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and amazed. After a second he slips his cold little hand in mine, and as I stare up at the stars, I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by this tiny gesture, borne, I know, out of fear as well as affection or even love.
When we go back inside, Grace has fallen asleep again.
The days pass, endlessly slow in some ways and yet slipping by far too fast. Grace’s health limits what we do, and although she tries to shoo Isaac and me off to go for a walk or a swim by ourselves, I am reluctant to leave her alone. She fades a little more every day, even as I shake out the pills and make sure she’s getting all the different medications she needs just to stay alive a little bit longer, a little more with us.
I find myself encouraging Isaac to be with her, not me, because I know he will keep these memories forever, and I want to make sure they make them together. So I bring a chair out for Grace to sit on the beach, and I put out all the shovels and pails and sit a little bit apart as she, painstakingly, makes a castle with him. I set up Connect Four on the table by the fire and when she is too tired even to lift the pieces and slot them in, I do it for her, letting her instruct me where they go.
At first, Isaac seems a bit uncertain about these arrangements, glancing between me and Grace as if he is not sure whom to look to, or even how to feel. But then he starts to accept it – the three of us, a unit, a team, working in sweet, silent harmony. At last.
Four days into the trip, Grace finally talks to me. Isaac has gone to bed, and she beckons me outside, even though the night is turning chilly. She has a blanket draped around her painfully thin shoulders and she curls up in an Adirondack chair, gazing out into the starry night.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ she says slowly, choosing each word with care, ‘that I think you should have Isaac when I’m gone.’
I knew it was coming; of course I did. And yet it still surprises me, leaves me with an ache of longing, a well of sorrow. I’ve thought of little else for days, weeks, and yet I’m still not ready for this moment.
‘I think,’ I reply, just as slowly, just as carefully, ‘that I thought I should have had Isaac for the last seven years.’
Grace turns to give me a sharp look. She doesn’t say anything, just waits.
‘But I shouldn’t have,’ I continue, each word lancing through me. ‘I shouldn’t have had him. I shouldn’t have even thought it. He’s yours, Grace. He’s always been yours. And you’re a great mom.’ My chest tightens as I think of all she will lose. All Isaac will lose. And yes, all I will lose. ‘Such a great mom.’
She gives a sad little laugh and leans her head back against the chair. ‘How I’ve always wanted to hear you say that.’ This surprises me; I didn’t think she wanted or needed anything from me, except maybe to back off. ‘Whenever I came to visit,’ she continues, ‘I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. Like I’d never know what I was doing as a mother, and you always did.’
I flinch with guilt. ‘I’m sorry.’ I’d been meaning to make her feel that way, at least a little bit; I just never thought I’d succeeded.
‘It was as much my insecurity as anything else,’ she says, straightening a little. ‘Everything was so new and strange. When I held him as a baby I felt like I was holding a very precious yet also rather inconvenient parcel, and yet I would die if I broke it.’ I laugh a little, recognizing the mother’s truth of those words. A newborn takes over your life, your identity. You feel like you’re drowning, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
‘I felt the same with Emma. It was as if someone had handed me a grenade.’
‘Exactly.’ She shakes her head. ‘It was so hard at first, and yet so wonderful. And now… now I can’t imagine life without him. And of course I won’t have to.’ Her voice wavers and then grows stronger. ‘But he’ll have to imagine life without me.’ She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. ‘So. I need to prepare him for that.’ Her look is direct and unflinching. ‘You can have him, Heather. You can finally have him back.’ There’s no bitterness in her tone, only a dignified sorrow.
I stare out into the night, the ocean no more than a soft, whooshing sound in the darkness. I haven’t even let myself dream of this moment, not truly, not fully, and yet now it is here. There is so much swirling around in my mind – so much longing and sadness and fear. And joy, too, that we’ve arrived at this moment at all. That Isaac could be mine again, that Grace wants me to take care of him. That we’ve managed to reach this bittersweet yet wonderful point of friendship and understanding. And that makes what I know I have to do next feel harder than ever.
‘Heather?’ Grace’s voice sharpens. ‘Say something.’
‘You know I love Isaac,’ I say slowly.
‘Yes,’ Grace answers. ‘I know that.’
I drag a heavy breath into my lungs. I know what I have to say, but it doesn’t make it any easier to say it. ‘The truth is, Grace, I’m… I’m not sure it’s best for Isaac to be with me. With us. Best for him, I mean.’ Tears crowd my throat and eyes. This is even harder than I thought. Grace is silent, staring, waiting, yet I’m not sure I can say anything more.
‘I can’t believe you’re saying that,’ she says at last.
Another breath. ‘Surely you can see it’s true?’
‘I have my doubts and concerns, certainly, but it doesn’t seem right or fair to let those be the deciding factor.’ She pauses, seeming to draw upon some hidden strength. ‘You’re his mother, Heather.’
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. ‘No, Grace,’ I say. ‘You are.’
She shakes her head, impatient now as well as tearful. ‘This is a wonderful Hallmark moment, but let’s get serious here, Heather. You want Isaac to be with you. You’ve always wanted that—’
‘I have, but it’s been a selfish want.’ It hurts to admit it, but also good in a strange and healing way. ‘And now I want to do what’s best for Isaac. Having him yanked away from everything he knows, everyone he knows… living in a completely different kind of community… that would be so hard for him. And the truth is, he doesn’t know me like a mother. He never has. We can’t manufacture that relationship out of a lifetime of Saturday afternoons.’ Saying it so starkly is another wound. Then, just in case she thinks I’m being a complete martyr, I add, ‘and I want to do what’s best for my family. Because Amy is off the rails and Lucy has some learning difficulties and Emma just gets lost in the shuffle. I don’t want to shortchange any of them, or Isaac. And I know if he came to live with us, I’d spend all my energy making sure he was okay, seeing him through this, and I’d neglect my girls more than I already have.’
‘You haven’t neglected—’
‘I think I have,’ I admit painfully. That hurts as much as anything else. ‘I really think I have.’
We are both silent, absorbing it all, thinking about the repercussions that spread out like endless ripples in water. ‘Is there someone else…?’ I ask tentatively, half-wanting there not to be, even now.
