bush.

  Ahead, a pile of clothes is strewn in the sand. She pauses, then turns to the water, scanning the inky surface for Saul. After a moment, she can glimpse movement, moonlight glancing off an arm or a leg. She sits down beside Saul’s clothes and waits.

  She listens to the tumbling slap as small waves hit the beach, followed by the lighter, liquid sound as the water is drawn back, shifting sand and shells as it moves.

  Now she must readjust her picture of Jackson yet again to fit the new information she’s just learned. It was Jeanette’s deception that caused him to leave Tasmania. It helps Eva to at least begin to understand why Jackson boarded that plane wanting a new life, a fresh start.

  She glances up and sees Saul beginning to swim back toward the shore. She reaches over and picks up his jeans from the beach, sand sprinkling onto her lap as she smoothes out the legs. Then she folds them neatly and lays them down. She shakes out his T-shirt and folds it into quarters and places it on top of his jeans.

  She presses her palms flat against it, as if she can feel his heartbeat through it. Their relationship is growing tentatively in Jackson’s shadow. It is something fragile and new, yet there’s no question they have a connection that draws them powerfully together.

  But then there is Jackson, too, she thinks, removing her hand. He loved her, Dirk had said. He left his home, his whole life behind, and took the greatest risk to marry her.

  She doesn’t know what she feels, which is why, when Saul finally wades through the shallows, he will find the beach empty, Eva gone.

  Our favorite bar in London was called the Olswin. It was crammed full of reclaimed furniture and retro items that you could buy. We’d often go there on Sunday afternoons, and sit with our drinks picking out all the cool pieces of furniture we’d like for the home we’d one day own.

  You said your dream home wasn’t big, but that it had a garden with a beautiful stretch of springy lawn. I liked to imagine you lying on a picnic blanket on that lawn, reading with the sun on your face.

  One afternoon in the Olswin, we saw an old croquet set for sale. It was in an oak box painted with the words JAQUES CROQUET LONDON. I loved the rusted hinges of the box, and the beautifully carved mallets with their edges worn smooth. “Let’s buy it!”

  “A croquet set?” you said.

  “For your lawn.”

  You told me I was crazy, that it’d just take up space in our apartment. But I could see the pleasure in your eyes when I went to the cash register.

  It was ridiculous, of course. It was hugely overpriced, neither of us had any real desire to play croquet, and I had to lug the thing on my shoulder across London. When we got home, you kissed me on the mouth, your lips tasting faintly of pear cider. “My handsome dreamer.”

  Sadly you were right: our future was always just a dream.

  28

  Eva sits on the edge of the deck pressing the heels of her hands into the cool wood, feeling the prickling of pins and needles building in her palms. Her bare legs dangle toward the damp sand, heels knocking in an impatient rhythm against the wood. A weak sun has just risen above the water, no warmth yet to its rays.

  Her mind is abuzz with thoughts, each like flies circling over the carcass of last night. They land on Dirk’s words: He did love you, Eva. That’s why he took the risk of marrying you. Her heart had surged at that, relief and happiness flooding into her chest. Jackson had loved her—that at least was real.

  But then she’d glanced toward Saul and seen the pain shadowing his expression as he rose from the table. It’s as if she’s caught between two tides dragging her in opposing directions and is unsure which way to swim.

  She takes her phone from her pocket and dials Callie’s number.

  “Cal, it’s me. Is it too early? Did I wake you?”

  “Course not. I was going to call you actually.”

  They haven’t spoken in some time, and hearing Callie’s voice now, Eva is reminded of how much she’s missed her. “Sorry it’s been a while. Things have been . . . complicated.”

  “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

  “Can I visit?” Eva says in a rush. “I just . . . I think I need to get away from here for a few days. Clear my head.”

  There’s silence. Then Callie sighs. “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. The show’s fallen through.”

  “What?”

  “An investor pulled out. There’s no more money. Everything’s been shelved.”

  “Oh, Cal . . . For how long?”

  “Indefinitely.”

  “I can’t believe it. Can they do this to you?”

  “Seems so.”

  “But what will you do now? When are you leaving?”

  “I have to be out of the apartment in two days. So I’m going back to London.”

  “Oh,” Eva says, disappointment lurching through her.

  “But,” Callie says, “I was hoping to come and see you on my way home.”

  “In Tasmania?

  “Yes. If that’s okay?”

  “Okay? I’d love you to!”

  There is a pause. “What’s going on out there?”

  Eva looks toward the empty bay. There’s too much to say right now—she wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Let’s talk when you’re here.”

  IN THE LAB, EVERYTHING seems to be against Saul; he finds the refrigerator broken, all his samples from his last field trip lost. Then he makes a mistake entering some recent results, which skews his entire charts. He is terse with a junior member of the team and has to apologize to her later, which she accepts warily.

  He’s desperate to see Eva, and by the t
ime he gets the ferry back to the island, it’s dark. He first checks on his father, who dozes in front of the television with his mouth ajar. Then Saul walks along the bay to the shack.

  He finds Eva washing up, her sleeves pushed up, her hands covered in soapsuds. The shack smells of pasta and olive oil, underpinned with a sweeter smell, something he associates with Eva’s hair.

  “Hi,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I put a few of your beers in the fridge, if you want one?” Her tone is studiously light.

  Eva declines a beer for herself, so Saul takes just one out, twists off the lid, and leans against the kitchen counter while Eva finishes the washing up.

  The skin on her forearms is lightly tanned and the sharpness of her elbows is faintly appealing. He watches her sponge a plate and then flick on the tap, rinsing the detergent from the glossy white surface. The pump drums as it draws water from the tank. She sets the plate on the draining board, a crust of food still caught on the underside of the plate. She wipes her hands with a tea towel, missing a patch of foam on her wrist. Saul wants to reach out and slide it from her skin with his thumb.

  She turns. “Last night . . .”

  “I’m sorry I left like that. I needed to clear my head.” He’d needed to wash away Eva’s expression of relief when she learned why Jackson had left Jeanette. “You came down to the shore last night when I was swimming.”

  Her gaze flits past him.

  “You folded my clothes.”

  “Yes,” she says, pushing her hair back from her face, revealing the smooth curve of her forehead.

  “Were you waiting for me?”

  “I suppose I was.”

  “But you changed your mind?”

  Eva pulls her gaze to his. Her eyes are large and watchful. “Can we sit down?”

  He follows Eva to the sofa and they sit. She perches forward, drawing her thumb along the hem of her dress, as if counting each of the stitches. She doesn’t say anything for a long time and he wonders whether she is waiting for him to speak.

  Then she takes a deep breath. “Over the past few weeks I’d begun to hate Jackson. I hated him for lying to me, for marrying Jeanette, for leaving Kyle. I never thought that the man I married would be capable of any of those things.”

  Saul listens hard, his pulse ticking.

  “Then, hearing Dirk talk about him last night, it reminded me how much we were in love. And we were, Saul. It was real. I let myself forget that.”

  “That’s enough, is it? That he loved you? Jackson lied about—”

  “Everything? Yes, I know, Saul. I know!” Her hands curl into fists. “And I’ll never understand why. I’ve got so, so many questions. They’ve been driving me crazy.” She stands and crosses the shack. “I lose hours of the day imagining conversations with Jackson where I get to ask him: Why didn’t you divorce Jeanette? How did you forge the paperwork? Did you make a conscious decision to lie to me? Did you miss Kyle? Did you ever think about coming clean?” Eva stops by the sink. He sees her chest rising and falling. “I can’t keep going over and over them. It’s not doing me any good. The thing is, Saul,” she says, her eyes locked on his, “I’ll never know the truth behind his decisions. But last night Dirk reminded me that instead of fixating on questions—or hating Jackson—I have got to focus on the one thing I do know. He loved me. That much was real.”

  Saul hears his own voice, low and filled with tension. “What does that mean for us?”

  THE AIR IN THE shack feels too warm; there is a dense weight to it. Eva crosses the room and steps out onto the deck, facing the dusky horizon. She is aware of her own breathing and tries to inhale and exhale more slowly.

  She hears the creak of wood as Saul moves onto the deck behind her. She feels him reaching out, encircling her around the waist. Her body sighs into the space between his arms.

  “What if . . .” she begins, then stops, not quite sure how to frame the thought. “I can’t tell whether this—you and me—has happened for the wrong reasons.”

  “What reasons?” he whispers, his lips close to her ear.

  “Grief? Loneliness? Anger? What if you just remind me of Jackson?”

  “Eva—”

  She turns in his arms to face him. “I was so hurt, so furious with Jackson. What if I’m with you to punish him in some way?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he says, sadness pinching his features.

  “Is it?” Everything that is drawing Eva toward Saul is also what is pushing her away, like a magnetic force that is shifting its field. She steps back. “Maybe we’re both just kidding ourselves. We’re near enough living as castaways here. But what if we were in Hobart, or London? What if we were to tell people—your dad, my mum, Jackson’s friends? Would it still work?”

  “We could make it work.”

  “Yet you didn’t even want your dad to know.”

  Saul looks over his shoulder, out toward the bay.

  “I just want us to be honest with each other. With ourselves. If Jackson had been a wonderful brother to you and a faithful husband to me, would we have needed this?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “And neither can I.” She hugs her arms to her chest. “That’s why I need a bit of time. Just to work things out.”

  When Saul says nothing, Eva continues. “Callie called earlier. Her show’s been canceled. She’s going to come here for a few nights before flying back to England.” Eva looks at her hands. “You’ve got your dad here and I’ll be with Callie. I think maybe we should have some time to ourselves . . . see how we feel in a few days.” She pauses, waiting. There’s a part of Eva that wants Saul to say no, he doesn’t want time apart. Doesn’t need to think. He knows what he feels and what he wants. And it’s her.

  She watches as he draws a thick hand over his face, his expression unreadable. He nods as he says, “Okay, if that’s what you need.”

  29

  Eva wraps her arms around Callie, breathing in the soft tones of her perfume as they greet each other at the edge of the Wattleboon dock. Neither of them speaks; they just hold each other, and a silent apology passes between them forgiving the strained weeks since they were last together.

  Eventually Eva steps back, keeping hold of Callie’s fingers. “Fancy grabbing a coffee and sitting on the dock?” There’s so much to say, she doesn’t want to get in the car and drive back to the shack. She wants to talk to Callie now.

  “I’d like that.”

  The coffee machine at the ferry booth is broken and the only items on sale are unappetizing packs of sandwiches, and ice creams. They buy two cones and peel off the wrappers as they stroll along the stubby concrete dock.

  Glancing up at the overcast sky, Callie says, “Hardly ice-cream weather, is it?”

  “It’s been cold here the last few days. Autumn’s coming.”

  They sit at the edge of the dock, their legs dangling over the side. The water smells different from the bay, a heavier scent of brine and engine oil. They look out over the water to the tumbling hills of Wattleboon. “God, it’s beautiful here,” Callie says. “And so quiet. You forget.”

  Eva nods. “So tell me about the show. How are you feeling? I’m sorry I didn’t know all this was going on.”

  Callie waves a hand through the air. “I’m not sure I even care that much. It was a crap show. I’ve no idea how it got commissioned.” She licks the sides of her ice cream. “Actually, Michael e-mailed yesterday. You know, BBC Michael? With the lisp.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “He says there’s a historical series starting next month and they’re looking for a producer.”

  “You’re interested?”

  “Very. It’s mostly a studio shoot, so I’d be in London.” She straightens her legs in front of her, looking toward her toes. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, Eva. About me running away from things.” She pauses. “From intimacy.”

  “Listen, I should never—”

  “No, I needed to hear it. And it
’s true.” She sighs. “I’m thirty. My longest relationship lasted eight months. It’s pathetic.”

  Eva goes to say something, but Callie hasn’t finished.

  “So I want to spend some time in one place for a while. Slow down a little. Give things a chance.”

  “With David?”

  “What, the eternal bachelor?” she says with a raised eyebrow. “No, not David. Just life in general. I’m always flying from one contract to the next, doing it for my career or pocket—but not for me. It’ll be good to slow down. I’m excited about it.”

  Eva looks at Callie and smiles. “Then I’m pleased. I’m really pleased.”

  Callie tilts her head back, shaking her hair loose. “Anyway, what’s going on with you? You met Jeanette. How was that? Tell me everything. How’s Saul? How are you?”

  Eva watches a shoal of small fish move below their feet. She snaps off the end of her ice-cream cone, then crumbles it between her fingers and scatters it into the water. The fish dart for the surface, grabbing tiny flecks and disappearing with them. “Saul and I . . . we’ve been seeing quite a bit of each other.”

  Callie lowers her ice cream. “Oh . . .”

  Eva begins to talk, telling Callie everything: about the weeks following the miscarriage when Saul had visited each day and helped coax her out of her misery; about the beautiful moments they’ve spent free-diving together in the bay; about the unexpected trip to hospital to see Dirk—and the even more unexpected night at the motel. She talks about the tentative relationship that’s been growing since, but her voice darkens as she tells Callie how every glimpse of happiness with Saul is punctured by guilt. She tells her about her decision to take some space from Saul so that she can think. When Eva finishes, she exhales with the relief of saying it all aloud.

  “Are you in love with Saul?”