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“So you’d send her out somewhere in the world to make her own way, just because you’re too proud to accept a gift?”
He came to a halt in the middle of the path. They were passing a long open stretch of land that supported a range of crops in milder weather; the setting sun cast molten light over dead cornstalks, muddy furrows, and his mother’s calm, stern face. “What do you mean?”
“I think she feels gratitude toward you, yes. And that’s a different emotion from love—true again. But I don’t think that’s all there is to it. You’re her safe harbor. You’re the one she can lean against when all other supports are gone. I see it in her face. She is always gracious, always sweet, but she’s edgy. She’s uneasy. Until you come to the house. And then she relaxes. Then she smiles. You’re the one person she trusts, the one person she believes in. It would be an unkindness to rip that stability away from her.”
He gestured around at the empty land, each house so far from the other the lights were barely visible from one front door to the other. At this time of night, with everything else so quiet, it was possible to hear the ceaseless slap and drag of the ocean against the rocks below. “I can’t ask her to stay someplace like this the rest of her life!”
“Where do you think she wants to go?”
“I don’t know! Somewhere! Where she can find music—and people—and all the things she deserves—”
“And will she feel safe there?”
He stared down at his mother, at the small, clear features so similar to his own. He had never seen her agonize over a dilemma, never seen her walk away from a difficult decision or hide from a bitter truth. He had always wished he could see the world half as clearly. “I love her,” he said. “More than anything.”
“Then you’d better take care of her.”
His father owned a small property on the far edge of town, a place he’d bought from his sister when her youngest son moved to the southernmost island to marry. The tiny house had been taken over by spiders and mice, while the gardens had surrendered to weeds, nettles, and creeping vines. But the roof was solid and the well water was fresh, and three days of concerted effort by Brandon’s entire family had cleared the place both inside and out. Everyone had some piece of castoff furniture to donate—a bedframe that needed just a minor repair, a chair that could be rethatched, a set of dishes with only a few missing pieces. Brandon’s sister-in-law made a set of scarlet curtains and his cousin’s wife presented them with a quilt of countless colors.
“I cannot imagine ever living someplace that I would love more,” Villette told him when he showed her around the day before they were married.
“It’s small—”
She kissed him. “It feels so much bigger than my prison in the city.”
“And plain—”
She kissed him again. “Every stitch of fabric is beautiful. Every scrap of wood gleams.”
“It’s just that I want to give you everything,” he said.
She put her arms around him and leaned back so she could see his face. “Brandon,” she said, “that’s exactly what you’ve done.”
The wedding had been a month ago, and since that day, the islands had shown them nothing but rain and wind and dreary skies. Then one morning they woke up to sunshine streaming so brightly through the window that it turned the red curtains a hazy pink.
“It won’t last long,” Brandon said, as they rose and dressed with alacrity, packing a basket of food and folding up a couple of blankets. “We need to get out there now.”
They took a steep, narrow path that led from the back edge of their field straight to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the ocean. There was a rocky and perilous track that descended all the way to the stony beach below, but Villette hadn’t yet had the courage to try it, and Brandon wanted to wait until spring weather to shore it up with footholds and railings. But shortly after they’d moved in, they’d found a natural windbreak carved into the hill, a low, curved cup of land where two people could hunker down with their backs against a boulder and their faces turned toward the sea. On the few pretty days that had been granted to them since their wedding, they had hurried down to this spot to enjoy the sun on their faces and the salt wind in their hair.
Now they spread out one blanket to sit on, and curled up under the second one, their arms around each other and their heads touching. The sunlight shone so fiercely on the water that Brandon had to squint against the glare; it was as if the whole ocean was a mosaic of moving mirrored tiles. The breeze was brisk but not unfriendly. Under the blanket, pressed against Villette, he almost felt warm.
“I never get tired of the view,” she murmured. “I don’t know how you ever convinced yourself to move away.”
“I thought I was looking for something else,” he said.
She smiled at him. “And did you find it?”
“It seems I did.”
She snuggled against him, quiet for a moment, but he knew her well enough by now to realize she had something on her mind and was trying to decide how to say it. He waited, lifting his head just enough to feel the sunlight slide along his cheekbone, his chin.
“For so long,” she said, “there was one thing I was afraid of more than anything else.”
“The high divine.”
“No. Well, yes, I was afraid of him, but afraid of what he would make me do. I thought the worst thing that could happen to me, the thing that would break my heart, would be to get pregnant. To bring a child into the world.”
“I can understand that.”
“But now—that’s the one thing I want most in the world.”
He thought his heart might stop. “You want—”
She turned in his arms, raised a hand to his face. “Brandon,” she whispered, “I’m going to have your baby.”
He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, and for a moment all he could do was stare into that hopeful, watchful, fearful, beloved face. Then he shouted with delight and snatched her closer, and they laughed and cried and hugged each other so hard they dislodged half a dozen stones and almost kicked the picnic basket over the edge of the cliff. But Brandon whooped and rescued it, and Villette reached in to pull out the bottle of seagrass wine she had packed along with the cheese and biscuits. They toasted each other and the baby to come and the glorious life ahead of them. And then they wrapped their arms around each other again and burrowed under the blankets and gave no more thought to the miraculous sun or the resplendent view.
They never turned their eyes back to the ocean, so they never saw the slim shape that sliced up from the depths and burst into the bright air in a clean golden arc. Once, twice, a dozen times, performing an elaborate dance across the dazzling waters. Later that night, they would hear other villagers claim to have spotted Keshalosha along the shoreline, tell each other excitedly that this meant Zessaya would shower them with good fortune for the coming year, maybe the rest of their lives. They didn’t see, but it hardly mattered. The fish flashed through the air one more time, so high it reached the level of the cliff top, and seemed to pause for just a moment midair. Maybe its jewel-green eyes turned toward the two people sheltering in the rocky outcrop, so engrossed in each other they had no time to notice favors handed out by the goddess. Maybe it flipped its tail and cast off droplets of water in a spray of watery diamonds before diving back into the icy ocean and disappearing under the glittering surface.
Brandon didn’t notice. The goddess had reached out a hand and reordered his life, mapping out a destiny he would never have dreamed of. He didn’t require omens. He already had all the proof he would ever need.
