Dear Kyra,
I can’t believe you stood me up. If you weren’t ready, as you say, you should have let me know. I waited and waited for you. If you really believe the things you wrote, I have to let you go. But we could have at least met to talk. I should never have walked out on you, I realize that now, but I deserve to hear that face to face.
I want more than anything for you to be happy. If this accident has taught me anything, it’s that we have to try for what we want in life.
Aiden
What happened? The moments, the days, come back to me now, a tidal wave of remembered hours with Aiden, flooding my mind. Aiden and I, when our marriage began to crack, before I ever came to the island with Jacob.
Before
I can’t wait to get home to Aiden. But it’s a long haul from Alki Beach. Traffic slows through downtown, then thins out toward North Seattle. When I finally walk in the front door, he kisses my cheek. “You taste like salt. How was your day at the beach?”
My lower back aches, and I feel as though I could sleep for a year. “We were studying marine invertebrates. I expected to see more shield limpets but I saw only one.”
“Shield limpet. Another fascinating species I’ve never heard of.”
“The shell is striped. They live on rocks, and they can actually create a depression in the stone. It allows them to hold on in rough weather.”
“Maybe we could learn from them,” he says, taking my coat. It is now that I notice the dabs of paint on his clothes.
“You ruined those sexy jeans,” I say.
“These? They’re old,” he says, taking my hand. “I want to show you what I did today, while you were out being a mermaid.” He leads me back down the hall, which feels like a long way. My legs are leaden, the dull ache in my back more insistent.
Just outside the nursery door, he stops and turns to face me. “Blindfold.”
I place my hands over my eyes, playing the game, knowing he needs me to be enthusiastic. But what I really want to do is lie down. He leads me into the room.
“Ta-da!” he says.
I open my eyes and draw in a sharp breath. “You did all of this yourself?”
“More or less.” Along one wall, he’s installed white shelves filled with picture books. He’s added a crib, chest of drawers, and a Winnie-the-Pooh lamp. He’s painted the walls in a soft shade of blue, but I’m drawn to the tree, its lush foliage taking up an entire wall, an owl peering out—and birds in the sky. A soft breeze ruffles feather-light curtains. “It’s perfect,” I say, tears in my eyes.
He wraps his arms around my waist, kisses the top of my head. “I had the weirdest dream last night,” he says. “Our daughter was already four.”
“Daughter,” I say. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
“I have a feeling.”
“We decided we don’t want to know,” I say.
“I dreamed we were in the playground in the backyard, which means I have to build one. It was so damned clear. She wanted to ride the horsey . . .”
“What was she like?”
“She had long dark hair, wavy like yours, but she had my double-jointed thumb. She pouted the way you pout, very effective with the bottom lip.”
“She’s not even born yet.”
“I know, but the dream was so vivid.”
A sliver of uneasiness works its way under my skin. The backache, my deadening fatigue. I know, even now, I already know. It’s happening again. A sudden, sharp pain doubles me over, and he lets go of me. “What’s wrong?” I hear him say from a distance. I run to the bathroom. He’s at the door, asking questions, but I keep saying I’m okay, I’ll be out in a minute. But he can tell that I’m not okay. He knows the vision of his daughter is already a pipe dream.
*
At night in bed, Aiden pulls me into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, stroking my hair. “It wasn’t meant to be.” I don’t know if he means the little girl, this pregnancy, or our marriage.
“Maybe not,” I say.
“We’ll try again.” But his voice sounds deflated, hopeless.
“What if we can’t?”
“Didn’t Dr. Gateman say we could?”
“What if she missed something? This is the second time.”
A deep silence follows. “Maybe it’s stress,” he says finally. “We could move away from here. Go to San Juan Island. I’ll start my own company.” He sounds desperate, as if he’s casting around for a solution.
“If it’s what you want,” I say.
“It’s what we need. A change of pace.”
“Just like that. You want to move.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t make any hasty decisions this time.”
He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
In the morning, something has changed, as if the world of our marriage has tilted on its axis. Aiden seems pensive, distant. He kisses my forehead before he goes to work. No kiss on the lips, no smile of hope and promise. There is a wedge of loss between us. In the nursery, the leaves on the trees seem to be falling.