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That’s the moment I’m plucked from the water. I do my best to hold onto him, but the sea wins—again.
There’s a splash, and spinning starlight.
As I feel the boat’s hard surface beneath my back, another BOOM deafens my ears. Something heavy hits me. I smell blood before I’m taken by the darkness, and my last thought is a prayer: save him, not me.
Eighteen
Finley
Eight Days Later
His headstone means less than nothing to me. It’s a slab of rock from…I don’t know where, in fact. I don’t even know who chose it. Someone fetched it in those days when I was bed-bound, sobbing beneath Anna’s blankets, being spoon-fed soup and forced to swallow sips of water.
Now I feel as if I’ll soon need my own resting place. I’ve cried so many tears for him—for everything that happened—that I’ve none remaining. I’m not the woman he knew any longer. I’m so very far from her.
I pull a letter from my pocket. Unfold it. I scan the simple message quickly, although I needn’t do so to remember it. Its words are blazed into my memory. My hands are steady as I shred the letter into pieces. I watch them flutter in our Tristan breeze.
The sky is gray today, and cloudless. I approve. Let it be winter. It’s winter in my heart, and I don’t want to look at blue skies or wildflowers. One rogue tear stings my left eye. I wipe it before I start across the sloping hillside toward two other headstones.
These mean even less than his. Neither of them mark a body, for there are no bodies. There never were and never will be. Still, I kneel there by the left one—Mummy’s—and I wipe my damp eyes.
“I never came here much to speak to you. Didn’t feel I needed this place, I suppose. I know where you are.” I swallow against the sobs that threaten. “When I arrive there, I’ll be near the ocean. And you’re there, right? Mummy, I don’t ever want to leave you…”
I can’t help my weeping as I recall what I realized that horrid night I lost Declan. As I awakened from fainting, I remembered something new to me: this vision of myself with my chin on the boat’s side. No rain. Pale skies. Therefore it wasn’t that night. I remembered myself floating over glassy waters. And I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to return to the island without Mummy.
When Charles Carnegie arrived here before dawn this morning, and I looked upon his face, I remembered those old feelings with even greater clarity. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t seen him in the flesh since that time. But seeing him made me remember.
I don’t want to be here. I won’t tell our secrets. A mighty promise from a small girl. And one I kept it for so long—never speaking—for Mummy.
I stroke my palm over her grass one last time before standing. I cast my gaze to the man standing over by the gate. His head is down. I believe he doesn’t want to make me feel as if I’m running short on time.
I walk to Gammy next. Despite how much I abhor weeping, I can’t stop my tears. I sink down to my knees and hold my face as helpless sobs rack me.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth.
“Never settle for an unkind man. That is the only thing I ask of you.”
“I’m sorry, Gammy! Now I have to go, and I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want to leave our Hobbit house.” I wipe my eyes and nose. “But…that’s not true.” Perhaps I’m really weeping because it’s not true. I do want to leave our island. I must.
“Gammy, I wish you were with me. I know you’re elsewhere now, but I so hate to leave you and your sea glass.” I touch a bit of what adorns her stone. That’s when I hear the footsteps behind me. I turn slowly and smile at wee Baby. She’s standing with her head raised, as if she’s posed for Gammy’s inspection.
“Come here, wee rascallian.” She bounds over to me, and I hug her warm body. “Are you ready, darling dearest?”
I cling to her, breathing deeply until I feel I can trust my eyes. Then I walk toward Charles, taking my time as I allow my gaze to explore the island from one of its highest slopes. I try to memorize each note of the scent here: the slight sweetness of the grass; the brisk, salty air; the smell of wet rock.
I look down at the village, with its colorful tin roofs. This is my home. I was born here on these rocky shores. No matter where I go, a part of me will always remain. I wipe a few stray tears. And then I’m near enough that his gaze touches my face. His mouth tilts slightly at the corners, making my heart ache as it reminds me of Declan’s.
Charles’s hair is pep
pered with gray and his face is leaner, slightly less feline than my Sailor’s. But he’s a handsome man. He’s still broad about the shoulders, and he shares his son’s kind eyes.
I imagine him before grief and worry etched their mark upon his heart, and I imagine my sweet Mum at his side. Then I force myself to quit. It makes me too sad.
I try to offer him a small smile.
He returns it. “Ready?”
I nod.
