“It’s a perfect day,” Landon mouthed, always careful not to wake the child. “Perfect,” he repeated.
Perfect, Rose wanted to mouth, but couldn’t muster it. Landon’s smile faltered the way it always did when she failed to adequately perform. Poppy, Conor, and Bill saved her from another lie in response to his perennial, unanswerable question: “Are you okay?”
“Doesn’t get much better than this,” Conor announced. He had a towel slung over one shoulder and carried a heavy cooler with both hands.
Rose pressed one finger to her lips. “She’s hard to wake once she’s down,” she whispered, “but let’s not tempt it.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, marginally quieter. “Though I have to admit that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world forme. I could stare into those eyes for hours.”
“Or me,” said Bill, beaming down at the child. Bill was just as handsome as his partner, but in an entirely different way—his limbs delicate as a dancer’s, his features carved like marble. “She’s a wonder.”
“My goddaughter is the most perfect little being on the planet,” Poppy agreed, reaching down to smooth the baby’s spiky hair.
Cordelia squirmed in Rose’s arms, letting out a piercing cry.Rose’s heart raced. “She’s not happy,” Rose said, “I can’t make her happy,” then realized she’d said out loud what she’d only meant to name internally.
“You just need to rest,” Poppy said. “Even I’m exhausted from last night, and I only had tolistento you and Landon banging up and down the stairs. You guys were up at all hours. Give her to me, I’ll rock her.”
“Or me,” Bill said, a bit sheepishly. “It would be good practice.”
“Practice?” Landon probed. Cordelia’s cries rose in volume.
“We said we were going to wait until cocktails tonight,” Conor said, but his radiant smile gave away the game.
“Oh my God,” Landon said. “Oh myGod!” He leaped from his chair. Cordelia’s cries increased in frequency. “You’re having a baby?” he yelled.
Rose’s muscles tightened. Her breaths came faster. Poppy eyed her suspiciously. “Let me take her,” she said, gathering Cordelia in her arms without waiting for Rose’s permission.
“We’re having a baby!” Conor yelled.
“I’m sorry,” Bill said. “Looking at Cordelia last night, I almost broke. It was all I could do to wait this long.”
“We’ve finished up most of the paperwork, and the baby’s due date is six months from today.” Conor positively beamed. His happiness reminded her of Landon’s the day they’d found out the baby stuck, how he’d opened all the windows and played music loud enough it spilled out of the house.
“I’m so happy for you two,” Poppy said. “Let’s toast right now. We have to celebrate. Mimosas? Conor, please tell me you have ingredients for mimosas in that cooler.” Rose knew she should say something. Something like “I’m so happy for you, too.” But Rose could not speak. Because Cordeliawasn’tcrying. Poppy wasstanding, holding Rose’s daughter to her chest, as if calming babies were second nature—like Cordelia belonged there, snuggled into the soft fabric of her cashmere sweater.Say it, Rose begged herself.Say, “I am so happy for you.”But then Bill was there, collecting the baby from Poppy’s arms like the most precious of parcels, cooing and oohing and rocking her as if loving babies was a personality trait he’d been born with. “You’re a natural,” Landon said, standing behind Bill and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re going to be the most incredible parents.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Rose thought, and she realized too late she had said that out loud, too.
Poppy looked at her, confused. “Do you need to go lie down?”
Rose shook her head. She was here, beside the sea, with the people she loved best in the world. She should be grateful to be alive; grateful to have eyes to see how her cherished friends so clearly cherished her child. Then Rose was struck by a terrible thought. If she could not be happy here, was thereanywhereshe could be?
Say it, she demanded.Say, “I am so happy for you. I am so happy for you. I am so happy for you.”Then Landon was there, his hands on her shoulders. She clenched up and shrugged him off, harder than she should have. “Get off me!” she yelled.
“Hey, hey!” he said. “What’s gotten into you?”
Say, “I’m sorry,”she pleaded.Say, “I am so happy for you,”she begged, one more time. But she couldn’t. So, Rose ran. Waves drumming in her ears, she pounded down the beach. Landon’s voice carried on the wind, but she ran until her feet ached and her abdomen, still raw from what it had recently endured, cried in protest.
She stopped when she could no longer breathe. Only then didshe spare a look behind her. And of course, Landon was there, maybe ninety yards back—far enough that she could see his face but not make out his expression. She would have a few minutes, at least, of solitude. Rose turned to the sea. It was rougher than it had been when they’d first arrived, churning and rolling with a restlessness that matched hers. She opened her arms to invite it in. The salt spray stuck to her nose and cheeks. She kicked off her shoes and stepped closer until she was in; until the water splashed up to her knees.What’s wrong with me?she asked the sea. Waves crashed, impervious to such inconsequential human suffering.
“Should I have left you alone?” Landon asked. He sounded as scared as Rose felt. She knew there were ghosts in his eyes even without looking at him.
When she did not answer, Landon exhaled sharply. “What do you need, Rose? What can I do?”
How many times had he asked? Hundreds? Thousands? She’d held it in so long already. She thought it was possible she could hold it in forever.
“I think you should talk to someone,” he said. The sea roared. “If you won’t talk to me, that’s fine, but you have to talk to someone.”
She turned around to look him full in the face. There they were—the ghosts she’d expected—lurking behind his bloodshot eyes, hovering above his sunken cheeks. “I don’t have to do anything.”