For now, they are here, defiantly close beneath the blankets. Suddenly, all else drops away—the dust and sweat of Africa, that hot squall of abstractions—and this is all that matters. This man who would have a child with him, grow old with him and say good-bye.
The next afternoon, just before closing time, the door of the shop opens and a man enters with an extravagant crown of feathers on his head. The red and green feathers appear to have been borrowed from a South American macaw. His chest is weighted with a collection of intricately beaded necklaces and a string of long pointed teeth, perhaps shark or wild boar. Beneath, he wears a plain black T-shirt and jeans. Mark glances at Harris, who mouths something to him and winks.
The man comes to a halt in front of the desk where Madeleine sits. It will be interesting to see how she handles this one, Mark thinks. He watches as she puts a piece of hair behind her ear, then stands and pats down her skirt. He watches as she smiles up at the man and collects her purse.
He glances at Harris, whose eyebrows arch. For a moment, the old energy returns between them, trembling like a guitar string.
Madeleine pushes her chair in beneath the desk, and the feathered man takes her hand. She steps toward him, tall and slender, classically pretty with the neck of a ballerina. There is something of a little girl about her, Mark thinks, being picked up by her father.
“Harris, Mark”—she gestures—“this is David.”
The feathered man raises a hand to each of them in turn, as if in benediction. Then, without speaking, he touches Madeleine’s shoulder. She allows him to pull her close, pressing her cheek against the ranks of beads. As they walk toward the door together, she turns to give Mark and Harris a little wave. A strange smile flickers at her lips. The bell tinkles as they exit onto the sidewalk, colors aflame in the early spring light.
AETHER
WHEN THE car pulls into the parking lot, Bethany heaves her duffel bag onto one shoulder. “They’re here!” she calls to her mother. The weight of the bag strains the straps although she has packed only the essentials listed on the festival website—sunblock, baby wipes, rain poncho—and there is nothing she can safely take out.
“Have a good time, honey,” her mother says, catching her in a tight embrace. Her voice carries the same note of distraction that’s been there for weeks. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Mom,” Bethany says into her mother’s hair, feeling a hard nut wobble in her stomach.
They come out of the condominium, and Rebekah and Amos step from the car to greet them. Rebekah grins and chats easily with Bethany’s mother about her California college, the beauty of the campus, the diversity of the student body.
As Bethany squirms into the backseat, her mother gives her another dreamy kiss, lingering for a moment, then letting go. Bethany feels the nut topple and slide in her stomach as the car pulls away. Once they are on the road, Rebekah cranks the music and opens the window.
As far as her mother knows, Bethany will be accompanying Rebekah’s family to a revolutionary reenactment this weekend. It is, ultimately, a harmless lie. There are, of course, many worse things she could be doing than going to a music festival. Later, when she is older and her maturity proven, she will confess the truth, and her mother will understand that there was nothing wrong in it, that she’d underestimated her daughter all along.
But now is not the time for rebellion. Since renting the condo, her mother has been making an effort: asking about her feelings, sitting with her before bed. Sometimes it seems that this outreach is more for her mother’s benefit than her own—that she needs to prove to herself that she is a responsible, available parent. The first year had been bright and optimistic. It was as if, by taking a break from her father, Bethany’s mother had shed a winter skin. That was what she’d called it: taking a break. But as the second year advanced, the sparkle was replaced by a kind of preoccupied quiet. Now, her mother has stopped going out. Her hands have been jittery, and she has been dropping things.
They drive north in the heat, leaving behind Old Cranbury’s dense greenery. Within an hour they are in a different country. Wider spaces, smaller houses, indications of farming. A tractor supply store, an NRA bumper sticker. Between the howling open windows and the thumping stereo, the noise in the car is engulfing. The music goes around in a throbbing, screeching loop.
“I’m so excited that you’re here,” Rebekah shouts into the rearview mirror. “You just have to be at Aether to understand it. Then you’ll never want to miss it again.”