“Like I said,” Ruth replied, “maybe there’s a reasonable explanation.”
Skeptically, Emma raised an eyebrow. “You mean ... maybe he got hit by a bus or got shipwrecked ...again?” She scoffed. “Maybe he washed up on a different beach and fell in love with some other local girl from heaven knows where, younger than me and without children. She’d be a much cleaner slate.”
Ruth regarded Emma in silence, with sympathy and concern.
“Sometimes I want to hate him,” Emma continued, “but I try not to because he’s the father of my baby. It’s funny how history likes to repeat itself.” She felt her muscles begin to burn. “Every time I think of the hours we spent together—when I thought he was wonderful—I want to scream my head off. Or kick myself in the pants, all the way down to South America.”
Ruth squeezed her hand. “It’s never a mistake to love someone. And I’m sure things will be different when the baby comes. You’ll be so busy and happy that you’ll think less of Oliver.”
“I couldn’t possibly think any less of him,” Emma replied, leaping on that convenient slip of the tongue. “But I’d prefer not to think about him at all. He doesn’t deserve it. What he deserves is to be forgotten.”
That night in bed, Emma couldn’t quiet her mind. Her thoughts were like electric sparks, exploding in her brain, sending her into a state of blind fury. She tossed and turned for hours as she dwelled on Oliver’s abandonment and all the mistakes that she’d made—believing him and trusting him.
Sometime before dawn, she felt herself land at the bottom of a deep crater of anger and lost hope. Emotionally and mentally exhausted, she got out of bed, finally removed his ring from the necklace she wore, and locked it away in her jewelry box. Only then, when she slid back under the covers, did sleep come at last.
Chapter 26
It was remarkable how—even on the mainland—Emma’s life was still profoundly affected by the monthly comings and goings of the Sable Island supply ship.
By mid-April, she’d finally begun to settle in at Ruth’s house and had reapplied to Dalhousie University for the fall session. Her pregnancy was progressing well, and she had a new female doctor, which at first made Emma uncomfortable and uncertain, but after a few visits, she realized that Dr. Frizzell possessed an uncanny knowledge of women’s health issues. She’d given birth to two children herself, and Emma had never felt more heard or understood. She began to hope that Dr. Frizzell could remain her physician for the rest of her life.
Matthew, too, was adapting to city life in surprising new ways. He’d made friends with some children in the neighborhood, and they rode bicycles to the park, played baseball and ball hockey in the street. Each of those activities led him to declare one night at dinner that he loved asphalt and couldn’t imagine his life without it. He described its physical qualities and deemed it a “great wonder of the world.” Emma threw her head back and laughed, and clapped her hands together. How wonderful it was to smile and laugh again after so many sorrow-filled days and nights.
But then the supply ship arrived. It docked on the Dartmouth side of the harbor, and two days later, a letter was delivered to the mailbox at Ruth’s front door.
Emma was relaxing on the sofa, reading a book about early childhood development, when Ruth walked into the living room, gray as a ghost.
With a wave of apprehension, Emma sat up heavily and propped herself up with her arm. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“A letter came,” Ruth replied. “It’s from your father. I just finished reading it.”
Emma frowned. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.” Ruth held the letter at her side and moved woodenly to sit on the sofa beside Emma. “It concerns Oliver. Your father asked me to prepare you for some bad news.” She paused. “I’m afraid it’s ... it’sverybad.”
Emma’s blood went cold in her veins. “Tell me.” She couldn’t sit in suspense. She couldn’t bear the not knowing. “Please, just say it.”
Ruth bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, but not long after Oliver left you on Sable Island last September, on his return trip to England, his ship hit a mine in the ocean. There was an explosion, and they sent an SOS, but it took too long for a rescue ship to reach them.”
The news floated around Emma’s ears, not quite sinking in. She could only seem to process it as an account about a distant, nameless ship somewhere on the globe, far away.
Then it hit her, full force. The sound of the explosion. The fire. Oliver on a burning ship, fighting to save it, fighting to save his crew. The ship filling with water and slowly going down. Oliver holding his breath, then sucking in water, drowning in the cold, empty darkness. His body slowly sinking.
The shock was like a bullet in the heart. Nausea spurted through her. If she tried to speak, she might choke.
With concern, Ruth laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No. I think I might be sick.”
In a flash of movement, Ruth reached for the vase of flowers on the side table, dumped the flowers and water onto the floor, and handed the empty vase to Emma. She retched into it violently, her body continuing to gag and heave even when there was nothing left to come up.
Eventually, she set the vase on the coffee table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Tears stung her eyes. Her nose was running. She began to shake uncontrollably.
Ruth went to the kitchen and returned with a warm, wet cloth and a glass of water. She sat down beside Emma and handed her the cloth. Emma pressed it to her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, and took a sip of water.
“There’s a letter here from Oliver’s wife in England,” Ruth explained, looking down at the envelope on the table.
Emma couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. “His wife?”
