February 5,1905, Brighton Beach, NY
Coming backto the shore was a mistake, Sophie thought. An expensive mistake. The ocean air was supposed to be good for her health. After all, that was the entire reason she and Isaac had spent a month at the Brighton Beach Hotel last summer. They had had little savings, but what little they had, they’d spent on the extended holiday. Fresh air, steak dinners, and a change of scenery were what the doctor prescribed.
Easy for the doctor to make such suggestions, Isaac joked. He didn’t have to foot the bill.
It was worth it, though. By the time she’d returned to Newark, Sophie was expecting again. This time, she was sure, would be different.
The beach in February was nothing like it had been in August. The early morning cold sliced through her shabby clothing like a blade. It chilled her to the bone. Her mother, were she still alive, would have scolded her for venturing out on a night like this.
“Are you trying to catch your death?” she would have shouted. Sophie could just hear her.
“Would that be so terrible?” Sophie shouted back now. Her mother had been gone for five years, and she’d lost her father to the sea long ago as well. She had no one.
No one besides Isaac. But who knew for how long? How long would any man stay with a barren woman like her? Isaac had always wanted a family. And so had she. That’s why she’d married him.
She turned toward the water, barely able to keep her eyes open. Tears streamed down her cheeks, coaxed out by the wind, only to freeze on her face as they spilled out. The tears blurred everything, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to cry, at last. Sophie never cried. She was a good girl. She put on a brave face and she did what she was told. She had faith. Sophie wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She’dhadfaith. Now she had nothing. Not even a lousy handkerchief.
One hundred paces behind her, Isaac shouted her name and begged her to come back to the room.
“Come back,” he screamed. “I don’t want another wife. I don’t care about the money. We can try again. Or we can take a break from trying, Sophie. We don’t have to have any kids. You’re enough for me. Whatever you want to do.”
Isaac meant it, too. But he knew she didn’t feel the same way. As much as his wife loved him, he would never be enough. She wanted a child. Sheneededa child. He’d never felt more powerless.
Coming back was a mistake, Isaac realized now. A terrible miscalculation. Brighton Beach summers were wonderful, full of races, theater, and families enjoying the boardwalk and piazzas. They’d built sandcastles like they were children themselves and written their favorite baby names in the sand. It was like a second honeymoon. Or more like a first, since they hadn’t had the money for a honeymoon when they were married five years ago. But last summer, even though he’d been out of work, he’d splurged. They’d spent the modest inheritance from his mother. The timing was perfect, he’d rationalized. He’d go back to work in the fall. Nobody hired in the heat of summer. He was sure his mother would have approved. How his mother had longed for a grandchild! It seemed like a fitting way to spend the windfall.
There was almost nothing left now, and he was still unemployed. He needed to cast a broader net and look for work outside of Newark. Perhaps he’d even look here, he’d thought. He was not a fisherman, but he knew his way around a theater. Brighton Beach had several. Including one owned by Sophie’s stepbrother. If only she’d get over her prejudices about Burnie. He’d offered Isaac a job more than once.
Brighton Beach in winter was a whole different world than summer. A cold and foreboding one. The ocean was angry. The waves pounding on the shore reminded him of a feral animal licking its chops. It could swallow you whole. It might swallow Sophie whole if he didn’t stop her. He was gaining on her now, running. It wasn’t like Sophie to argue with him and run out into the night.
Did she mean to walk straight into the ocean? She’d been like a stranger tonight, insisting he find someone else, someone less “broken” than her.
“Sophie, wait! Please!” Isaac pleaded. “Put on your coat at least. Let me walk with you.” He approached warily, holding the brown mohair coat out in front of himself like a bullfighter.
Sophie heard the crunch of sand behind her and spun around to see her husband holding out her coat. He moved toward her cautiously, like she was an animal that might bolt. She couldn’t blame him.
Isaac was cold, of course. He might have even said he was freezing as he chased after his grieving wife. But that was not half so cold as he felt upon seeing her tear-stained face. Beautiful Sophie, who never cried, who always found the silver lining. She had not even cried when her own mother died. But now, illuminated by the cruel gray-gold light before dawn, she looked as if the flood of tears might erode all that was left of her. Her face was a fragile ruin. Isaac could hear whimpering as well, though Sophie’s lips did not appear to be moving.
He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and made his way toward her slowly. Surprisingly, she didn’t move or try to run away.
“Did you hear that?” Sophie whispered.
“Hear what?” Isaac dabbed at her tears and folded her into his arms. He slid her coat over her shoulders.
“Shhh.” Sophie shook off the coat and stood up straighter. She’d heard something. Something impossible.
“Soph–” Isaac tried again to place the coat on her shoulders, a little more firmly this time. He’d been about to reference the hour, and that neither of them had slept, when he heard the whimpering sound again.
“You hear it, too?” Sophie swallowed. “It’s not just me? I mean, it’s not my imagination?”
“I heard something,” Isaac admitted. “But I’m not sure what it was. Probably a bird.”
They heard it again. Louder this time. More insistent.
“That doesn’t sound like a bird.” Sophie shook her head. She slipped her arms into the coat and cocked an ear to listen. “I think it’s coming from over there, beneath the boardwalk.”
The sun had risen past the horizon now, tinging the clouds with a beautiful rosy glow that recalled the summer sunsets they’d enjoyed here together. Isaac wanted to grab Sophie’s hand and ask her if she remembered the sunsets, but it didn’t seem appropriate now. He was just glad she’d stopped crying. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of wagons and the cry of the seagulls, actual birds. They sounded nothing like the wails coming from beneath the promenade.
“My gods!” Isaac exclaimed. “I think you’re right. That’s–”
