“Where has that been?” Jess asked. “How did you even get it?”
“In Mom’s closet,” Kat said. “Way up on the shelf where it’s pitch-black and scary. She would have never wanted to be in there.” Kat looked at the ashes cradled in my arms. “I brought her here because she loved it. Remember? She’d crawl right to the edge of the water, and you’d chase her and pick her up, and she’d cry and kick her legs and make you put her down. Then she’d just crawl around at the edge all day, slapping at the water, splashing it everywhere.”
Jess looked at where Kat pointed, a faraway look on her face that seemed to say, Yes, I remember.
Her words sunk into me, and I shut my eyes, desperate to block out the image. But there she was, scurrying across the hard-packed sand. And there was Jack, standing guard in the shallow surf, delivering her to higher ground now and then, carrying her under the arms, and holding her out from his body to avoid her flailing limbs. Want a water baby? he’d say, placing her on the blanket next to me, where she’d abruptly turn and crawl to the water again.
I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t speak. If I did, my voice would fail, and the girls would hear me sobbing. They’d see my anguish. My despair.
For a full year, they didn’t know their sister was on a shelf in my bedroom closet. I’d kept her there. Away from them.
Away from Jack too.
And now he was sick from working all those hours on the water. Hours he worked so he didn’t have to be home, fighting with me about spreading the ashes, or selling the Salt House, or arguing over the contents of the bank statements on my desk. Statements that I refused to open, as if by ignoring them, I could pretend they didn’t say we were out of money. Pretend they didn’t say, See. Look what you did.
I swallowed, steadying myself against the urge to grab the ashes, put them back in the box, bring them home, and wrap them in the blanket again.
I hadn’t been prepared to do this today. Not in a million years could I have imagined this moment, how it would unfold. I thought of the last time I’d talked about spreading her ashes, my mother’s words. Sometimes in life what you think is going to happen is nothing like what actually happens.
I hadn’t believed her. I’d been afraid of this moment, afraid of everything I would feel, afraid of everything I had lost.
But that fear had robbed us. Robbed us of talking about her, of sharing our memories of her.
My daughters were waiting. There was no turning back from this moment. The last year had been leading up to this. Somehow we’d managed to survive losing her, each of us in our own way.
But now we had to figure out how to live without her. Together.
With the ashes pressed against my chest, and the cold Atlantic rising, and my daughters surrounding me, I thought of the letters Josie had given me from our readers. Every one of them telling me: you are not alone.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. The sun was radiant, the light off the surface sparkling the water, blinding me.
I blinked the girls into focus. The water was now waist deep on Kat. I held out my hand to her and she took it. I looked at Jess, not speaking, but she saw my face, and nodded, as if agreeing.
We waded through the surf to the beach. Kat put the backpack on the sand and gently placed the box on top of it. When she turned to me, I held the bag of ashes out to her.
“You’re right,” I said. “She doesn’t belong in my closet. And this was her favorite place. So let’s spread them together. Just a little, though. Because I think the next time we should be together as a family. Okay?”
Kat reached out slowly, and took the bag, then paused, holding it in midair. “We can save some for Daddy,” Kat said. “And for Grandma. There’s a whole bag, you know.” She held it up, offering proof.
Kat put the bag on the sand, and one by one, we reached in and took out a handful of ashes. Then we stood side by side, our toes at the edge of the ocean, the water in front of us shimmering under the bright sun.
“Ready?” Kat yelled. I heard Jess call back that she was.
I looked down at my hand, my fist full of ashes. Tears blurred my vision. But my mouth opened and the air filled my lungs, and I was calling the girls to me, finding my voice, yelling that I was ready.
We formed a circle, the shallow water under our feet clear and calm.
We held our hands out, opened them, and the ashes stirred, but our bodies blocked the wind, a cocoon shielding what was left, protecting the perfect circles of ash in the center of our palms.
We turned and faced the water. A moment later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw arms swing and ashes billowed out before us.
The sky in front of us was awash with a film of silvery white, sparkling and luminous above the sunlit ocean. Gusts of ocean air, salty and thick, grabbed hold of the opaque cloud, and suddenly it was alive and swirling. A life of its own, rising and falling with each tug of the wind. I felt my daughters lean against me, one on each side, their arms circling around me, our faces turned to the sky.
“Bye, Maddie,” Kat whispered, waving her small hand.
A quiet good-bye as the last of her ashes scattered soundlessly in the gasps of salted air.
?21
Jack
Monday started out bad and got worse. I was soaked through when I woke up, feeling like I hadn’t slept in days, even though I could count on one hand the hours I’d been awake since Saturday. Awake wasn’t even the right word. Alive was more like it. Breathing. Existing in a state of fever and delirium and pain.
I’d slept through Sunday. Or most of it. When I was awake, I was convincing Hope it was just the flu. She’d made soup, and I’d had a few sips of it, my appetite gone. It was raining outside, and Kat was watching TV. She asked me to sit next to her on the couch. I must have fallen asleep again, because then it was dinnertime and Hope was pushing more soup at me.
Later in bed, Hope was talking about the Salt House, but my eyes wouldn’t stay open. My head roaring as if a train was running through it again. And then suddenly the clock read six in the morning.
I got out of bed quietly, trying not to wake Hope. It was still raining out, but I had traps to pull. They’d sat Saturday as it was. I got my stuff together and left before Hope woke up. I had to stop in the shop to get some bait I’d put in the freezer and was surprised to see Boon’s truck in his parking space outside the shop.
I was more surprised to see him sitting behind the counter, straight-backed, a cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t get up from his seat when I came in, just looked at me, as if he’d been watching for me in the parking lot.
“You look like you’re waiting for a kid who’s blown his curfew,” I said.
“What I’m waiting for is a guy who should be home in bed.”