“He’ll be okay,” Jacob says on the drive home. We cleaned up the dishes and fed the dogs before we left.
He reaches across the seat to hold my hand. “They gave him the Epi shot in time.”
“I can’t get his face out of my mind,” I say. I feel mildly nauseated.
“It was a freak accident . . . something he ate.”
A freak accident, like me hitting my head.
“We didn’t have any shellfish at the table,” I say.
“It was something else. He must have developed an allergy to milk or peanuts.”
“So late in life?”
“He’s not that old, and yeah, it’s been known to happen.”
“Poor Van. Poor Nancy.”
“This will bring them closer together.”
“It shouldn’t take a medical emergency,” I say.
He squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry about all this. You don’t need any more trauma.” His eyes are soft, caring.
“It did bring back a strange image of another diver. It looked like he was drowning.”
He lets go of my hand. “You saw someone drown?”
“Gasping for air, or . . . I don’t know. Yes, drowning. I don’t know when or where. But we were diving.”
“You never went diving without me. We never saw anyone drown.”
“Someone was running out of oxygen. Another diver.”
“Nobody was running out of oxygen.”
“I thought I saw . . .”
“Your mind must’ve been playing tricks when you saw Van wearing the oxygen mask.”
“Must’ve been.” We’re quiet the rest of the way back, watching the dark fields flit by. The island takes on a new, mysterious personality at night. Forms that were once easily identifiable as animals or trees become unrecognizable shape-shifters.
At home, he makes a fire, pours himself a stiff glass of whiskey. “What a damned night.” He collapses on the couch.
The sky is clear, moonlight casting an eerie glow through the window. “What if they don’t get him to the hospital in time?” I say.
“Like I said, they got the shot into him.” He swirls the whiskey in his glass. “You should get some rest.”
“I’m not sure I can get any sleep tonight.” The synapses in my brain are firing.
“You could take one of your sleeping pills,” Jacob says, downing the rest of his drink.
“I’m not taking any more drugs. I’m going for a walk.”
“Now?” He sounds incredulous.
Let’s take a midnight walk, Aiden says, holding my hand.
“The moon is full. I’ll take a flashlight.”
“It’s not safe,” Jacob says.
“There aren’t any predators on the islands. No mountain lions or bears.”
“But there’s the guy down the beach.”
“He’s harmless.” I dress for the cold. Out in the icy air, I feel free, relieved to be alone. I need to talk to Sylvia. I can’t fit all the puzzle pieces together. Van’s frightened eyes haunt me, the eyes of the phantom diver.
I walk to the water’s edge. The shoreline looks different in darkness, the driftwood like bodies stranded in the sand. On a rocky stretch of beach, I sit on a boulder and watch the lights of distant freighters on the horizon. Far from the city, the stars jostle for space in the night sky. I’ve been here before, in the dark, my mind rife with regrets and worries. I always loved the beach at night, even when I was very young. I sneaked out my window to be alone with the sea. The moonlight on the waves calmed me. I catch an image from long ago, of Jacob walking toward me on a night like this one, on a beach with a view across the Puget Sound. We were waiting for Aiden to arrive. He was late—we were all going somewhere together. Jacob kept checking his watch, sighing with exasperation. I said maybe we shouldn’t go. I didn’t feel well. Jacob said we could go without Aiden. The guy doesn’t like the symphony anyway. Ah, so that’s what it was. The symphony. But it was my stomach, roiling and heaving, that kept us from going, in the end. Right there, I threw up in the sand, sat down to catch my breath. I apologized to Jacob, but he said not to worry. He brought me a glass of water and stayed with me until I felt better.
*
I’m lying on my side at the edge of the bed, facing the bathroom door. Moonlight casts mottled patterns on the wall. I follow the movement of shadows. Jacob’s tucked his knees against the backs of my legs, his arm heavy on my waist. His familiar smell envelops me. But it’s not his voice I hear in my ear. It’s Aiden’s. I’ve missed hanging out with you, he says in my memory. I’ve missed him, too. But we’re not here—we’re somewhere else. I know the shapes of the furniture—a tall antique dresser, a window much like this one. I can’t hold on to the place or the time. But Jacob’s arm becomes Aiden’s arm around my waist. You came back. I was worried you wouldn’t.
How could I not come back?
We have so much to talk about, he said.