I feel my throat tighten, a swell of emotion that’s as much relief as it is sorrow. I let myself imagine what it would be like to let Nathan all the way in, to trust him not just with my days, but with my future. Cassie’s future, too.
There’s a knock at the window, and for a second I jump, but it’s just the wind rattling the loose pane.
“I should clean up,” I say, standing too quickly.
Nathan rises and helps with the dishes, rinsing each one carefully before passing it to me. Our hands keep colliding in the suds, and we both laugh—soft, sheepish, but real. When we finish, we stand together at the sink, peering out at the darkness beyond the window.
The beach is invisible, swallowed by night, but I can hear the ocean. The sound is steady, reassuring.
Nathan turns to me, hair damp from a stray splash of water. “Can we just…sit for a while?”
I nod. “I’d like that.”
We move to the couch, where we fit together like two puzzle pieces. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he curls his arm around me, tentative but not unsure.
We don’t talk for a long time. There’s no need. The air is full of everything we’ve already said, and all the things we’re still learning to admit.
Beyond the threshold of these four walls, the waves keep coming. But in here, I let myself believe, for a little while, at least, that new beginnings are possible, and that sometimes, even the most stubborn wounds can heal.
30
Diane
AUGUST
It’s my turn to help at Sara’s today, so I’m folding laundry in the den, or trying to. My hands keep losing the thread, the fabric collapsing into piles that remind me of old bones. Sara is sleeping upstairs, or so I think. Cassie is at the kitchen table, assembling a puzzle that she found in the hall closet.
Nathan’s voice floats up from the porch. He’s on the phone with someone from the gallery, talking about water damage and insurance adjusters.
It’s almost noon, the sun a stark circle in a sky scrubbed raw by the storm. The world feels on pause, the air tense with the certainty that something is about to happen.
When it does, there’s no warning. One of the monitors in Sara’s room wails. A flattened shriek that echoes through the house. Nathan stops mid-sentence, and then his footsteps are pounding up the stairs.
“Call an ambulance,” he yells.
I fumble for my phone, hands all thumbs, and punch in 911 with the desperation of someone trying to dial the past.
The operator’s voice is calm, professional. I give the address, the symptoms, my name. She tells me to keep Sara still, to check her pulse, to stay on the line. Judy appears in the doorway. She takes one look at Sara and snaps into motion. She gets Cassie out of sight, ushering her outside with a gentleness I couldn’t have managed.
I cradle Sara’s head, stroke her sweat-slick hair. “Stay with me, please. Just stay.”
She tries to smile, lips peeling back from her teeth. “Don’t be dramatic,” she whispers, but the words are drowned in a fresh surge of pain.
The paramedics arrive in a rush of boots and black jackets. They kneel, speak in shorthand, assess and act in a blur. One asks about meds, allergies, next of kin. I answer with a litany of names and numbers, as if reciting an incantation might make her stay.
They strap Sara to a stretcher, tape leads to her chest, fit an oxygen mask over her mouth. Her eyes flutter, roll back, then snap open again.
She locks onto me, fierce and lucid. “Take care of Cassie,” she says, the words sharp and sudden.
I nod, tears stinging my face. “I promise,” I say, but my voice is a wreck.
The paramedics move fast. Nathan holds the door, guiding the stretcher out the front door. I follow, numb, my feet moving with a mind of their own.
In the driveway, the ambulance waits with doors open, engine idling. Cassie is on the porch with Judy, fists clenched white against the railing. She doesn’t cry, but her jaw is set, her entire body a refusal.
They load Sara in. One of the medics, a woman with freckles, tells Judy and me to follow in our car. I glance at Nathan and Cassie, then back to Sara, already vanishing into the machinery.
“I’ll take care of Cassie,” Nathan says. His hand finds my shoulder, the weight of it an anchor.